Border Pilgrimage

An internet search for the word 'immigration' generates an endless selection of the latest government statistics, reports, fiery op-eds, and newscasts. For many, immigration becomes a vastly diluted, impersonal issue or another political talking point. Over-saturated with information, it’s important to ask: How do we cut through the noise and understand what’s really happening?

I have an answer: Listen to the stories of immigrants.

Behind the cold numbers and faceless headlines are individuals, families, and children, each with a unique story often marked by hope and heartache. Over the past few months, I have had the rare privilege of engaging directly with these narratives, particularly along the San Diego-Tijuana border.

In early February 2025, I participated in a 'Border Pilgrimage' with my college, Point Loma Nazarene University. Each semester, a small group of professors, faculty, and students are invited to learn from the local church’s response to immigration in the borderlands. Our journey’s mission was simple: listen to the stories of people on both sides of the border wall.

My team’s pilgrimage began at a local church’s migrant shelter in San Diego. Greeted by the shelter’s lead pastor and Styrofoam cups of sweet coffee, the team was divided into small groups to hear the stories of three migrants living at the shelter.

I met Jenn, a 28-year-old mother who fled her home in Venezuela with her three young children. When her husband was caught protesting corruption in the Venezuelan government, Jenn was given an impossible choice: leave or risk the death of herself and her family. It was a choice no mother should ever have to make, but for Jenn, the answer was clear: survival came first.

So, Jenn and her children, one of them a mere one-year-old, began the almost year-long journey of walking and paying for transportation. When they finally arrived in Tijuana a month prior, Jenn crossed the border seeking asylum.

As she spoke, Jenn’s voice trembled with fear about a recent executive order that put her asylum status and safety in jeopardy. A young boy toddled toward her babbling, “Mama! Mamaaaa!!” Jenn scooped him up and held him close, thanking us for listening to her story.*

*Note: Since my visit in January, this migrant shelter in San Diego has closed. While I’m unsure of Jenn’s particular situation, it has been made known that the migrants in the shelter and surrounding neighborhood were forcibly moved.

Heavy with Jenn’s story, I continued on in my pilgrimage. As I crossed the border, I could not help but feel the weight of the U.S. passport in my hands. This small booklet of paper and plastic, something so simple, represents the difference between life and death for so many.

After visiting churches on both sides of the border and learning about their compassionate work, the team arrived at Casa Migrante, a migrant shelter in Tijuana. Housing over 50 individuals and families, Casa Migrante serves as a safe haven for many who made it to Tijuana and are denied entry into the U.S. There was no set itinerary for our time there; our only task was to talk to the people.

As we shared a communally prepared meal of beans, rice, and chicken, several migrant adults opened up about their journeys, sharing fragments of their stories.

Later, a couple teammates and I noticed a jump rope lying in the central courtyard. As we began chanting the Spanish ABCs, the rhythmic click-clack of the plastic rope on the damp pavement echoed around us. Slowly at first, then more confidently, children began to emerge from their rooms. Before long, we had a small crowd of kids giggling and cheering for their particularly talented jump-rope champions. Each click-clack and giggle seemed to carry with it a certain hope– unexpected joy in a place marked by uncertainty.

Jump rope evolved into a cramped game of soccer, and then into coloring and crafts. I met a nine-year-old girl, Isabella, who told me about her favorite colors and movies. We laughed and swapped pipe-cleaner rings.

These are the faces of immigration.

Immigration is not a faceless or abstract issue. Immigration is the tears of Jenn, the giggles of Isabella, the dignity of families who have lost everything but still hope.

While visiting the border is a unique privilege, understanding is available to anyone. Proximity and direct experience aside, understanding requires the simple humility to listen, to seek out the stories that often go unheard, and to recognize the humanity behind the headlines.

So, the next time you hear a soundbite or read an article about immigration, ask yourself: Whose story is missing from this narrative? After all, if there is anything I have learned from my experience at the border, it’s that change doesn’t begin with a new policy. It begins with empathy.

*Names changed for the safety of individuals.

Resources to get started:

Everyone Who Is Gone Is Here: Jonathan Blitzer

Soldiers and Kings: Jason De León

The Undocumented Americans: Karla Cornejo Villavicenci

Trials and Terror: Miguel de la Torre

https://immigrationimpact.com/

Born and raised in Glendora, Grace Gaines is currently a sophomore at Point Loma Nazarene University. She is majoring in International Studies, with a focus on migrant care, cross-cultural communication, and diplomacy.