Twitter is not real life, I remind myself as I spend my lunch break scrolling through feeds often filled with vitriol and rage, where the loudest voices appear to be the most numerous. After a disheartening foray into a world where anyone can share their hate-filled opinions without the accountability of human contact, I return to my desk. I return to telling the stories of resilient immigrants and courageous refugees, and the selfless compassion of churches and individuals who sacrifice their time, talent, and resources to welcome them into their communities.
I look up from my keyboard and out into the parking lot. I see an older white man, probably in his sixties, gingerly toting a covered infant car seat toward the building entrance. He pauses to glance behind himself, and from behind a parked car hurries a petite African woman, a length of bright floral fabric carefully wrapped and tucked around her waist. She catches up to the elderly man, and together they walk inside for an appointment with a caseworker.
This is the story I am invested in telling, the story of strangers becoming family, unexpected and beautiful.Read More