Email: Leisha Reynolds

Dear Friends and Family,

I remember Maria from Oaxaca, Maria unable to walk, Maria crying, Maria struggling to get into the Grupo Beta truck to go to the hospital here in Agua Prieta. There wasn’t much I could do for Maria but accompany her to the truck, bearing most of her weight, holding her hand, and assuring I’d call to make sure she’d arrived to the women’s migrant shelter that night. I wanted to make her tears stop, but of course I couldn’t. Maria from Oaxaca was in her late 40s and alone, far from her family, far from being in any position to go anywhere let alone walk herself to the bathroom.  Remember Maria from Oaxaca? Please don’t forget her.

Hours and hours spent at the Migrant Resource Center means a lot of cleaning (the desert loves dust), and a lot of organizing (now all the shoes and socks have pairs, and the big bandages can be found in the big bandages compartment, and iodine and alcohol swabs are separated on the medical table. And the gloves, too—volunteers, please use the gloves!). It also means a lot of sitting, a lot of reading, a lot of listening. The other day I was sitting in a group of migrants from the Mexican states of Puebla and Veracruz. I listened as a man from Puebla shared about the fields there, about the lack of work one can find in them, and about his need to simply place food on the table for his family. While it’s possible to support a family during the one month in which the crops are yielding, they find themselves wondering the rest of the eleven months. This man knew the risk he was facing in his attempt to feed his family.

And remember the migrant prayer vigil every Tuesday at 5:15 along Pan-American? Every Tuesday, rain or shine, whether there’s one person or 50 people, they say. It’s true. The other day there were just three of us, and there happened to be three entire crates of migrant crosses. Considering at first simply picking up and carrying just as many of the crosses as we could in our hands, one man made the suggestion we take them all—three crates, three people. Which would, perhaps, complicate the process by not only carrying crosses but a heavy crate as well that will have to continuously be picked up and put down. When we got to the end of the crosses and gathered in a three-person circle, we reflected on how easy it would have been to just pick up a few and move on with the vigil for the sake of our comfort, but there’s nothing comfortable about the desert, nor about innocent individuals and their family members dying there. Nor can we so easily forget the many, many more who have passed on, an amount far beyond the crosses we have been able to make. It’s certainly pause for thought about what it means to “bear the cross.” On this occasion we had the opportunity to not only bear the cross, but bear the crate. And despite the over-100-degree weather, dryness of the air, and heaviness of the crates, we had no regrets.

While our presence on Pan-American on Tuesday evenings does not change things globally, it does create awareness, and far beyond awareness, it creates a presence of solidarity amongst the people of the border, and those who venture out on that often fatal journey. In considering all that I’ve been involved in this year—protests, marches, direct aid, etc—I feel that the continuation of this event in particular is crucial to the people of the border, and events on the border. As passersby walk along the sidewalk on Pan-American during the vigil we step aside, allowing them to pass, exchanging glances and often greetings. Cars drive by, heading south, honking in approval, giving thumbs up, often times joining us in our resounding and choral, “presente!” Perhaps others pass by and have an opposite reaction. What might we be called? Hippies, communists, liberals, anti-Americans? People may put a title on us if they wish, but what is unknown to them is how different all of us really are, what exactly brings us to the border (and keeps us at the border), what walks of life we come from, and what, just what, keeps us at that blessed vigil week after week.

The path of solidarity means enduring these names, these titles, these assumptions about political and religious views. In one’s eyes I might be supporting and encouraging the undocumented entry of individuals into this country. In another’s I am helping to give back a face and a name and a certain amount of dignity to those who lost their life in the most undignified of ways. We are saying that they should not be forgotten, nor will they be.

Vacation Bible school was held at First Presbyterian Church of Douglas last week, and yours truly was the arts and crafts teacher. I agreed to teach under the condition that the activities were already planned out and the resources were already available. As universal law would have it, the day before VBS began, none of the supplies had arrived at the church, and so I immediately sat down to begin planning what four groups of children might do during the week. They range in age from 3 years to eighth graders. Never considering myself particularly adept at planning from scratch great, crafty activities for children to do (I’ll give that award to my mom—unfortunately, I didn’t receive those genes), I have to admit that the week turned out pretty great, considering.

My favorite activity had to do with the focus phrase for the day, “We love.” Now the theme for the week was “Rainforest adventures,” so there was already focus on animals of the forest, but there hadn’t yet been a focus on the rest of God’s good creation. Seeing this as a sort of sign from God and great opportunity to not only make the children think but also gain great insight from each of them in return, I had the children create a large banner about ways to love God’s creation. The youngest children (pre-school through second grade) made leaves for a tree that each had a way to love God’s creation on it (ranging from not fighting with one’s brother, to feeding the animals, to caring for those without homes), and signed the trunk of the tree as best as they could. The rest of the banner had different little pieces of paper that the third through eighth graders had each written and drawn out a way to love God’s creation (ranging from picking up litter even when it’s not ours, recycling, walking or biking instead of driving, being kind to others, and turning out the lights when we’re not using them). It was my favorite day, as I got to introduce the project and let them take off with their ideas, and the end result was something I couldn’t wait to share with their parents at the end-of-week program and the entire congregation on Sunday. (Then, of course, take it home and hang it on my wall, it was just that cool.) 
Another great joy recently is that I was fortunate enough to receive a group of five teachers from the Denver public school districts at the Migrant Resource Center to talk with them, answer their questions, and in turn ask them questions. Such wonderful conversation came from the experience—and inspiration. I have felt God’s gentle (and sometimes not so gentle) push toward getting into the classroom during my YAV year, looking at vocation and how to utilize the time and space of one year that I’m giving myself before grad school. Of course I say it’s just one year that I’ll be giving myself before entering—that’s the Leisha plan. We’ll see what God says about that. Hearing about what’s happening in various schools in Denver with immigrant populations and ways in which schools are doing all they can to offer authentic opportunities for learning, and seeing that the teachers are not only learning inside their classroom from their students, but also taking a trip across the United States/Mexico border to see the reality of what their students have gone through, helped return a hope to me regarding public schools—and more specifically, teachers—in the United States.  If there were a way for me to bridge my passion for immigrant communities, the Spanish language, a calling toward justice, and an even clearer calling toward education, I’d be there in a moment. I’m sure there are ways—they just remain to be shown to be in this moment. God’s timing, I remind myself. Whether I end up as a professor at a small university or as a teacher in some public school district somewhere in the United States, I know my gifts and passions will be used in whatever context and situation. And when the timing is right, well, it’ll happen.

The days have gotten hotter and I’ve been forced to think about how to make it look like I didn’t pee my shirt and pants after my commute on bike from the apartment to the Migrant Resource Center and office (or anywhere else I head to between the hours of early morning to late night).  It’s been about 100-degrees inside the apartment where I live, and I’ve spent many a night lying in bed listening to the sound of my ceiling fan, wondering if it’s really doing anything besides making a bit of noise. But as long as I stay well hydrated—and anybody who knows me probably knows that I never go anywhere without a full Nalgene bottle—the heat doesn’t bother me so much. Sure, it’s not “comfortable,” but neither has God called me to this place so I could “feel comfortable.” I think about my half-summer in India a couple of years ago and how the heat manifested itself there, cross-country practices in August back in high school, and church camp almost every summer of my life, and all the “uncomfortable” heat situations I’ve been in. Funny, those have been some of the best moments of my life! Bring on the heat!

This is when I stop to thank everyone once again for thoughts, prayers, and support in the various ways you’ve given it and I’ve received it. While I share with you the experiences I’m having on the border, know that it’s only a very small sample of what has really happened in my life here this year. There has been so much of everything—so much learning, so many relationships, so many hellos and goodbyes, so many challenges and ways that I have learned from both the positive and the negative. And believe me, there has been plenty of negative—I just tend to unload those thoughts on what I like to call “my select few.”

 In many ways I feel like the year has just begun, and in others, that the time has come to venture on another journey—regardless of how grand, or not so grand, it may look like. While I still am in the process of discerning the “where” and “what” of the months to come after my YAV year ends, I can say that there is a reason why I haven’t had clear in mind the answers just yet. The last five years that I’ve been away from home, I’ve had everything “planned out.” Like the five-year plan of one’s life.  I suppose I could have gone into this year ready to write out that next five-year plan but I think each time I tried to do that, there was something telling me I should wait. A lot has happened in this time, and in some ways I’ve come full circle from where I thought I’d be next year (likely somewhere in South America) to where I feel God has been calling me instead (somewhere like where I am right now, or perhaps back home for the first time in quite some time). I’m not going to say I’m always in agreement with “God’s plan,” but I think I’m arriving at the point of acceptance with whatever happens in the months to come. 

Que la paz de Dios sea con todos Uds.,

Leisha Reynolds

To find out more about my year you can explore my blog.

If you would like to financially support me over this year you can send a tax deductible check to:

St. Mark's Presbyterian Church
Attn: Linda Marshall
3809 East Third Street
Tucson AZ 85716

Checks can be made out to St Mark's Presbyterian Church with "YAV" and my name written in the memo line.