I have been at a loss to do something in these past weeks to respect our brothers and sisters who have crossed our borders with little children. Here is a simple poem and painting to remind us that the reasons people come here vary. As believers, we cannot let the memories of these mothers, fathers and children fade in our national consciousness, especially within our Church communities.  

 

“Padre, my blurry memories

Of holding my child haunt me

I am so tired

Since I walked so far

Trying to escape my

Husband

And my fear

That I would lose little

Esther

Since she was crippled at birth and my husband

Said to get rid of her

So I carried her over the boarder

And now I don’t know where she

Cries for me

‘Cause the angry men

Took her and I don’t know

How to find her

‘Cause she can’t walk

And I have to hold her

Tightly, Padre, really tight

So tell me where to find my little girl

To find her back in my arms

The memories of holding her

Protecting her from my husband

In our home with a dirt floor and no food

Are disappearing since I am so upset

And I can’t afford

School for her and if I have to

Carry her to heaven with Jesus

I will but

Please help me find her now somewhere

In your country.”