The Path to Peace: Jerome's Story

August 26, 2020

Article by Jerome Bizimana, World Relief Staff Member

Our feature this month is the firsthand account of life as a refugee from World Relief staff member, Jerome Bizimana. Read about his struggle to escape hate and violence in what felt at times like a hopeless quest for peace.

It was 1996 and the war had just broken out. The Democratic Republic of the Congo had always been my home, but it was a brutal, bloody war, and it was too dangerous to stay in the country, so my family and I fled. For the next nineteen years we lived in one Tanzanian refugee camp after another. When one camp closed, we packed up and moved to another. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a life away from the war.

One night in 2012, I was attacked by criminals at my home. Luckily, nearby police officers were able to save me from harm, but my assailants escaped. Before fleeing, they told me that they would kill me. They told me that they had to “terminate my life,” but never gave a reason why. My heart was broken, and from that day forward, I lived in constant fear. I couldn’t sleep, and many nights I would go to bed wondering if I would wake safely in the morning.

My eyes are wet with tears as I write this. I do not usually talk about my past. I prefer to forget the thirty-one years of my life that I lived hopelessly, but I hope that sharing my story will help others by bringing awareness to the need for refugee resettlement support.

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Sharing the Love: Brenda's Story

July 30, 2020

Article by Emily Miller, World Relief Staff Member

Our feature this month is a story of perpetual giving. Read how a young woman has overcome obstacles during the pandemic and is now mobilizing support for others in need.

Brenda’s heart sank when she logged on to her bank’s mobile app. She had been working at a laundromat, diligently saving extra pennies, when the unthinkable happened: the COVID-19 pandemic swept into Illinois. Her work hours were cut in half, several of her friends contracted the virus, and Brenda’s comfortable housing arrangement suddenly became unstable after three of her housemates decided to move away.

I have been Brenda’s case manager since October 2019, starting after she was granted asylum in the United States. After her arrival and prior to the pandemic, twenty-year-old Brenda had made great strides toward stability while settling into life in the Chicago area. She had established care with clinicians, started working, and had connected with a local church.

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On the Front Lines

May 27, 2020

Article by Robert Carroll

In this month's feature, read how twin sisters from Iran went from religious refugees who couldn't speak English to important front line workers in the fight against COVID-19. Click here for COVID-19 resources in over 20 languages, or click here to learn what items you can donate to help families in need during this time.

Sona Barichi can’t hug her young son when she gets home from work even though he cries for her and doesn’t understand. She has to take a shower first. She keeps her clothes and shoes in the garage until they’ve aired out for at least twenty-four hours, and then she washes them separately from her family’s laundry to prevent contamination. After she is convinced that she no longer carries any germs from her long shift at work, she can finally greet her family. She can finally hug her son.

Sona must take these precautions because she is a respiratory therapist at Delnor Hospital in Geneva who continues to work every day with COVID-19 patients. Her twin sister, Hana, works as a phlebotomist for Elmhurst Hospital, and she, too, is taking care of COVID-19 patients daily. Both sisters, they tell me, are doing their absolute best to help every single person that comes in through their hospital’s door, regardless of race, religion, or country of origin. As religious refugees from Iran, they know all too well what it feels like to be shoved aside, to be forgotten, to be refused. They also know what it feels like to be in danger.

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From Myanmar to DuPage: A Valentine’s Day Love Story

February 26, 2020

Article by Amy Ullo, Communications Manager for workNet DuPage

For this month's feature, we welcome guest writer, Amy Ullo, Communications Manager for workNet DuPageLocated in Lisle, IL, the workNet DuPage Career Center is home to several organizations working in partnership to provide employment services for employers and job seekers in DuPage County. workNet DuPage is a valued partner of World Relief.

February 14 has a special meaning for a refugee family in DuPage County.

Valentine’s Day signifies more than the wedding anniversary of Lian Mung and Sian Nu, a young couple from Myanmar (also known as Burma): it’s the date they arrived in the United States seeking safety from violence and persecution.

For the past half century, ethnic and religious conflicts have forced hundreds of thousands of Myanmarese to uproot their lives trying to escape devastating human rights abuses.

Lian, a Christian worship leader, fled his homeland in Tedim, Chin State, a mountainous northwestern tribal area of Myanmar. In 2008, he made the treacherous journey to Malaysia by way of Thailand smuggled in a van during the day and on foot at night in the jungle. At only 24 years of age, Lian left behind his wife, his mother, two younger sisters, and the only life he had ever known. 

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Starting from Zero: Mohammad's Story​


December 21, 2019

Article by Robert Carroll

In this month's feature, read how a high school senior from Syria rose to the top of his graduating class just three years after arriving in the United States as a refugee with no English and only a few years of standardized schooling. This young man and his four siblings were enrolled in school and joined an after-school homework club that further ignited his intense passion for learning and helping others. Read on to learn more about the impact you make possible when you partner with World Relief.

Mohammad Marie looks and acts like a typical high school senior—one that has spent his entire life living and learning in the United States. When I meet him, he’s wearing a hoodie, blue jeans, and tennis shoes. His backpack is loose on his shoulders. He owns an iPhone and he carries a pair of Apple airpods in his pocket. He greets his friends with high-fives, and he jokes lovingly with teachers using American slang and gestures. He has an Arabic accent, but his English is otherwise impeccable.

But Mohammad Marie is not a typical high school senior.

Mohammad and his family, which includes three brothers and a young sister, fled war-torn Syria earlier in the decade in order to seek safety in the neighboring country of Jordan.

“We left Syria because of huge civil war,” he explains. “The people were fighting the government. The government was of course stronger. They had a lot of heavy missiles and they started shooting people and shooting houses down and stuff.”

Mohammad is a charismatic young man who usually speaks with excitement. He’s usually very animated. But when he recounts the war in Syria for me, his tone is sober and his face lacks expression. The way he says “and stuff” seems to cut right to the truth of the matter. What more does one have to say after “heavy missiles” and “shooting people and houses down?” If I haven’t gotten the point by then, it’s likely that I never would.

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Trauma, Suffering, and the Fight for One's Own Soul: Nazish's Story

November 20, 2019

Article by Robert Carroll
Photographs by Roxanne Engstrom

In this month's feature, read how one exceptional woman rebuilt her life here in the United States, found the mental healthcare she needed, and overcame the odds stacked against her. Then, at the end of the article, please enjoy the poem, "A Lonely Girl," written by this remarkable person in both English and her native language of Urdu.

Thanks to partners like you, World Relief is able to provide needed counseling for refugees and other immigrants struggling to find help for the mental and emotional trauma that they have experienced.

Nazish is a poet both in words and action—gentle, calm, contemplative, deliberate. English is her second language, but she wields metaphor and turns phrases with charming purpose—an astonishing thing to witness considering she will occasionally pause mid-sentence to find the correct vocabulary. It’s like her heart knows the rhythm of what she wants to say long before her mind can find the words, and her soul is patient enough to make it work.

When Nazish enters the room and meets me for the first time, she smiles warmly, but I can see that behind her smile is uncertainty. I’ve been told she’s a bit nervous to sit down and conduct the interview, but I’ve also been told she’s eager to share her story. According to those that know Nazish, she has decided that she will no longer let fear prevent her from being a positive example for all the refugee women silently suffering from the untreated effects of mental illness. Before her own treatment, the fear she now conquers on a daily basis would most certainly have kept her at home rather than here now, sitting across from me, a stranger, to whom she will soon divulge details of a deeply personal persuasion about an often stigmatized condition for which many parts of the world, including her country of origin, still want her to feel shame.

So, in many ways, Nazish is also a warrior.

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From Prisoner to Patriot

October 15, 2019


In honor of Veterans' Day next month, we're proud to share this first-hand account of one refugee's escape from an Iranian prison and his quest to fight for the freedom of others as a member of the United States military.

The Iranian interrogator held up a ballpoint pen and warned me of its power.

“Can you see the small metal ball on the head of this pen?" he asked. "I can break your neck with this small metal ball. I only have to write two paragraphs and you'll be gone forever.”

After forty-six days of interrogation and torture, I knew that he wasn't lying. He could do whatever he wanted to me. There were no laws stopping him. He put his pen to paper and within a few hours, I found myself in Evin Prison, the scariest prison in the world.

But I was happy.

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Crisis in Venezuela

September 25, 2019

The crisis in Venezuela was born during the presidency of Hugo Chávez, but it did not end with his reign. More than six years after Chávez’s death, the situation in Venezuela is worse than ever, and the economic fallout is considered by many to be more severe than that of the United States during the Great Depression, or that of Russia following the collapse of the Soviet Union. Marked by hyperinflation, escalating starvation, disease, crime, political persecution, and rising mortality rates, there appears to be no immediate solution in sight, and this has resulted in massive emigration from the country.

Isabella Martinez was one of the many that fled Venezuela while the country continued to unravel.

“After Chávez died,” she explains, “the political situation got even worse. Things started to go bad for anyone who didn’t support the ruling party.”

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March 29, 2018

Written by Cheryce Berg, Volunteer

“I started after the death of my husband—several months after. My doctor asked, ‘What are you doing?’ I said, ‘Sometimes I watch TV or sometimes I read my holy book.’ He said, ‘Is that all?’ I said, ‘I don’t know.’ He said, ‘No, try to make something… something to fill your time. Don’t just sit like that and wait for your death. You have to do something.’

“So I began. I didn’t succeed with the crochet you know…” she chuckles.

And so begins a story of resilience, a story of a battered seed re-blooming into something beautiful after a long, hard winter – the story of Suhad and her art.

Canvases bursting with color and flowers line the walls of her apartment. Each exhibits intricate stitched-on creations of ribbon and beads overlaying the paint. Sequined waterfalls cascade over mountains. Roses and grapes spill over a terrace. A peacock made of jewels struts proudly. A bicycle delivers bright bouquets.

Suhad continues, “I find myself so lonely. So this is something I can do to accomplish something.” I marvel at her humility in this room blooming with talent.

After serving tea and pastries, she settles into a stuffed chair and carefully removes her gray scarf from her long salt and pepper hair as she tells her story.

It began years ago, before 1958, when Iraq was still a kingdom—the time that carries her best memories of home. After that, “step by step, Iraq went a little bit down down down until now,” she laments. Once a country rich with petrol and agriculture, her homeland was slowly destroyed by years of war.

Suhad learned English in fifth grade, and French later on, in addition to her native Arabic. She studied in Kuwait in high school and went on to university. It was while working at Iraqi Airways that she met her husband. She is a Sunni; he a Shia—warring communities in Islam—but their families didn’t live that way. They loved each other and had a daughter and two sons.

And they had a garden, one full of roses and gardenias, oranges and lemons, mint and celery, onions and dill.

He continued to work with the Airways and she with the Ministry of Higher Education. They lived for a time in Denmark and Thailand. They were educated, productive, and happy.

But none of that was enough to protect them from the horrors of war.

As it surrounded them, their house was hit by so many small missiles and bullets, until holes marked the walls and they were forced to live in two rooms in the back. Her youngest son was nearly killed, and her daughter was at risk of being kidnapped. She and her husband made the hard decision to send her to Jordan to live with an aunt in safety.

They were unable to follow, however, as Jordan’s borders closed to Iraqis. In 2007, they escaped to Syria, which at that time was safe and cheap. They carried only four suitcases with them, having made the difficult choice of what to leave behind. She shows us a few small brass vases that she was able to bring with her from home.

Then began the long wait.

Unable to obtain work visas, they were forced to start dipping into their savings. Her husband returned to Iraq to sell the house they had fled, only to discover it had been ransacked by neighbors four times. He sold everything that remained and rejoined the family in Syria.

Their youngest son was approved to travel to the U.S. in 2008. But Suhad, her husband, and two other children would wait seven more years before joining him — three in Syria and four in Jordan. They visited the UNHCR office frequently, all the while watching their money slip away as they spent it to survive.

Finally, in 2014, they were welcomed to Illinois. Her husband, who had suffered from arthritis in his knees for years, underwent two knee surgeries after they arrived. Everything went well, and he was recovering.

Until the afternoon he went to take a nap and never woke up. He was only 68 years old and had suffered a heart attack.

“It was a shock for me. For the first two or three days, I’d imagine that he was traveling or something. Before my prayer at dawn, I’d hear his voice—‘Suhad, Suhad, wake up.’ It’s very hard for me. Many nights I couldn’t sleep. I had so much hope that he would recover and everything would go well.”

Suhad tells how she only knew a handful of people at the time—having been here just eight months—mostly doctors and World Relief staff members, all who had helped them greatly. She speaks of Laima, her counselor at World Relief, and Kim and Madeline, friendship volunteers, who walked with her through months of grief.

We ask if there are others she has met in the now four years since her arrival.

“I don’t go out. I don’t have friends. Each one of my children is busy with life. I don’t drive. This is a problem for me. I cannot drive so I have to depend on my son and my daughter,” she laments as she waves a hand at the cane she leans on to walk. Her daughter works and her son is ill.

Here she sits, a woman highly educated and engaging, funny and able to speak three languages. She is surrounded by beautiful artwork of her own creation, a talent discovered and nurtured in her 60’s, on the heels of tragedy.

Suhad’s love of flowers reminds me that, as a gardener, she knows that a seed that looks dead after a hard winter freeze still carries life deep inside. She has restored that life through her talent.

Suhad’s path describes the road to recovery for many a resilient refugee:

“So I began, step by step. So I began, a little bit. I succeeded. I didn’t expect myself to succeed. I found myself so lonely. So this is what I’m making to make me feel satisfied and happy inside. I accomplished something.

“When I make the flowers, I remember my garden.”

March 5, 2018

When Gabriela talks about her hopes and dreams, she doesn’t sound much different from other ambitious young Americans. But as she tells more of her story, she reveals that she has had to fight harder than most to make her dreams a reality.

Gabriela came to the U.S. with her mother when she was nine years old. She did well in school, and during her high school years participated in Jr. ROTC. During her senior year she was offered a military college scholarship, but had to turn it down because of her immigration status. “I loved America. I wanted to serve in the military,” she remembers, “but I couldn’t because I was undocumented.”

Instead, Gabriela chose to study political science and sociology in college, hoping that she would somehow be able to put her degree to work after graduation. She was frustrated that being undocumented was keeping her from planning her future. At heart, Gabriela was a dreamer, but the uncertainty of being undocumented was an ever-present obstacle to those dreams.

In 2012, things began to change. The introduction of Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, better known as DACA, allowed Gabriela to apply for work authorization, secure a driver’s license, and receive temporary protection from deportation. “DACA was a huge relief. I got my driver’s license when I was 29 and it was one of the happiest days of my life!” she recalls. “Just having that piece of plastic changed my outlook and made such a difference for me. After 10 years of driving and working with such uncertainty, I was able to live with peace of mind.”

Gabriela was finally able to plan her future and pursue a career. Today, she is a case worker for at-risk women and children, using her college degree and making a difference in her community. Now her family is growing and she has a son who is just a few months old.

DACA has allowed her to dream again.

But now, all that could change. The DACA program is currently set to expire, and if Congress does not pass a long-term legislative solution for Dreamers, thousands of young people like Gabriela will lose their work authorization and be at risk for deportation. Once again, Gabriela is living in uncertainty. But she is doing what she can to prepare for what may lie ahead, saving up for when her work permit will expire. She even questioned if she should purchase a crib for her son. It just seemed like too big an expense.

“I’m tired,” Gabriela sighs, “I just want to live without all these worries. I want a future for my baby. I want to give him even more than my parents were able to give me.” So, she takes every opportunity she can to educate others about Dreamers, and to urge them to act. “A lot of people don’t want to get involved in politics because it’s messy,” she says, “but there’s no other way to change things. We can’t just look the other way.”

If we, together with Gabriela, refuse to the look the other way, and instead choose to stand with Dreamers, thousands of young immigrants may once again have the chance to boldly pursue their dreams.


To contact your Members of Congress and urge them to pass a legislative solution for Dreamers like Gabriela, visit

Use this resource from Voices of Christian Dreamers and the Evangelical Immigration Table to pray for Dreamers who are living in uncertainty.

February 23, 2018

By Cheryce Berg, Volunteer

Rebecca reaches chubby fists to grasp Fischer-Price Rock-a-Stack rings. Serena pastes daisy stickers and brown paper dolls on pink paper. And Hlu Ling skips around a low table dotted with numbered hearts, covering each with a matching pink one.

Here, they are safe. Yet each belongs to a family who fled a place of danger.

I wonder at the stories their refugee parents will tell them. True stories of countries far away, of loved ones left behind, of colors and smells and flavors muted in America. Stories that might be hard to carry.

But today, these three are innocent of those stories. And they are happy. Happy to be in classrooms with teachers who love and care for them while their parents learn English down the hall.

I’m visiting their classrooms, chatting with three of these teachers. Oksana is a refugee, Wade is an American, and Erin is an American married to a refugee.

Oksana sits on a brightly colored rug, snuggling two babies. Rebecca—brown eyes wide—eyes me and my camera from the safety of Oksana’s lap, having now traded the rings for a teething ball.

Why this job, I ask? “Because we were refugees, too,” Oksana says. Fleeing religious persecution in Russia, she arrived here at the age of nineteen with her Christian parents and most of her eleven siblings. She started working for World Relief when her oldest boy was a year old, and she has done so now for over ten years.

Oksana quietly shares that she needed to take a break when her husband became ill and subsequently died. The text she received that invited her back was an incredible answer to prayer for a job she loves with a schedule flexible enough to parent her three school-aged boys.

You wouldn’t know from her warm smile that she’s experienced such grief. Maybe that’s why she’s so good with babies that arrive for the first time and are handed over the nursery counter by trembling parents, themselves overwhelmed with everything new.

Oksana is gifted with children. “All children,” she says, "understand the language of love.” She wants these babies and their parents to know that people care about them—“that they can be comfortable in this country.” She gains their trust quickly, and I can see why.

What is her message to Americans about refugees? “That we have to care about each other,” she says. “Jesus wants us to be a good example with more than our words. Show love. We are the same—all God’s creation.”

“It’s nice when somebody cares about you,” she reflects. She knows.

I say good-bye and move to a classroom of 3-5 year olds. I sit down in a tiny chair next to Wade—a lawyer with a flexible schedule who volunteers two mornings a week. He is helping Serena paste.

Wade tells how a presentation from World Relief at his church—plus the stirring of God in his heart—triggered his desire to serve. He loves to sit with the children and play, read, or teach them new things. Last week he brought in his trumpet and let them press the keys, to their immense joy!

What skills does Wade bring to this role (besides owning a trumpet)? Patience, understanding the impulsivity of a preschooler, and being quick to praise.

We follow a trail of children upstairs to the gym where Wade leads them in Simon Says before releasing them to race around in tiny trikes. Sunlight shines through the large windows and they laugh out loud at the freedom to run.

What has Wade seen in these children? “Resiliency. You wouldn’t know all they or their families have experienced for all the joy they express.”

“Refugees have the grit necessary to be a contribution to our society. They are driven to succeed regardless of their education and nationality. They are a benefit to us all.”

Wade’s reason to serve? He loves watching them develop and having fun with them while modeling his own faith in Jesus with both words and actions. “It’s good to give back. And I get more out of it than they do.”

My last visit is with Erin, in the young 2’s and 3’s class. Erin—a pharmacist and mother of three— brings her youngest, Simon, with her two days a week while she volunteers in his classroom.

Erin echoes some of what Wade and Oksana say. She, too, volunteers because it’s a good way to give back by doing something she really enjoys.

I ask her to describe one special child. Erin smiles as she points out Eh Nay, a happy boy in a black sweatsuit dancing around the gym. She describes him as sweet and responsive—a mother’s dream. Eh-nay learns quickly, is eager to help the teachers and his fellow classmates, and exhibits a warm and tender spirit.

Erin’s story is unique in that she is American-born and married to a refugee. She comments that her husband wouldn’t be here without the work of World Relief and the support of the church, school, and community throughout his childhood.

“I want these children to know that someone here loves and cares and wants them to succeed—that I wish the best for them,” she says. It is that same support that helped propel her husband from a Sudanese refugee camp all the way to Harvard. His name is Selamawi Asgedom, and he writes of his incredible journey in the book Of Beetles and Angels.

What does Erin want the rest of us to know about volunteering with World Relief? “There is such a need. The needs can be so overwhelming, but if you just do something little like this, you can change the lives of a handful of kids.” And it is enough.

What Oksana, Wade, and Erin do matters. It matters to Rebecca, to Serena, to Hlu Ling, to Eh Nay, and all the other children loved in these classrooms.

It matters to us. In serving the most vulnerable, these three demonstrate what is valuable.

I think back to Hlu Ling’s pink foam hearts, carefully paired one-to-one with those on the table. I imagine each of us caring for one refugee, pairing our hearts with theirs.

We could welcome them all to safety if we did.

“…but Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.” - Matthew 19:14

January 29, 2018

Semira* pulls off her gloves and holds them in her hands, gently twisting them as she talks about her home, her escape, life in a refugee camp, and the challenges she has had to overcome to start over. This is Semira’s first winter in the U.S. and she must not be used to Illinois weather quite yet, because she doesn’t take off her pale pink coat. The hood, edged with faux fur, rustles as she talks. It’s January and there’s snow weighing down the bushes outside the window.


In 2013, Semira left her home in Eritrea with her mother and older sister. She was 14 years old. Her sister had just completed high school and was facing forced military conscription. While country officials claim that conscription only lasts for 18 months, reports from organizations like Amnesty International report that in practice conscription in Eritrea is indefinite, often lasting for decades and amounting to forced labor.


“There’s no freedom to work or go higher in school, so we had to leave,” Semira says. So, with the help of others who knew the way, an Eritrean Underground Railroad of sorts, she set out with her sister and mother to escape. For two nights they walked through the forest from seven o’clock until three or four in the morning. During the day they slept, so that they wouldn’t be caught by border guards.


Finally, they arrived in Ethiopia and registered as refugees at a camp run by the UN Refugee Agency, UNHCR. Though relieved to be safe, there was little to do in the refugee camp. School was only available for the young children, so Semira, a 10th grader, didn’t have the chance to finish high school. “There was a bus that would take us to the closest town so that we could visit the library,” she remembers. “It was an hour and a half each way.” The edges of her mouth turn upward, revealing her optimism, even as she talks about hardships.


Every two weeks, for nearly four years Semira took the long, bumpy bus ride to the closest library. She checked out books on biology and anatomy. She wanted to become a nurse. There was no way to know how much longer she would be stuck in one place, but Semira didn’t let that stop her from moving her life forward. Now that she has arrived in the U.S., her hard work and determination are boundless.


Semira arrived in the Chicago suburbs in June. Because she had learned some English in school, she was able to immediately pursue her first job with the help of World Relief’s employment team. After only six weeks, both she and her sister were offered jobs with a local food manufacturer. World Relief connected them with another refugee employee who could drive them to work, but grocery shopping and other errands were difficult to do without a car or driver’s license in the suburbs. So Semira enrolled in World Relief’s driving permit class as well. She quickly passed her permit exam, and after practicing for several months also passed her driving test.


Shortly after earning her driver’s license, Semira and her family received a car that was donated to World Relief. In fact, the car was donated by a former refugee! Now Semira is able to pass on the opportunities she was given by driving her sister and another refugee to work. She has achieved so much in her short six months in the U.S., and she’s not done yet. She’s taking advanced English classes at a local community college and is working toward her GED – the next step in realizing her dream to become a nurse.


As she finishes telling her story and puts her gloves back on to guard against the cold, she smiles with excitement for what her future holds. She’s been through so much, and she’s confident she can overcome any obstacle. At World Relief, we are proud to add the resources we have – community connections, volunteer support, and the generosity of the local church – to the hard work and resilience of young refugees like Semira. Together, we will see transformation in our communities.

*Semira's name has been changed to protect her privacy. 

Would you like to make a difference for newcomers in DuPage and Kane Counties?

Consider donating your used vehicle. 

Join our family of dedicated volunteers. 

January 28, 2018

By Susan Sperry, Executive Director


What a difference a year makes.  A year ago World Relief DuPage/Aurora, our church partners and our communities were celebrating 687 refugees who had been welcomed in 2016 to restart their lives in DuPage and Kane Counties.  These new neighbors had fled the unspeakable horrors of war and persecution and arrived to a place of safety.  We were celebrating their strength as they, like many before them, were rebuilding their lives and livelihoods through English classes, jobs to support their families and education for their children in local schools.


But a year ago, things began to change. On January 27, an Executive Order brought the hope of safety and freedom to a sudden standstill for thousands of refugees. Since then, only 29,725 refugees have been welcomed nationwide, down from 99,183 during the previous year. For World Relief DuPage/Aurora, this has meant safety and a new start for only 246 people, less than half the number from the previous year. Given the many starts and stops of both executive and judicial action over the last year, this reduction in the number of refugees being resettled may not be surprising. But it should be deeply unsettling.


It should unsettle us to hear about a mother who weeps over the safety of her adult son, whose resettlement application has been suddenly halted by delays and whose life is in constant threat.


It should unsettle us to hear about families crying out to be reunited, but who now live indefinitely separated between lllinois and a refugee camp, an ocean between them.


It should unsettle us that welcoming refugees, as part of our nation’s response to the global refugee crisis, is often described by national leaders as being at odds with also caring for the poor, veterans, and homeless in our country… as if a compassionate response to suffering and the most vulnerable in our world is a limited, finite resource that we need to ration carefully. 


It should unsettle us that, in our country and around the world, the identity of each refugee as someone made in the image of God and unconditionally loved by him has been attacked by dehumanizing language and unforgiving generalizations.


And it should unsettle us to know that, during the time of the largest refugee crisis our world has known since World War II, our nation of immigrants is poised to accept the lowest annual number of refugees since the passage of the Refugee Act of 1980.


This is not who we are.


A year ago many of us felt unsettled, shocked, confused, and filled with lament. Thousands rallied at airports across the nation. Locally over 1000 people came together at two WRDA-sponsored events to learn and take action to stand with refugees. What is happening today, the slow bureaucratic death of our nation’s commitment to refugee resettlement, is no less alarming than the sudden shock of the temporary halt a year ago.


When I feel unsettled, my gut response is to make the feeling go away. Sometimes I actively address what has unsettled me, but other times I pursue distraction, adopt simple explanations, or avoid the root cause completely. What could it look like if we, as a community and as a nation, don’t turn our backs from the situations and stories and human pain that unsettle us? What if we see these feelings as an invitation to help right wrongs, through our voice, our actions, and our prayers? What if we respond to these feelings with prayer, advocacy, and action to welcome the refugees who are most vulnerable?


As we look forward to the year ahead, my hope is that our faith in God, the relationships we have with refugees, and the strength of who we are as a country and a community, would be the fuel to move us to welcome those fleeing war and persecution. May every moment of being unsettled result in prayer, advocacy, and friendship on behalf of those who need us to use our freedoms for their good.  


To learn about ways you can help, or to read the inspiring stories of families reunited and the ways refugee contribute to their communities, visit the following links:

January 23, 2018

Michel was in a college class studying medicine when a neighbor came in with news that turned his world upside down: Both of his parents had been brutally murdered. On top of that, the man who had killed them was headed to the university, looking for him next. 

In that instant, Michel made an excruciating decision. He fled his country with only the possessions he was carrying and without a single goodbye. 

It was 1999, and Michel’s home country, the Democratic Republic of the Congo (or DRC), was in chaos. Violence escalated between the Congolese government and rebel militias. Millions were killed or simply “disappeared.” It was one of the deadliest wars since World War II, but many don’t know about it—or that the conflict continues in the DRC to this day.

Michel ended up in a refugee camp outside the city of Ibadan in Nigeria. He grappled with the tragedy that had upended his life, but he was anchored by his faith and determination.

A United Nations officer discovered that Michel had been studying medicine, and the UN offered him a scholarship to complete his degree. Seven years later, he was hired as a surgeon in Ibadan. He often had to operate without light or electricity. He also traveled to other refugee camps for the UN, diagnosing other Congolese refugees, grateful to be helping others who had fled just as he had. 

He met and fell in love with a woman from the DRC, and they married and had a son. They dreamed of resettling in another country where their baby boy could have a bright future.

In 2013, Michel’s wife and son were approved to travel to the United States—but not Michel. Michel’s wife had started the process before their marriage, and because the U.S. prioritizes the cases of women and children, her petition was approved first. When Michel’s wife arrived in the U.S., WRDA helped her find housing and a job so she could support herself and her son. Meanwhile, World Relief’s Immigration Legal Services team (which specializes in representing family reunification cases for refugees and other immigrants) helped her apply for a visa for Michel to join her and her son in the U.S.

It took two years, to the day, for Michel’s visa to be approved. Seventeen years after he fled his homeland, he finally found a country that welcomed him to stay. But reuniting with his family came at a cost. The medical credentials he had worked so hard for weren’t valid in the U.S. His first job was packing boxes at a local company. Though he was grateful to be supporting himself and his family, he longed to be back in the operating room.

Michel met two World Relief volunteers who helped him make that dream a reality. One, a retired ophthalmologist, connected Michel with doctors at a local hospital. Another, who had spent time with a missions group in the DRC, coached him through the application process and took him to interviews. Most importantly, these men gave Michel friendship, courage, and confidence to pursue his dream.

After rounds of tests and interviews, and only 10 months after arriving in the U.S., Michel was hired as a surgical assistant. The doctors at the hospital have also welcomed him, given him advice on how to advance his career, and even leant him textbooks so he can continue his studies.

When asked about the volunteers who have become his friends, Michel says, "Without them, I would not have been able to get this job. I am very grateful." Michel's story of hard work and resilience is just one of the thousands of stories of refugees who have found life-changing connections and relationships through World Relief's ministry over the years. 

December 24, 2017

I love the words to “Silent Night”, but I don’t really believe them. The night of Jesus’ birth was probably anything but silent—with a town full of travelers, a barn full of animals, a sky full of angels, and the eruption of shepherds running down the dusty streets.

I imagine that night to be a bit more like the World Relief ESL Christmas party I attended today. Celebratory!

I follow brightly dressed South Asian women bearing plastic bags of food up the old church steps. Inside, I’m greeted warmly and pointed past a room crowded with aromas.

After meeting a table of Congolese, I find an empty seat with smiling Syrians. I ask what food they brought to today’s party, and one uses her phone to show me photo after photo of fabulous Syrian dishes. Chicken, rice, lamb, cucumbers, tomatoes—all wrapped in various shapes—and piled onto platters. I can tell these are gifted cooks, and I picked a good group to eat with!

I gaze around me, absorbing the noise and the warmth. Many of the people are wearing their ethnic dress, covered by coats and winter hats to keep out the December chill. They sit by class but also by country, laughing and talking loudly in a multitude of languages. Two little girls wearing dresses of pink and lace sit on the table across from me, watched over by their mothers.

The room is bright and warm with color, smell, noise, and welcome. This is Christmas, and this is how it should be. Anything but silent.

The short program begins with the pre-literate class presenting a video of their walk to a new park. We chuckle over photos of them on the playground—grown men and women on slides, spinners, and swings—all the while listening to a few narrate their actions. I marvel at the English they have learned already—this brave group of people who arrived here likely without the gift of ever attending school.

Next, my table’s teacher leads a lesson in “Jingle Bells”. We see the words and images for “sleigh”, “horse”, “snow”, and “jingle”. We practice each, combining them into phrases. She shows a video clip of two dappled grays trotting through the snow pulling a sleigh, then we all sing the song together line by line. Finally, we sing it in full, the Syrian women from my table singing the chorus for us.

The time it takes for the song isn’t wasted. It is valuable learning and I love it. I see the giftedness and patience of their teacher and the friendships between her students.

A handful of small children appear on the stage holding jingle bells. They wave their arms and sing to us, one little boy with bells in each fist staring at the floor. Finally he gains confidence and joins in near the end, waving and jingling wildly even after the others are done. I think of how like him the adults must feel in this new culture—initially shy, increasing in confidence. Today I’m seeing them in the bell-ringing mood—one of joy. This is where they are loved and valued.

Hand drums are produced and drummers are welcomed to the front.  An Iraqi man and woman volunteer. The man wears a t-shirt plastered with the American flag which reads, “Made in America 2016”, and the woman wears a hand knit scarf and matching hat of yellow. Their drumming is exuberant and life-giving. A third man joins them, this one quieter but no less talented. I wonder where they learned their skill and how often they have time or instruments to use it in America. Everyone is invited to return to the church on Saturdays to use the drums, and I’m thankful for a church that opens its doors and its heart for the use of these gifts.

After the time of music, we shuffle to the other room to fill small paper plates with food. I try some yellow rice, shawarma, and creamy salad made with apples and chicken. A tiny Asian lady scoops a giant portion of noodles onto my already full plate, and I smile at her. I love and share her joy of feeding others.

I return to my table and speak with an older Syrian woman. She tells me of her eight children, now spread between Egypt, Holland, Jordan, and America. They have borne her seventeen grandchildren, only two of which live here. She sees the others only on her phone. Her own siblings—two sisters and four brothers—reside in Holland, France, and Germany. I ask if they all once lived together in Syria, and she says yes. I ask how many they all made when together, and she laughs and says, “Many, many!”

I cannot imagine her sadness over the oceans between them now. The daughter in Jordan she hasn’t seen for two years and nine months. That is a long time to be separated from family, especially if you don’t know when you may see them again.

A younger Syrian woman on my other side tells me of her four children and one on the way. I ask if this baby will be the first born to her in America, and she smiles and tells me how here she has to see the doctor all the time but it wasn’t that way in Syria. “Doctor, doctor, doctor,” she says, “Baby good, me good, blood pressure, sugar test…always appointments in America.” I wonder at the other differences between our two countries, and I laugh with her over our fussy healthcare.

I think of these beautiful women—sojourners. I think of the one carrying a child, and how she is so far from family and all that is familiar. Like Mary, the mother of Jesus.

I listen to the melodies of drums, of voices, of laughter, and I imagine that first night of Jesus’ birth, that small stable filled with shepherds and animals, townspeople and smells. What was it like?

It wasn’t silent, and neither was this party. I praise God for sending his Son to dwell among us, a sojourner himself like the friends I made today. I praise him for the noise of love and welcome, the noise of Christmas.

Written by World Relief volunteer, Cheryce Berg

December 20, 2017

The following story is taken from our 2017 Year in Review. If you're interested in getting a hard copy of the full brochure, you can stop by our Wheaton office to pick one up!

In 2010, Darren and Wendy Miller, members at Glen Ellyn Covenant Church (GECC), were introduced to a Bhutanese refugee family as World Relief Friendship Partners. Over time their deepening relationships in the immigrant community opened the door for both a Bhutanese and Burmese congregation to share GECC's building space. But they didn't just want to be three congregations sharing a building. "We wanted to build community between our congregations and do ministry together," Darren and Wendy explain. They realized that inviting all three congregations to participate in their youth program was a perfect way to do this. 

Pastor Saa, who leads the Burmese congregation, expresses gratitude for the opportunity the youth have to share in the program. "We can do nothing for GECC in return, but they love us so much and they support us in everything," he says. This gratitude is also shared by the leaders of GECC, who tell stories of how their youth have been transformed because of the involvement of all three congregations. "Now, our youth group is much more about relationship than entertainment. Our students come to be with each other and grow together, not to experience the hippest program," says Jeff Root, the youth pastor. Darren and Wendy add, "Sharing our facility and programs has caused us to think beyond ourselves - our church community has expanded, and our hearts with it."

The leaders of the three congregations have found it difficult to know how much to engage the refugee students in ministry without pulling them out of their own church and community. "We want them to stay engaged in their own congregations, but also want to be there for them as they transition more and more into American culture," Jeff explains. "It is very difficult to walk that line." Despite these challenges, the beauty of this partnership is that these three churches are finding a way to navigate them together. 

As we facilitate connections between local churches, we have seen God at work, growing those relationships into beautiful friendships and rich opportunities for ministry. We have found that when follows of Jesus from all backgrounds come together to worship and serve, communities are always transformed. 

November 28, 2017

While this year has been filled with many challenges, it has also been a year when hundreds of people chose to put their love in action to help refugees and immigrants feel welcome in their new communities. Here are some of the responses we received when we asked people how being in relationship with refugees and immigrants changed them.

“Volunteering with World Relief has helped me put my love in action by opening my eyes to the world now in my neighborhood. I now have a greater respect for the skills of those displaced in our world, and [...] I have learned to live out the cause of justice with a bit more balance and fewer assumptions, and I hope with more grace.”  - Cheryl P.

“As a refugee, volunteering with World Relief helps me put my love in action by giving me the chance to give back to the community that I live in and help other refugees like myself.” - Alhussein A.

“Volunteering with World Relief continues to expand my view of the world and our interconnectedness with one another.  I see a clearer, fuller picture of the kingdom of God from my friends who have been on the refugee and immigrant journey.   I am always reminded of the rich welcome I receive from Jesus as I offer a small glimpse of that welcome to others.” - Roxanne E.

“My time volunteering with World Relief equipped me to put my love in action in the community I am now serving in the Philippines. I really think the special friendships I formed through teaching English prepared me to learn a new language myself. Even more importantly, those friendships challenged me to live out Scripture concretely.”  - Abigail B.

“Being with refugee children ages 3 to 5 has been healing for me day-to-day and reopened my heart to the joy of unconditional, mutual love. It has led me to prayerfully contemplate if God's plan for me is to be more involved locally or as a missionary.” - Wade J.

“Words are easy, but week in and week out volunteering with World Relief has allowed me to put my love in action by giving meaning to the words that bubbled to the surface of my heart and mind over the past few years, as I watched the immigrant community become the receiving end of misguided concern and even harsh negativity.  As a second generation American on one side, it has been an honor, a privilege, and a true ministry to welcome my refugee and immigrant neighbors in tangible ways to the country that afforded my family, and now theirs, the chance to live in safety and peace.” - Amy H.

"Serving a refugee family with a team from my church has given us all the opportunity to get out of our comfort zones, put our love in action in new ways, and think creatively when we could be tempted to be discouraged." - Clair

If you would like to put your love in action by volunteering with us, visit our volunteer opportunities page to learn more. 

November 17, 2017

Shayne Moore, one of our volunteers, shares her journey to understanding that "ordinary" men and women can make a difference, because God has chosen people to be changemakers in the world. 

I am an ordinary full-time mother of three. I’m a housewife, mother, daughter, and friend. I start most days by throwing on my go-to pair of jeans and pulling my hair into a ponytail. My calendar is full of school events, sports practices, and instrument lessons. I holler at my kids to pile into the car as I rush to cram in one more load of laundry. It is my job to make sure everyone has clean clothes, good food, and homework papers and projects turned in on time.

Yet there is more to me and I suspect more to you as well – we are “ordinary” people who want to make the world a better place and not only in the bustling world of our immediate family and lives.

There is much division in the world today, both in the political arena and in the church. Many sides disagree on many, many things. It can be confusing and use up a lot of our time and energy as we debate it all. I have accepted that I may never have all the answers when it comes to what divides the church and our nation; however, if I am sure of one thing it is this: I am not wrong if I am spending myself on behalf of the poor and the oppressed.

In my church we pray the Lord’s Prayer every Sunday and we say, “They kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.” (Matt. 6:9 -10 KJV). I am confident that loving my neighbor, fighting extreme poverty, and leaning into the “ministry of welcome” to refugees and immigrants in my community help bring the kingdom of heaven close. I can act in this world, in my community, knowing I am in the will of God.

I am a full-time mother with a busy life, and that is not going to change anytime soon. Even if I never move to Syria or East Asia, become a missionary, or march on Washington, can my heart still break for what breaks the heart of God? Do the boundaries of my life keep me from making a difference?

Do the boundaries of yours?

I used to believe that my life and my family’s lifestyle stood in opposition to working on behalf of social justice ideas and advocacy. I felt I was a sellout because my family and I live in a comfortable suburb and we attend a church with very little diversity. I wondered if I had become a part of the problem. This was a thought that nagged at me, and I stuffed it down deep for years.

Our world is changing and we cannot ignore that. Yet, not all of us are called to huge activities outside our house, our town, our church – but all of us are called to do something. We have unprecedented access to each other, to ideas, and to resources. Even as parents, we can come to the global table and join the conversation; even our “ordinary” lives can make a difference right where we are.

Where are you? How can you make a difference right where God has placed you? I live in the Western Suburbs of Chicago and have found an organization in my own backyard that has been committed to standing with the vulnerable for over 40 years.

World Relief DuPage/Aurora works tirelessly to empower the local church to serve the most vulnerable, and to see refugees, immigrants and members of our communities become fully-functioning and integrated participants in society. 

Despite sometimes feeling alone and isolated as a full-time mother, I have found an organization and a community of like-minded people – people who, like me, believe the church is the best way to bring peace, justice and love to a broken world. A community that provides ways that I can get involved in real and meaningful ways.

So where are we? Are we in the PTA meetings, the MOPS groups, and the carpool lane? Are we making coffee for Wednesday morning Bible study? Are we at Bible Study Fellowship and Sunday night service? Are we stuck at home with three little kids and barely make it to church at all? Are we busy professionals or full-time parents who feel we have no extra time for anything?

Wherever we find ourselves by God’s creative grace – at whatever stage of life -- I believe we are all called to the same goal of making a difference and to the ministry of welcome beyond our own front door.

To learn more how you can get involved with refugees and immigrants in our communities visit our volunteer opportunities page.