Working in the refugee and immigrant space in 2025 was not for the faint of heart. The year began with a halt on the refugee resettlement program, leaving families around the world stranded and unsure if they would see loved ones again. But jolting executive orders at the onset of 2025 quickly became small potatoes as our refugee and immigrant walk-in center had to navigate ICE policies, travel bans, dehumanization of entire immigrant communities that we know and love, a pause on green card adjudications, and cuts to SNAP- leaving thousands of our already vulnerable families, more vulnerable to food insecurity.
We have been through hell and high waters and in the words of Dr. King, we’ve stumbled around at times in what feels like a “starless midnight.”
But you would think the collective trauma in our building, either from fleeing war or standing tall in the face of the proud and the powerful in Washington would crush us. You would think we wouldn’t have the strength to show up to another year, let alone step into another day. But as I walked around the building at the end of 2025, surprisingly, all I could see was joy.
I saw our adult English students playing musical chairs in our cafe-deep belly laughs erupting from the Egyptian man in the corner and congratulatory high-fives shared between a Congolese and Afghan woman. The Somalis and the Eritreans were giggling like little kids as they took selfies next to our volunteer Santa and our Moroccan manager was passing out steaming cups of tea. As I made my way to our childcare center, children five and under were in a circle clapping. They were taking turns singing in English, Dari, Arabic and Albanian. I joined them, and couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear. Did they even know what was going on outside our four walls?
All I could see was joy.
And while ICE agents circle our cities, the echo chambers of social media become deafening, and the grip of racism gives us reason to lament for our immigrant friends, I am reminded of the Psalmist in his own moment of crisis singing, “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning." (Psalm 30:5)
You see, joy is this powerful gift from God in the face of pain and suffering. Joy doesn’t negate suffering or elude suffering but it is given to us as a source of strength smack dab in the middle of suffering to remind us that the crushing weight of injustice is not the end of the story. Morning comes and joy will be our strength.
As we navigate what feels like a long dark night in the immigration world, I look to Dr. King who also had to navigate a long dark night. In his acceptance speech for the Nobel Peace Prize in Oslo on December 10, 1964 he said, “I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality.”
Dr. King had a vision through the night, rooted in His faith in God. He refused to believe that God’s good gifts were a mere concept. Just like the Psalmist, he audaciously pointed people to the dawn emerging in the midst of the lonely, sleepless nights.
As I peer into 2026, I am aware that we are in the midst of a long and disorienting night. Our road is full of potholes and unknown twists and turns. Our immigrant neighbors, of various statuses are hurting and injustice is rearing its ugly head. But the gift of joy has been handed over to those who feel powerless by the most powerful High God. Within the walls of an immigrant and refugee center, we’ve been given a joy that makes no sense.
And the joy of the three year olds clapping and singing languages from around the world, or the rumbling laughter from my Egyptian friend will be our strength in the days ahead, as we look for dawn to break.