We never wanted for food, shelter or clothing, but I didn’t know until much later how tight the financial situation was at our home. Yet that didn’t stop my family from sharing our love with those in need. No matter how stretched my parents’ budget may have been, there was always food, clothing and support to be found at our house. Open pantry, open doors, open hearts.
Is it any surprise, then, that I chose a profession in which I care for the ‘tired, the poor, and the huddled masses?’ Teaching immigrants has become more than a job; it’s a calling, and one that has filled my life with purpose and joy. Recent events, though, have me a-tremble in equal parts rage and fear. Rage for the injustice and fear for those who I have come to call friends and family.
In those dark moments when fear overrules reason, my husband and I have talked about moving with all the arrogance of those who have the money and the skill set to do so. But we know we can’t move. We have a responsibility to stay. We have a duty to serve. As we follow the principles our parents instilled in us, we stand firm and we will keep our doors and our hearts open to any in need.