What Happened to Us in Texas
She was 33 years old. He was 34. They lived in an Airstream, nomads, #fulltimetravelers, with their two little boys.
It was November 2015, and they had parked their home in South Texas for the winter, just 85 miles north of the Mexican border.
They had come for adventure and to do a bit of work, to meet new people, learn new things. They were Americans trying to see all of America, or at least the US part of it.
One day they’d like to see Central America too, and all of Canada. Their home had wheels and they planned to use them.
It was a different time back then, before they had seen so much, before they knew. . .
Almost immediately, they knew coming here had been a mistake. Their coworkers told them, “See those birds circling over there? It’s probably another illegal. She’s probably pregnant. They die out there all the time, under the trees mostly. The animals take care of the bodies. But if one ever makes it to camp, we have to call Border Patrol. It’s against the law not to. They’re criminals.”
What had they done?
What were they thinking bringing their kids here? How were they going to live with people who said such things, who were so full of hate, who talked about other humans that way?
But they’d signed a contract to stay and work for three months, so they couldn’t just leave right away.
They were afraid.
It took six weeks and more than a few encounters they’d never forget to work up enough courage. . .
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A run-in with a Border Patrol agent on the highway. She saw lights flashing, so she pulled over, only to see two officers swerve in front of her, pull onto the shoulder, then jump out of their SUV, over a fence, and tackle someone in the grass. She was shaking, crying, panicky. But she pulled back onto the highway and drove on. She had her babies in the car, what could she do?
A young man staggering toward him. He had dark hair, brown skin sunburned and peeling, cracked lips, tears in his eyes. “Can I use your phone? I’m from Honduras. I just need to call my aunt. She will come pick me up.” Pause. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” A bottle of water. An orange. A call to Border Patrol. A face he’ll never forget. A choice that still haunts him today.
They left a few days later, hitched up their Airstream in the middle of the night and drove north, west, away. . .
But they never forgot. Still, they regret.
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When someone asks, we’re quick to tell them why we are the way we are, how our values and beliefs changed so drastically while crossing and re-crossing Route 66, the Mason-Dixon line, and forty-something state lines during the years between 2012 and 2020 — it’s because of what happened to us in Texas and what we saw, heard, lived, and experienced while living as nomads in 49 of the United States for seven years.
Before that winter, we had been evangelical Christians and proud Southerners, on our way to figure out where we might fit and why we didn’t feel right about being in church leadership any longer.
After that winter and everything that happened in 2016 and the years following, especially the role the southern evangelical Christian community played in it all, we knew we couldn’t go back.
We were changed forever.
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Honestly, shamefully, it wasn’t enough to fully change us, though. Five years after what happened in Texas, through one of the most embarrassing and painful experiences of my life, I came face to face with my own racism. A year later, I wrote about that experience and what I learned from it (linked here) , but I still grapple with my biases on a daily basis. I still call myself out because my thinking is still not where I want it to be.
I still have so many regrets, so many things to learn.
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I think that’s why I felt my heart skip a beat when I saw this book on a Libro.fm playlist recommended by my favorite bookshop — I bought a copy right away. . .
Sanctuary by Paola Mendoza and Abby Sher is a novel published in 2020 that was meant to be a dystopian warning tale but sadly, now feels all-too-real only a few short years later.
The story follows teenager Valentina and her brother Ernesto (Vali and Ernie, as we come to know them) as they try to make their way from the life they know in a small farming town in Vermont to anywhere that will give them the safety, family, and healing every human should have the right to enjoy.
Along the way, they encounter heartbreak, hate, and more trauma than any child should have to endure. But they also find friendship, empathy, and help, too. It’s a story I believe everyone should have the chance to read right now. Especially if there are people around you, or even a voice in the back of your own head, saying things like, “Well, they are breaking the law” or “Well, they can just go back to their home country”.
It’s an extremely well-written novel, with a story so real at times that I couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks, reminding me of a poignant nonfiction account I read years ago called Enrique’s Journey by Sonia Nazario.
In the author’s note, Paola Mendoza shares a powerful quote from German playwright and poet Bertolt Brecht. . .
“Art is not a mirror held up to reality but a hammer with which to shape it.”
It explains why she wrote Sanctuary and her hope for it. She also shares these beautiful, challenging words. . .
“We wrote this book because we must channel our rage, our heartbreak, and our love of country to fight for our home and prevent a dark, dystopian future in which immigrants are no longer part of the story of America . . . We must declare ourselves sanctuary for not only immigrants but for everyone who is vulnerable to the violence of white supremacy…”
~ Paola Mendoza, Sanctuary
If I could send you one book today, it would be this novel, Sanctuary by Paola Mendoza and Abby Sher. Not because it will leave you feeling great (it won’t), not because it’s a fun read (it isn’t), but because I believe in the power you hold. I believe that every book we read changes us at least a little. I believe books and readers can save democracy. (More on that in an exciting announcement I’ll have for you in a few short weeks!!)
I hope you can find or make a way to read it — check it out at the library, listen on Libro, or maybe buy a used copy at Thriftbooks (I just found one for $5.49!).
I hope you love it.
& just in case things feel too overwhelming right now, just in case you find yourself in need of something to lighten the load lest you sink beneath it, I hope you remember you’re not alone. There are loads of us sharing the load with you. We’re all trying to do our little part. Also, I’m here.
Always.
💛
Celeste
did AI write this? nope, this lady did ⤴ always💛