Presence, Security

Not a Christian Nation

August 1, 2026

A marching band in Haiti: thanks to Bailey Torres on Unsplash for the photo. Seems like this photo was taken in happier times.

Sometimes, it’s all a little much.

I woke up this week to the reality that the Trump administration will start deporting Haitian immigrants back to Haiti, even though they possibly (probably?) will die when they return. It doesn’t matter that these folks have lived in the U.S. for years, have had children here who are U.S. citizens, and do good work in jobs that serve others. Secretary of Homeland Security Kristi Noem determined this week that Haitian nationals “no longer met the conditions for Temporary Protected Status (TPS).” For years, TPS prevented deportation and allowed people to live and work here because of unsafe conditions or humanitarian crises in their home countries.

In the case of Haitian refugees, it seems especially strange that we revoked their TPS status, because our very own government issued a Level Four “Do Not Travel” warning for U.S. citizens to Haiti only a few days earlier, “due to the risk of crime, kidnapping, terrorism, unrest, and limited health care.” If for some reason you have to go to Haiti, the State Department website encourages travelers to leave DNA samples behind, share dental records with a trusted contact, and draft a will before traveling.

Huh.

The president seems downright gleeful about this and does not seem to care that our government is likely sending people to their deaths. Do the folks who have supported him over the years, including the Republican members of Congress and a majority of our Supreme Court justices, feel the same way? How would it be to know that they have blood on their hands?

I guess some people still believe that the United States is a Christian nation. Actions like this, though, pretty much prove that we are not. This is not a “WWJD” (What Would Jesus Do) sort of thing. It’s cruel and nothing Jesus would have supported. A Christian nation would be about loving our neighbors as ourselves, that most basic commandment. Making it so refugees can’t work legally anymore, even though so many of their jobs were service jobs, helping the elderly and infirm? Not so loving. Sending them to their deaths? Not loving at all.

And then, a question I should always ask myself when I start feeling judgy about the president, the Supreme Court, Congress, and the evil that is going on around us: What is my part? What can I do?

I am grateful that I showed up for my online writing group the other morning. I shared that I woke up sad about the immigration decision, that ICE would start deporting people, potentially sending them to their deaths. One of my writing friends told me about a group that he tries to support, the Haitian Support Center, based in Springfield, Ohio. You can reach them at https://haitiansupportcenter.org/. It’s an organization that is doing its best to provide resources to Haitians who suddenly are unable to legally work and who are at risk of being deported.

That is a little something I can do—but I fear that I don’t do enough.

In fact, I’m pretty sure I don’t.

Presence

Beautiful and Ordinary

July 18, 2026

 

One of my favorite ordinary parts of each day? Taking Biscuit for a walk. Especially if he finds a good stick.

It was an ordinary week, not one for the memory books, that’s for sure.

But I’ve been thinking about the ordinary, my ordinary, and remembering back to a time a few summers ago when we had just moved to our little house, and I was still married, and both my kids were home. Those were ordinary days, hot days, because we didn’t have air conditioning yet. I was shuttling my youngest to Lego camp down the hill and my oldest to friends’ houses for playdates. Sometimes we would go to the local community pool in the afternoon to cool down. There was nothing especially noteworthy about any of those days, but if I could, I would go back to relive any one of them, just for the pleasure of being back in a time when both of my kids were home and we were all together.

I have a feeling that someday I might look back on the ordinary week I had this week in the same way, wishing I could magically transport myself back to my kitchen table, where I am attempting to write something worthwhile, but feeling discouraged because it all seems so ordinary. My youngest and I had carnitas for supper that were prepackaged and delicious. I took Biscuit for a walk and talked to my neighbor who was out watering her flowers. It is still hot. I’ve been listening to a book, “The Calamity Club,” on my drive to work and whenever I can once I get home: when I’m doing dishes, chopping onions, puttering around the house. It’s more than 28 hours long, enough to almost make you give up before you start, but I’ve stayed with it and only have about two hours left. It feels like a real accomplishment and it’s a great story—highly recommended.

But isn’t spending more than 24 hours listening to an audiobook kind of an ordinary thing to do? Continue Reading…