Born On Which Side?

Thursday afternoon, we dropped Lucas and Ezra off with my in-laws and headed north.

Five hours of winding, pothole-scarred roads through the Chihuahua desert later, we arrived in Juarez.

I don’t mean to disrespect anyone who calls it home, but I think Juarez is one of the worst places I’ve ever been - a swirl of smog, concrete, noise, and tension permeating everything, even the air.

I’d spent four months preparing for this day. Assembling every document I could think of, double and triple-checking the requirements online, and multiple conversations with Jake and Ahavah, who’d learned the process the hard way.

When their fifth child was born here earlier this year, what should’ve been a routine passport appointment didn’t go as planned. Without any good reason except that their situation seemed too unusual, the consular agent they got suspected they were trying to smuggle a baby that wasn’t theirs out of the country, and so ensued a three-week headache of DNA testing, multiple trips to Juarez for interviews, and even an afternoon spent in jail. Yes, you read that right. Only after our US congressman back in Texas intervened did the embassy let up and finally grant them the passport.

So I wasn’t going to take any chances.

Friday morning, seven o’clock, we left our phones and luggage at the hotel lobby and walked down the street toward the U.S. Consulate General. Jake had explained to me every step of the process in wonderful detail, but I was still unprepared for what I saw.

Thousands of people spilled around the corners of the city block.

Young and old. Parents holding babies, little kids clinging to their legs or holding their hands. Some in wheelchairs, others leaning on walkers. Still plenty of others perfectly healthy and strong. Everyone clutched a worn folder bursting with documents.

Each face carried the same quiet expression: hope mixed with uncertainty.

Because we already had an appointment with the American Citizen Services, we were instructed to cut to the front of the main line. It felt strange threading our way through the crowd, so many reverent eyes following us. Out of thousands of people, we were the only Caucasians I saw. Helen pushed the stroller with our not-even 2-week-old Benjamin sleeping peacefully inside under a thick wrap of blankets, totally oblivious to the world around him.

The crowds, the language barrier, and the chaos of a third-world country private security force made getting inside a bit of a project. But we made it.

An hour or so later, we walked back through the maze of buildings and security, layer by layer. There were smiles on our faces, and a heavy weight had lifted from my shoulders. Benjamin was a confirmed U.S. citizen, his passport on the way.

The officers we met were courteous, efficient, and kind. Perhaps our friends’ bad fortune had smoothed the road for families like us. Their hard-earned advice had certainly made a huge difference.

Outside, the morning was heating up. We picked our way back through the same sea of waiting faces toward our hotel. There were even more of them.

I had a lot to think about on the drive home.

Turns out most of those people had been waiting years just for an interview. Some have family already in the States, others hoped to be the first in their family to make it. They’re doing it the right way, the slow way, and most will be told no - for a paperwork error, missing document, or an officer having a bad day. Some will come back and try again anyway, and some won’t have the means to. They’ll return to their corner of Mexico - or stay in Juarez.

I was born on the other side of that line. So was Helen. As best I know, Benjamin is the first in any branch of our family for generations to be born outside the United States. His passport only took an hour and a half, and a stroller ride through that sea of longing faces.

But it was enough to renew my gratitude for the imperfect but rare gift of freedom and opportunity I inherited simply by which side of the line I was born on.

Thank you for your prayers. And thank you God for the good favor we’ve received.