I fold the pastry diagonally, exactly like Alamnseh showed me, and yet somehow my sambusa does not turn out like hers. I watch as she quickly and expertly tucks the dough into neat corners, passing it between her hands like pastry origami. I set my sad sambusa in the pan, and rest my sticky hands on the garbage-bag-apron. Meanwhile Alamnseh has finished two more perfectly shaped sambusas and is pinching the corners on a third. She catches me observing and laughs.
Most of my time with Alamnseh is spent driving to grocery stores, banks, and doctor appointments. She is patient with me when I make wrong turns–like the time I asked her if we could eat sambusas together, forgetting that it was Ramadan and she would be fasting until sunset. The next week, we still made sambusas, and she sent me home with a Ziploc bag to share with my roommates.
Mutual transformation is one of our core values here at Jonathan House. It means that we give and receive in our cross-cultural relationships. Mutual transformation can be the simple act of learning how to fold sambusas or it can involve a moment of vulnerability met with understanding and acceptance.
Sharing scars
John started volunteering at Jonathan House this January when he was still recovering from a full knee replacement surgery. As he started his new routine of meeting with residents, it took a little extra time to transition between sitting and standing. One afternoon, as he was meeting with Salana, John started the process of standing up, bracing a hand on the couch for support. Salana noticed his struggle and offered a hand. Taking Salana’s hands, John stood up quickly and started to explain why he needed the extra assistance. But he realized that with the language barrier, words were probably not the best way to communicate.
John pulled up his pant leg to show Salana his scar. Salana stepped back and smiled. He understood. Without hesitation, he pulled up his own sleeve to show John the myriad of scars on his arm.
“It was in that moment that two persons, initially strangers, connected as two human beings and opened the door to friendship and mutual care for each other.”
In our short time at Jonathan House, John and I have both been recipients of an abundance of patience and help. Alamnseh holds my hands as we wrap and fold pastry, and I hold hers as we navigate a busy parking lot. Salana offers his hands to help John stand up, and John helps Salana find his footing in a new country.
Mutual care.
I fold the pastry diagonally, exactly like Alamnseh showed me. I am on my fourth or fifth sambusa and getting better. Confidently, I reach for the pot of meat and onion only to realize that my cone-shaped pastry has fallen apart. Alamnseh giggles and hands me another triangle of dough.
She lets me try again, and I let her teach me.
World Refugee Month June 2024
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When Timothy fled his country because of the government’s persecution against him, he came to Minnesota. A few months after arriving, he found himself in despair because of his circumstances. He was ready to give up on life.
God sees, hears, and cares about refugees. It’s a line often repeated in IAFR, rooted in the story of Hagar and Ishmael from Genesis Chapters 16 and 21. But God does something else in the story that cannot be overlooked. He speaks.
Hagar, lost in the wilderness, despaired for her son’s life. But God intervened and spoke words of hope.
“Very soon you will see something new…”
In his own time of despair, Timothy attended a conference at a friend’s church. In between sessions, he sought out the preacher and asked for prayer. The preacher said he believed God had a message for him:
“Now you find yourself in an uncomfortable situation, but it will not continue. Very soon you will see something new. And from there the situation in which you find yourself will improve.”
The Road of Recovery
Those words came in August. In October, he moved into Jonathan House.
Now two years later, he has moved into his own apartment. He has a work permit, a job, and a better sense of how to function in the culture. While living at Jonathan House, he took major strides on his road of recovery, but the journey isn’t over. A year after his asylum hearing, he still awaits a decision on his case. He longs to be reunited with his family.
For Timothy, the most valuable part of living at Jonathan House was the supportive community. “When I shared my challenges, you listened. You prayed with me.”
The Privilege of Playing Part in the Redemption Story
The same day he moved out (thereby making space available for one new person), we learned of nine other asylum seekers in Minnesota who desperately needed a stable place to live.
When the need feels overwhelming and our ability to meet it insufficient, we find comfort in knowing God is at work. He sees and hears. He is speaking words of hope to refugees. And in some cases, like with our friend Timothy, he allows us the privilege of playing a part in the redemption story he is writing.
A former Jonathan House resident and her son come to visit their old housemates (and to reassert her Scrabble dominance!)
“You often hear, ‘In America, you don’t even know your next-door neighbor.’ Jonathan House is not like that. All the people at the house give you a feeling of belonging to a group and a place.”
Safety, Comfort, and Belonging
IAFR Jonathan House offers safe, stable shelter and supportive community to people who are seeking asylum in the US. Security and shelter are necessary for human survival. Community is equally important in affirming and healing the humanity of those who have been persecuted, isolated, and forcibly-displaced.
A former resident recently shared how she experienced community during her time at Jonathan House – and why she has stayed connected to it.
“During my time at Jonathan House, the people and the environment gave me a sense of comfort and safety. You are in safe hands with and around your housemates and the IAFR staff.”
“You are in safe hands with and around your housemates and the IAFR staff,” a former Jonathan House resident says.
Togetherness Amidst Community Difference
“Jonathan House was a positive community because of the diversified personalities. It’s not just one person. You are not even united by the same ideology, language, or culture. Still, there is that sense of belonging together.”
“I have good memories of our togetherness, sharing, and laughter at the house,” the former resident stated. “You and your housemates laugh even for the things you don’t understand, when you’re trying to communicate with each other in different languages!”
“I have good memories of our togetherness, sharing, and laughter at the house.” New memories are being made, as this resident continues to actively contribute to Jonathan House, even beyond her own time there.
Hope and Wholeness in Community
This sister has moved on from Jonathan House into her own housing. She has secured stable employment to provide for herself and her son. Even so, she continues to participate in the Jonathan House community. She attends Community Events, visits former housemates, and has helped to welcome new residents.
“I got a positive impact of the community while I was there, a sense of belonging and safety,” she said. “Staying in touch with friends at Jonathan House is also a good reminder. It’s a memorial of how far I’ve come from when I arrived. I can remember where I was, say to myself, ‘Because of this place…’ and see the shift in perspective.”
How does she characterize the shift that life in community brought about? “A lot of people come to Jonathan House feeling shattered. Jonathan House will help pick up your pieces, to feel whole again.”
B.A. participates in online worship with her church during the pandemic.
When asked what she hopes for, B.A. says, “First, our hope is always God. Second, I hope God will help me to see my family before I die, so we can be in one place and live life together.”
A Foundation of Faith
Faith has been an integral part of B.A.’s life and family history. She attended church with her family from the time she was a little girl, then raised her own children in the Christian faith. “I believe that Jesus is the truth, the way, and the life,” she says. “My kids are now involved in church back in my home country, too; some are singing, and some are preaching.”
Several years ago, however, political strife violently disrupted B.A.’s life. Close family members spoke out for democracy and political change; as a result, they were murdered by the government. B.A. herself faced imprisonment and torture. “I ran out of that country to save my life, because they wanted to kill me, too,” she recalls.
B.A. sought asylum in the U.S. – a painful journey because she had to leave her children behind. Still, local churches have continued to provide crucial support and encouragement both to her, in the US, and to her children back in her home country. “God is with me and my children in any condition,” she says.
“People who knew my history helped to hide my kids when I fled,” she says. “More recently, when my daughter became sick, her church community helped send her to the hospital to get surgery.”
“I ran out of that country to save my life.” In the midst of forcible displacement and separation from her children, both B.A. and her family back home have found support and encouragement through their faith communities.
Faith and Hope in Community
When B.A. arrived in Minnesota, she also wanted to get connected to a local church, so she started looking for information on congregations from her ethnic group. She heard about a pastor in Minneapolis that came from the same region of her country and started to attend his church. She continues to be involved even after moving to Jonathan House in St. Paul.
A life-giving faith or worldview plays an important part in recovering from forced displacement, and faith communities often provide important spiritual and relational support to individuals who are seeking asylum. As B.A. states, “Thanks be to God, my faith has helped me everywhere to live in hope.”
Because of the important relationship between faith and hope, IAFR seeks to support Jonathan House residents, as they desire, in their spiritual growth and help connect them to their local religious communities.
“Jonathan House encourages me in my faith,” B.A. says. “You enter with me into my problems to pray with me. You got me connected to my church and talked with my pastor. This is what I appreciate.”
Sheltering Hope
The pandemic temporarily closed the doors of many places of worship, including B.A.’s congregation. Headaches resulting from injuries she suffered back home have also made it challenging for her to attend church in person. “The pastor calls me and prays with me. He invites me to attend when I can; he’s an excellent pastor.” IAFR staff helped B.A. access her church’s worship online so she can still participate in the community.
B.A. crochets a beautiful multicolored blanket during a quiet afternoon at IAFR Jonathan House.
As she waits to be reunited with her local church family in person, and eventually with her own family, B.A. expresses gratitude for the community at Jonathan House. “It is a very nice place for asylum seekers,” she says, “You accept people as family.” The safe, stable shelter of Jonathan House is one more way that local churches invest in the resilience and faith-filled hope of refugee neighbors.
“My life is because of God, by his protection and care through all the difficulties,” B.A. affirms. “God is the One who kept us safe; he is the One who did it. We know how we are weak and fallen, but God keeps us safe and saved us, so we praise him.”
“When God will open the door of his house, we will go and worship.”
Sarah Miller, founder of Jonathan House, tells the behind-the-scenes wonders of how Jonathan House went from thought to action. Miller calls the idea the ‘pie in the sky,’ a little out of reach, but attainable with faith and prayer.
By Tatiana Lee, Guest Author
Sarah Miller (third from left) with the IAFR Jonathan House team in 2018. L-R: Sherry Mohamed, SJ Holsteen, Miller, Josh and Jen Levin (with children), and Pastor Jean-Pierre Gatera.
Miller was talking about Jonathan House everywhere she went, praying and asking God to provide. “I had to identify the personnel that would be needed. I knew I needed a full-time staff and one part-time staff, or something like that. The Jonathan House proposal also included a goal of raising 45,000 dollars to set-up and operate Jonathan House for 18 months,” said Miller. “Resources are what I was faced with, and I was the only person. I just thought, ‘Great, God. Now what? It felt huge.”
So, first, how to meet the funding goal: $45,000?
A couple that financially supported IAFR heard of the project and donated the first $600. It was a start, Miller explained. A donation that made funding for Jonathan House come alive.
One particular Saturday in September 2016, Miller went to a writing workshop in St. Paul. During the lunch break, Jonathan House became a topic of discussion. Another woman attending the writing class perked up at the mention of asylum seekers. Her visible interest caught Miller’s eye. Miller and the woman, SJ Holsteen, decided to meet a week later.
Holsteen volunteered to help write the first fundraising campaign that November. The online giving campaign exceeded its goal of raising 10% of the launch funds and helped give momentum to the project. Holsteen and Miller collaborated on grant proposals that also helped provide initial funds.
December of 2016 brought a couple that were working with asylum seekers in Sicily for 3 months. Josh and Jen Levin, heard of the project, met with Miller and joined IAFR to start Jonathan House.
“I never even got to recruit anyone; God just brought them,” said Miller.
During the summer of 2017 Miller continued to receive calls from organizations with asylum-seeking clients in need of housing, asking if Jonathan House had launched yet. Then Miller went to the conference in Texas and received the ultimate starting sign from Ashley Freeman, the founder of another asylum seeker housing ministry, DASH Network. Freeman ended the conversation asking, “What are you waiting for?”
The Vision Realized
After coming back from Texas, Miller met with Holsteen and the Levins to plan out and launch the vision. The first goal on the timeline for Jonathan House was to have a signed lease for a two bedroom apartment by September 1, 2017. Miller began looking on Craigslist. 24-hours within searching for a place to call Jonathan House, Miller got a call from Jenna Daniels, the Pastor for Awaken Community Covenant Church, St. Paul.
Daniels had previously been involved with helping spread word of Jonathan House. She called Miller to tell her about an opening for a house apartment owned by another Covenant church. Miller set up a meeting with Anne Vining, Pastor of First Covenant Church. Vining explained that the church had actually been hoping to have the apartment rented by September 1. They fast tracked the meetings, partnerships and lease agreement. Miller had the key in hand for the two-bedroom apartment by September 9.
The same week, before the lease with First Covenant was even signed, an email came through the MN Asylum Network about a house up for lease through St Stephanus Lutheran Church in St. Paul’s Frogtown neighborhood. Miller began talking with the St Stephanus church council; it took a year of planning and raising additional funds, but Jonathan House opened the Frogtown site in early 2019. Both of these sites are in partnership with a local church, which is one of the highest values for Jonathan House.
“We didn’t even have to go looking for church partners; they came to us,” said Miller.
A Jonathan House resident rests in the sunshine on the front steps of the house. Seventeen asylum-seeking men, women, and children have found safe, stable shelter at Jonathan House since its launch in 2017, as they recover from forced displacement and rebuild their lives in the Twin Cities..
The metaphor Miller used to explain the concept of Jonathan House was the “pie in the sky.” It all seemed like such a far reach. But the whole project was God bringing the personnel, the locations and the resources. All of it.
“For a good year there, my theme was God being all about pie in the sky,” said Miller.
Jonathan House is the first supportive housing program in Minnesota designed specifically for and uniquely serving asylum seekers. In the three years of its operation, it has provided shelter to 17 men, women and children going through the asylum process. Seven individuals have moved on from Jonathan House into stable employment and housing.
Miller ended the interview sharing that through the entire process, “We are not the saviors. We have to trust in God.”
He is the great savior and just as Miller said before, the pie in the sky.
Sarah Miller, founder of Jonathan House, tells the behind-the-scenes wonders of how Jonathan House went from thought to action. Miller calls the idea the ‘pie in the sky,’ a little out of reach, but attainable with faith and prayer.
by Tatiana Lee, Guest Author
A resident walks toward Jonathan House (2019). Sarah Miller, IAFR US Regional Leader, was dismayed when she discovered the isolation and lack of support that asylum seekers often face when they come to the US. She prayerfully researched the best way to respond.
In 2013, Miller decided to research more about asylum seekers in the US context. She wanted to compare her experiences working with asylum seekers in Germany to what happened to asylum seekers in her own country.
She was confounded by what she discovered.
In Germany, the government provided housing, food, essential medical care, and education for asylum seekers. They were not allowed to work, but the German government made sure they were provided for while their cases were being decided. The situation for asylum seekers in the US was a very different story. The federal government did not provide food, shelter or education. The asylum seekers were not allowed to work for a minimum of their first six months in the US; this wait period before qualifying for legal work authorization has recently changed to 365 days. The more shocking part was the US government often held asylum seekers in detention centers, even though they had committed zero criminal acts.
The detained asylum seekers had done one thing: crossed the border in search of asylum, a legally-recognized right by both international and US law.
Around this time, Tom Albinson, Miller’s boss at International Teams, left and started a new missions organization called International Association for Refugees (IAFR). While she stepped into a different role as International Teams’ U.S. Area Director, ultimately Miller decided to join Albinson’s small but growing team at IAFR so she could address the large gap she noticed in the US government’s response to asylum seekers.
Miller’s first assignment was to research the situation. She looked into a lot of ideas and concepts nationally, trying to figure out who was doing what with asylum seekers. Miller had an intern from Bethel University help her investigate what was happening locally, as well. They met with anyone and everyone in the Twin Cities engaged with asylum seekers in some way, shape or form. Through this process, Miller came into contact with Center for Victims of Torture (CVT), The Advocates for Human Rights, Sarah’s…an Oasis for Women, The Basilica of St. Mary and a couple other church groups.
Through this local research, Miller saw two concerns. First, the various groups and organizations were not well connected with each other. While talking to one group, they would tell Miller to talk to another group about a matter that came up. It raised a question, “What would happen if at minimum we each knew of each other and what we had to offer asylum seekers? How could that benefit asylum seekers here in the Twin Cities?”
The Minnesota Asylum Network, co-organized by IAFR and The Advocates for Human Rights, brings together organizations and individuals across the Twin Cities metro area for a quarterly “sack lunch” to collaborate in support of asylum seekers (2019).
The answer resulted in the establishment of the Minnesota Asylum Network. In 2016, Miller and an intern from Advocates for Human Rights started to gather the Minnesota Asylum Network for quarterly “sack lunch” events to discuss or learn challenges specific to asylum seekers.
Through these meetings and research, the second concern Miller became aware of was the gap in housing for asylum seekers. There are around 3,000 refugees seeking asylum in MN and only 50 beds in the Twin Cities shelters available specifically for asylum seekers.
Miller started praying, asking God about the housing issue, and asked her boss about what a solution would look like. Albinson told her to write a project proposal.
Miller wrote up a proposal for a supportive housing program that would guide asylum seekers into a safe space of shelter, practical help, and community in Minneapolis-St. Paul. A space granting asylum seekers a chance to survive and recover from the trauma of forced displacement.
But what to call it?
Miller thought of a story Albinson, IAFR’s founder, told her once. Albinson was at a refugee camp when a man came to him and asked if he could open a door for the man to get into the US. Albinson could not, but asked to pray with the man at the camp. Albinson was grateful for the opportunity of prayer he had with the man at the camp because it encouraged the man.
Josh Levin, IAFR staff person, listens to a Jonathan House resident with help from an interpreter (2019). The name “Jonathan House” reflects the desire that it be a place of compassionate community, where individuals recovering from the trauma of forced displacement experience that they are seen, heard, and cared for by God.
Albinson compared that to the story of David and Jonathan, when David was on the run for his life and was hiding in caves. Jonathan could not change the circumstances of David’s life, but he did go to him and was present with him in helping find strength through God.
Miller decided to call the project Jonathan House.
Miller submitted the proposal; the IAFR board approved. Miller was excited, but also asked herself: what was next?
Sarah Miller, founder of Jonathan House, tells the behind-the-scenes wonders of how Jonathan House went from thought to action. Miller calls the idea the ‘pie in the sky,’ a little out of reach, but attainable with faith and prayer.
by Tatiana Lee, Guest Author
Sarah Miller, IAFR US Regional Leader and the founder of Jonathan House, stands in front of the first Jonathan House site in September 2017
Sarah Miller sat on a plane the last week of July 2017, heading from Minneapolis, MN to Texas for a work conference. She kept praying, asking God if it was time to look for a house.
Not a house for herself. Miller and her team had raised $20,000 of their $45,000 goal to open Jonathan House, the first Twin Cities metro-area housing program designed specifically for asylum seekers. The team was continuously receiving inquiries about vacancies from social workers, immigration lawyers, or asylum seekers themselves. There was only one problem: the house didn’t exist yet.
During her time in Texas, Miller met up with Ashley Freeman, the founder of the Dallas Asylum Seeker Housing (DASH) Network, to discuss the project and funds for Jonathan House. DASH’s founder asked Miller how much money they had received toward the project launch.
“$20,000,” responded Miller.
Freeman was shocked. “We only had $1,000 to get started! What are you waiting for?”
Miller came home to Minnesota after the conference. A day later, she learned of an additional unexpected $10,000 donation toward Jonathan House. This donation was the green light that let Miller know: it was time.
The Call
Sarah Miller, born in Jamesport, Missouri, grew up constantly moving. After her freshman year in high school she moved from Michigan to Indiana, then two more moves within Indiana during her high school years. The constant moving during high school became a challenge; every year, a new school, new friends. In the midst of this overlapping pace of change, Miller kept another constant close to her heart: her faith in God. She grew up going to church with her parents, took part in youth group and heard constant talk of mission work.
“Church was really pivotal in my faith,” said Miller, who accepted Christ into her heart at age 16.
Sarah Miller (in the pink dress) as a seven-year-old with her family at Christmas.
Her first mission trip was to Haiti when she was 18. The vibrant faith she saw in the Haitian believers stood out to Miller. The believers had few possessions but held so much joy. It impacted Miller to see that ‘stuff’ does not make faith.
In her mid-20’s, Miller went to Germany with a team of 17 people. After Miller came back from Germany, she was wide open to the idea of missions. A group of her friends were discussing a mission trip to Austria they were about to go on with an organization called International Teams. Someone mentioned their group would be working with refugees. Miller had never heard about the issue of forced displacement in the world. When her friends described the plight of refugees, a heaviness weighed in her heart.
“No audible voice,” said Miller. “Just this heaviness that came over my spirit about refugees.”
Definitions of Forced Migration
Forced migration
A broad term used to describe those who have fled their homes unwillingly due to conflict, persecution, or human rights violations. Those categorized in this term include internally displaced people, asylum seekers and refugees, all of whom have been forced to migrate.
Refugee resettlement
The selection by the United Nation High Commission on Refugees (UNHCR) of the most vulnerable refugees who cannot live safely in their birth country nor in neighboring countries for relocation from a refugee camp to permanently resettle in a third safe country.
Resettled refugee
A refugee who is transferred from the country they sought protection in to a third state that has agreed to give them permanent residence status. This process is overseen by the United Nations High Commission on Refugees (UNHCR), in collaboration with the countries where the refugees are resettled.
Asylum seeker
An individual who is seeking permanent refuge in a foreign country, but whose claim for asylum has not yet been evaluated. If the individual’s asylum case is approved, they will receive a refugee status.
Based on: “A Terminology of Forced Displacement” by International Association For Refugees. To learn more, view the Terms of Displacement resource in the IAFR Toolbox.
At this time, it was the late 1980s. Miller had made a three-year commitment to serve as the VBS director at Community Gospel Church in Bremen, Indiana. But during her time at the church, the heaviness in her heart never left her. Finally, in the 1990s, Miller applied to International Teams and within a year found herself in Germany working with asylum seekers.
When an individual flees the danger of war or persecution in her country, she may seek haven and permanent residency in a foreign country; this person is known as an asylum seeker. The asylum seeker lives in the country where she is looking for refuge while she goes through the legal process to receive refugee status.
Miller was in Germany for nine years and met asylum-seeking refugees from all over the world. “Depending on what was happening in the world, then you would see a wave of people from those countries,” said Miller.
Sarah Miller (on the left) with Maria and Petra, asylum seekers from Croatia, during her time as a missionary in Germany.
Finally, it came to a point where it seemed that God was closing the door on Miller’s time overseas. In April of 2001, she came back to the United States, waiting to see what God had next. Eventually, she moved to Minnesota to work with the International Teams’ Refugee Ministry Director.
In Minnesota she connected with resettled refugees through ESL and literacy training. In the early 2000s more individuals joined International Teams, and they partnered with Arrive Ministries in helping resettle Bhutanese refugees.
According to the United Nations, resettlement is the transfer of the most vulnerable refugees from a hosting country to another State, upon agreement, for permanent resettlement. Compared to asylum seekers, the resettled refugee has been given a stronghold, because when they arrive in the country of permanent resettlement, like the United States, they have the assurance of security.
But what about the asylum seeker that has not yet been granted refuge,Miller wondered. What was their journey like when they came to the United States?She decided to investigate.
A.A. learned to clean the house at the age of five. At age six, her mother taught her to cook bidena (a type of bread) and sauce. “In our country a girl gets married at an early age,” she explains, “so we learn housekeeping as children.”
“I wouldn’t go out and play. I preferred to be in the house cooking.” A.A. smiles at the memory. “My mother and neighbors blessed me when they saw that I worked like that.”
A.A. remembers with particular fondness cooking a special meal for Eid, the day after Arafah, a Muslim celebration to commemorate the Hajj. “It was like a test,” she says, “You had to cook bidena, chicken, sauce, and kineto.” She worked beside her mother to produce a feast that sustained more than her family. “Our neighbors were invited,” she shares, “and the poor would be fed.”
As A.A.’s story reflects, food is more than a basic human need; it expresses culture, community, history, and personality. For someone who is seeking asylum, having consistent access to nutritious and culturally-appropriate food is an important step in recovering both physical and mental health in the midst of forced displacement.
However, many asylum seekers in the US find themselves in a situation where basic survival, including food security, is at risk. Without access to government assistance and barred from legal employment for an extended period of time, asylum-seeking individuals must rely on others to meet their basic needs. This can result in inadequate or inconsistent access to nutritious food, culturally-inappropriate food, or disempowering dynamics between the individual and those she must rely on for assistance. This was the case for A.A.:
“Before I came to Jonathan House, I was living with another family from my ethnic community. They gave me food, but it wasn’t always well prepared, and they would give me a begrudging look when they gave it to me. My social worker offered me food from their center’s pantry, but when I took it home, my hosts told me, ‘We don’t need outside food’ and put it in the trash. After that, I would keep food in my purse and eat it at night after other people had gone to bed.”
The dependency and isolation of her situation became a psychological burden to A.A. “They would tell me, ‘You need to leave our house,’ and I would just cry, because I didn’t have anywhere to go. What life was like before I came to Jonathan House, I felt like it wasn’t much different than what I suffered in my home country. It even got to the point where I wanted to put myself in front of a car.”
Thankfully, A.A. shared her struggles with a friend, and he counseled her to stay hopeful. Soon after, her social worker told her about a new house opening for asylum-seeking women. “She told me, ‘Wait, because maybe they will have a place for you.’” A.A. became the first resident at Jonathan House’s site for women and children after its launch in March 2019.
The day after her arrival, church partners helped welcome her with groceries and a special griddle for cooking bidena, the bread her mother taught her to make as a child. “I cooked and enjoyed my meal in freedom,” she says.
Monthly food assistance provided through the generosity of partners like you now allows A.A. to purchase her own food at a neighborhood ethnic market owned by her friend. “I’m able to go to the store and buy everything that I need. At Jonathan House, I’m able to live, eat, sleep, and go in and out in peace.” A.A. has also put a lot of care into tending a small garden at Jonathan House, where she’s planted peppers and tea plants she knows from her home country.
When asked what she desires for the future, A.A. expresses a hope to be granted asylum and work authorization soon. “Being reunited with my kids must also be part of my journey,” she adds firmly. ”I eat good food now, I sleep good sleep, but my kids are scattered all over the place.” Her children, still in a place of active conflict, face their own serious problems of food insecurity.
As she waits for this longed-for reunification with her children, she continues to bless, love, and welcome others at Jonathan House with her gardening, her cooking, and her friendship. “I don’t have any relatives nearby except God and Jonathan House,” A.A. says, “I am a woman who didn’t have a home or relatives. You made that woman settled, made her safe.”
Thank you for helping our asylum-seeking neighbors access healthy, culturally-appropriate food as they recover from forced displacement. Your support of Jonathan House residents has a life-changing impact.
** All details and photos used with the individual’s permission.
“You are here, but you can’t go out. You can’t work or interact with others. You’re stuck and you don’t know how long it will stay that way.”
For many of us, this describes life under the recent government’s guidelines for preventing COVID-19. But in fact, this is how a resident of IAFR Jonathan House describes life as an asylum seeker.
“COVID-19 didn’t change anything for me,” he says. “If someone asks what the asylum process is like, I could say, do you remember the inconvenience of COVID-19? Well, that is 15% of what it’s like to be an asylum seeker.”
“For Americans, this is totally new. I can imagine there are challenges you face and possible impacts on mental health with the loss of routine and restricted movement. I feel like with COVID-19, I have an advantage. Considering what I’ve gone through already, this doesn’t take that much from me. I am resilient.”
We’re grateful for this asylum-seeking brother’s willingness to share his story, the lessons of resilience he’s learned, and his encouragement for us as we lean into the recent realities of a global pandemic, economic instability, the murder of George Floyd, and political unrest. Here is what he has to say:
Life Interrupted
Back home, I was the helper of vulnerable people. After graduating from university, I was a manager working with NGOs. I put in a lot of effort to be comfortable. I had my own plans for my life.
But then something happened that changed the whole direction. I had to leave my country. I had been a helper of vulnerable people; I never thought that that would be me.
When I first came to the US, I found myself thinking, “It’s unfair: I’ve been made helpless. I’m not able to afford food or accommodation.” It took a year and a half before I was even permitted to work.
Someone might say, “That’s the law; at least you’re safe.” But it’s still not okay. When you’re able to develop a routine and do something normal, you don’t think so much about what happened to you. It reduces the burden a little. But when you come to the US as an asylum seeker, there are immediately lots of barriers that stop you from being able to go back to normal or from making social connections.
Perhaps I don’t worry so much about safety now, but how can I be stress-free? Without routine, without community, you are mentally stuck and tied up, just thinking about the trauma and how you’re not sure whether your family is safe.
You can start to lose hope and to challenge the very basic things you live for …
You saw the people who were protesting because they were tired of the restrictions because of COVID-19. But as an asylum seeker, how do you protest that you’re so tired?
~ Jonathan House resident
The Road to Resilience
Being an asylum seeker has helped me build some skills of resilience, though. I’m grateful to IAFR and The Advocates for Human Rights for their support. Over the past several months, I’ve had resources that have helped me improve my mental health.
Someone gave me the book The Body Keeps The Score, which has helped me understand trauma, and that people can have many types of traumatizing experiences, like bullying or facing rejections, that they are able to heal from. I’ve learned the importance of routine, of doing activities for yourself that just help you feel normal and grounded, like sharing a meal or biking, being active.
I appreciate the community I have at Jonathan House, too. My roommates are also seeking asylum, so we can relate to each other in the difficulties. It gives me encouragement to be able to talk with people who understand.
Through the availability of community and building up a routine, I’ve learned resilience over time. I feel much stronger now. My perspective on my experience has started shifting. Yes, it was bad; it could have been worse. I’m still alive. I’m learning the stories of many people who have overcome trauma, and I know I’m not alone.
An Asylum Seeker’s Perspective on the Pandemic
America is a country where life never stops. COVID-19 came abruptly, and no one could predict the impact it would have on the world. Especially here in the US, nothing like this has happened in living memory. Then, the events surrounding the killing of George Floyd were also a new, uncertain experience for many people.
But for me, I could relate it to things I experienced in my home country. Where I come from, there are cycles of post-election violence, where even if you’re my neighbor and we grew up together, politicians will pit you against each other based on ethnicity, and then you’re no longer my friend.
With protests there, the police will just kill people. So, when these ethnic clashes happen, life stops. People are afraid to go outside. You see people stocking up, like at the beginning of the pandemic. Once, when I was starting university, it lasted for three months. People were running out of food. It was such a terrible time.
So, the restrictions of COVID-19 reminded me of these times at home. And because I’m an asylum seeker, being stuck felt familiar. But I imagine for many Americans, the loss of routine and community is a new and uncomfortable challenge.
The greatest impact that COVID-19 has for me as an asylum seeker is that it means more waiting in terms of my asylum case. This is difficult because the time spent waiting to rebuild your life is already so long, and makes you feel like you have no value.
I know that Americans can relate to how difficult this is. You saw the people who were protesting because they were tired of the restrictions because of COVID-19. But as an asylum seeker, how do you protest that you’re so tired? Here in the US, we have no political voice.
An Asylum Seeker’s Encouragement for Uncertain Times
Because of the pandemic and other events, there are people who have a lot of uncertainty right now. Some have lost jobs, some are separated from their loved ones, some are struggling emotionally. My encouragement for these people is: the challenge might look beyond you, you might think you won’t come through. Your emotions may even get so much that it feels like you’re better off dead than alive. I can assure you: you will definitely come through. The situation of COVID-19 is not permanent. Keep hopeful.
Faith and hope is what gives you strength. For myself, I hope God gives me the opportunity to see my daughter again someday.
I could sit and feel sorry for myself, but instead, I try to look at the next person and consider what they’re going through. For example, I think of George Floyd’s family, I think of his young daughter who just lost her father. How do you think that little girl feels?
Every human being has their own journey. My experiences are a blessing in disguise. It has made me empathetic toward other people.
Resilience doesn’t mean a perfect state; I still slip back, I still ask lots of questions. Stuff is going to happen in life that deeply affects you, but that cycle is necessary for resilience.
When I first arrived in Minnesota, it was in the middle of January, in the deep winter. I was in shock! Now, I’ve come to appreciate the seasons, and see in them an important symbolism. The winter is going to end. No matter how hard life is, you know the winter will end. And even when you are deep in January – the sun is still going to rise.”
* * *
This asylum-seeking resident recently received his work permit, and is currently working toward a certification as a nursing assistant. He’s excited to come alongside and affirm the stories and journeys of the patients he will serve in health care settings.
Photo: Jonah Broberg, senior writing major at University of Northwestern, St. Paul, served as a web content intern with IAFR Jonathan House this semester.
My name is Jonah Broberg, and I’m a senior at the University of Northwestern, St. Paul. Part of my professional writing major includes working for an organization of my choice on their communications: writing and creating content for them and helping them find their voice. For the past semester, I had the opportunity to serve as IAFR Jonathan House’s communications and social media intern.
Every week, SJ Holsteen, the IAFR Minneapolis-St. Paul Ministry Leader, and I went through The God Who Sees by Karen Gonzalez and talked through the discussion questions. It was a spiritually enriching experience that shaped my views on asylum policy both as a citizen and a Christian. It helped me see myself and all of us as citizens of the world instead of just citizens of the United States. I now understand more what the role of Christians should be in this world, as our loyalty lies not primarily to our country, but primarily to God.
One of the highlights of this internship was meeting one of the residents at a training day. I was fascinated to learn that he spoke five languages. As a student of linguistics, I have to say I was a bit jealous!
Though I could not understand French, I was able to hear his story translated into English, and I was shocked to hear that upon arriving in America, he was detained arbitrarily for five months (read more about A.S.’s story here). Through hearing his story and seeing the way that Jonathan House’s staff welcomed him in, helping him with his asylum case and English-learning, I could tell that they were fulfilling God’s role for Christians in modern America.
During my time at IAFR Jonathan House, I’ve learned more about its mission to extend shelter, hope, and healing to asylum seekers in Minneapolis/St. Paul. This has informed my own views on an increasingly complex crisis. As a Christian, this semester has been a period of strengthening for my faith and figuring out how to integrate it into my daily life and actions. I now have a renewed perspective for what it means to follow God’s commands in our political climate. I will aspire to write with the same compassion and care that I’ve seen exemplified by the staff of Jonathan House.
As I close my internship, I’d like to share a verse that especially stuck out to me throughout my internship:
James 1:27 says, “Religion that God our father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.”
I understand the need better now—the need to extend a welcoming hand to asylum seekers in the US, the need for a better system that doesn’t wait so long to grant people work permits and the need for a system that doesn’t detain people arbitrarily when they come over.
When the world falls into crisis, we have a choice. We can let ourselves be overwhelmed and crushed by the world’s chaos and panic, or we can remember Christ and know that, whatever may happen, He’s in control. We can remember God’s command to love one another, helping those in need.
