Last week, my mom and I, along with a team from global(x), went to Texas with Border Perspective. This organization helps people learn about what’s really going on at the U.S./Mexico border and serves those who are affected by the complex, often harsh realities of immigration and poverty. We saw so much with our own eyes, had great conversations about God’s heart for immigrants, volunteered at a Catholic Charities shelter, and smelled like sulfur whenever we got out of the shower (that’s another story for another time).

I went into this trip nervous about my anger. In my Social Work classes at Auburn, I used to play this game with myself called, “What am I going to be angry about today?”. It seemed like every day, I learned about a new injustice to spark more rage, from police brutality to child abuse to sexual assault. Then, when I interned with the refugee resettlement agency Inspiritus and spent six months in Lebanon working primarily with Syrian refugees, immigration and refugee issues became one of my core passions. I care so deeply about this population, people who have been through so much and are often forced to leave their homes behind, only to encounter some very not warm welcomes. I was worried that I would see the realities of the southern border and walk away pissed. off.

And while there were certainly experiences that made me mad and sad, I was surprised to walk away from last week feeling much more hopeful than I had expected.

When we saw “the wall” (which is definitely more of an incomplete fence), we didn’t wish that it was bigger and taller. Instead, we talked about how the millions of dollars spent per mile could be better used to treat immigrants more humanely, instead of ineffectively attempting to keep them out.

When we volunteered at the Catholic Charities shelter, we didn’t shove families into cold rooms and take away their shoelaces. Instead, we gave out food, clothes, hygiene items, and other supplies to the immigrants who showed up with just the clothes on their backs, sometimes cell phones, and ankle monitors to keep track of them until their court date.

When we flew out of the McAllen airport on Friday, we didn’t point, stare, or wonder why families at the airport had no luggage. Instead, we did what we could to help these families who were traveling to their family members, friends, or other sponsors, where they’ll wait for their immigration hearing.

All of these experiences were like Blistex on the chapped lips of my soul, shining light when I was anticipating so much darkness.

In the past several months, I’ve been struggling with the gloom and doom of the world. It’s easy to become overwhelmed by the multitude of crises we live through and witness from afar. Our brains are actually wired to tune in more to the negative than to the positive, because it’s useful for survival when you need to pay attention to negatives like poisonous food or a bear approaching. In those moments, you don’t really need to look on the bright side; you need to focus on the freaking bear. But in the world we live in today, we’re almost consumed by not only our fears, heartbreaks, and traumas, but also the fears, heartbreaks, and traumas of everyone with Internet access. After months of feeling like the weight of the world was on my shoulders, I was so worried that I would feel even worse seeing the border crisis up close and personal. But instead, I was encouraged, because I was able to help in teeny, tiny ways, and I was surrounded by other people who care.

My week in Texas reminded me that, no matter how much I care for immigrants, God cares infinitely more. I saw how God has actually given me anger about injustice, because God is angry when the vulnerable are mistreated, too. I talked, learned, and laughed with a group of Christiansa group that’s gotten so many things about immigration so very wrong for so many yearswho want the church to make a positive difference in this area. And with each layer of this chapstick added onto my grieving heart, I felt refreshed and lighter, the burden of an international crisis slipping from my shoulders, which were never big enough to carry it.

Sometimes, it feels like it’s impossible to make this better. And by this, I mean immigration, but I also mean racial justice, gender equality, wars and displacement disasters, and everything else going wrong in the world. How the heck can we “solve” these problems? My perspective from the border is this: nothing is impossible with God. God is the great Carer. When God cares about something, God acts. We can either fall in line or get steamrolled, because God’s justice will roll like the Rio Grande along the U.S./Mexico border. And I’m genuinely excited to be a part of it.

If you’d like to hear more about my time in Texas, I’d love to tell you about it! Comment below, or send me a text or email, so we can set up a time to chat. Thanks for reading! And remember: let’s choose love over fear. Everyone, everywhere, every time.


Yep, I’m still in Lebanon. And still loving it!

I can’t believe I’ve been here for four months. It simultaneously feels like I just stepped off the plane yesterday, and like I’ve lived at the R&R Peace Center forever. There have been highs and lows, smooth sailing and rough waters, but I’m continually grateful for the simple opportunity to be here.

Since my last post, I’ve transitioned from one volunteer term to the next. At the end of last term, we took a break from normal activities, like language and music classes. I took advantage of the time off to spend a week in Mishmish, one of the towns that the organization works in. Up in the mountains, surrounded by beautiful nature and a whole lot of Arabic, it was an immersion experience for sure! I learned so much about Lebanese culture, practiced my Arabic, and grew closer to some Lebanese and Syrian friends. My week in Mishmish was certainly outside my comfort zone in many ways—as evidenced by the difficulty of politely refusing to eat meat or drink coffee, over and over and over again—but it just goes to show how the best experiences often happen outside your comfort zone. The confidence and spirit of adventure I gained from that week in Mishmish, as well as from my entire time in Lebanon, are some of the greatest gifts.

After I returned from Mishmish, we jumped pretty quickly into the next volunteer term! We have two additional volunteers: Mathilde, 24, from Belgium, and Janusz, 37, from Poland. Mathilde has previous experience in social work, and Janusz used to own a restaurant in the UK, so they both bring immensely valuable gifts to the table (figuratively and literally!). We’ve become fast friends and are supporting one another through all the stresses and victories of daily activities with R&R.

And wow, how many activities there are! The Lebanese school year has officially started, though it’s still a bit crazy because of corona. With that, R&R has ramped up its programming, especially in Bkarzla and Kousha. Our local teachers offer homework help for students in the morning and afternoon. We’re continuing Basic Literacy and Numeracy classes in Bkarzla for kids who have been out of school for a long time, and we’ve also resumed conversational language classes in Mishmish. I absolutely love the opportunity to help with educational activities. I believe so strongly that education is vital for a brighter future, especially for children and youth who have been affected by violence, displacement, and trauma. To hold this belief, and then have the opportunity to put it into action, is such an honor. The fall brings along non-educational events as well, like the Solidarity Olive Harvest, which is coming up soon. Needless to say, the Peace Center may be peaceful, but it certainly is full, loud, and busy these days!

To find some rest and relaxation, the other volunteers and I have gone several times to the nearby river, and last weekend, we took a trip to Tyre (which is pronounced Sur in Arabic, for some reason). It was amazing! We walked around the ruins, swam in the Mediterranean, and the best part: I FINALLY FOUND SWEET POTATOES! I’m glad we got to explore somewhere new, while also getting some space from the hard work at the Center.

I’ll keep working hard, especially now that the school year is in full swing and I’m the education coordinator for the volunteers. Alongside staff, local teachers, and other volunteers, I’ve been able to meet public school directors, host families for teacher-parent meetings, keep track of attendance, and teach my own English classes. Like I said before, it’s a lot, but it’s also only for eight more weeks. I can’t decide what’s crazier: that I’ve already been here for four months, or that I only have two months left. I keep a daily countdown on my mirror for three reasons:

  1. To practice my Arabic numbers (which are surprisingly quite different from what we English speakers call Arabic numerals)
  2. To encourage me on days when I feel extra homesick
  3. To remind me to make the most of my time left here—to give it my all, because when I get home, I’ll be glad I did

I’m so thankful for the opportunity to serve with R&R here in Lebanon, and also for the prayers, support, and encouragement from family and friends back home. I miss y’all (even more than I miss hearing the word y’all)! I’m excited to be home for Christmas, but until then, I’ll be savoring every drop of olive oil, every morning run in the mountains, and every person I get to interact with. All these things, but most importantly the people, are such a blessing to me, and I just hope I’m a blessing back.


“Give them a book and they will hold books; give them a weapon and they will hold weapons.”

Lost in Lebanon

Lebanon. People with heartbreaking stories, living in places with breathtaking views. Sunni, Alawite, Orthodox, Maronite villages scattered across Akkar. A country in mourning following a catastrophic explosion, a revolution ongoing to demand a functioning democracy. French, the language of the colonizer, spoken in public schools; Arabic, the language of home, in more dialects than you could count, spoken everywhere else. Students and teachers, refugees and Lebanese, homes in houses, apartments, garages, tents.

This has been life for the past month and a half.

And I absolutely love it.

In case you didn’t know, I’m currently living and working in Akkar, Lebanon, as a volunteer assistant with Relief & Reconciliation for Syria. This organization combines peace-building and humanitarian aid in response to the Syrian crisis. I’ve gotten to help with educational, psychosocial, and emergency assistance programs for both Syrian refugees and Lebanese host communities in Akkar, the poorest region of Lebanon. I’ve been living at the Peace Center in Bkarzla since early July, and now, I want to share a little bit about what I’ve been up to!

We started off with two weeks of training/quarantine for the newly arrived volunteers. There are four of us, all in our twenties: Lea from Switzerland, Livia from Italy, Clément from France, and me. R&R staff members Friedrich and Mohamad taught us about various topics, such as the work of R&R, orientalism, the conflicts of the Levantine coast, decolonizing humanitarian aid, and education in emergencies—just to name a few! It was definitely information overload, but I’m immensely grateful to serve with an organization that really tries to get it right, not just show up with good intentions and hope everything goes well.

After training, we had two main projects: a music workshop and a summer camp. The music workshop brought together musicians from around north Lebanon to learn from each other, jam together, and compose pieces for the summer camp. Then, we put on the fifth annual summer mountain camp for kids from all four communities we serve. Although corona threw some wrenches in our plans, we were able to have four summer camp days, one for each community. I was unfortunately sick for most of the summer camp, but I did get to participate in the last day. We played games, danced and sang, swam, and went on a scavenger hunt themed after the four elements and saving the environment. The kids really enjoyed it, and I’d say the volunteers did, too!

Once summer camp was over, we jumped right in to classes and educational activities. Right now, I’m teaching one beginner’s English class to adult women from one of the camps, and one conversational English class to young adults, mostly from Mishmish, Akkar. I adore teaching! The students are resilient, determined, and enthusiastic about learning. The women in the beginner class truly don’t speak a word of English, so it turned out to be good Arabic practice for me, too. The Mishmish students already speak a basic level, so we can do fun activities with them, like setting up a “shop” so they can practice vocabulary and expressions related to buying and selling. We’re hoping to continue these classes for the next few weeks leading up to the school year.

The main challenge right now is adapting to ever-changing coronavirus conditions. In the time since I’ve arrived, the country has bounced back and forth twice between lockdown and open for business. I had to take a COVID test at the airport and another when I was sick; both were thankfully negative. The pandemic is being handled very differently here than in the States, with much less mask-wearing and lockdown measures that aren’t nearly as strict. R&R is trying all sorts of new things to continue classes and other activities, but safely and responsibly. I’m grateful to be here during this time and help the organization rise to the challenge.

I appreciate everyone’s support, prayers, and encouragement from back home. I definitely feel them; whether it’s a moment of peace after a stressful day, healing from whatever strange sickness I had, or daily activities running smoothly, I can absolutely tell that I am being prayed for and thought of. Thank you to everyone who’s a part of my incredible support system! I dearly miss and love you all. And thanks to everyone for reading this post! Stay tuned for more updates about life in Lebanon.