“For migrants, church was the center of life ”

Church,

Church was the only thing we could depend on.

God was always there.

There when the thick rope hugged our loved one’s neck,

There when we were discriminated because of our looks.

Church was where we sang our songs of happiness,

Even though our lives were filled with sorrow.

Church was our very souls,

Wrapped around by the blanket of Jesus Christ.

Our home to be proud of the skin we wore,

Church,

Was where we were free to own our mistakes.

Where each day we held our brothers and sisters hands,

Praying for a better life,

Praying for a better future,

Praying for the horrid memories engraved in our brains to be erased.

Hoping for an easier life for the children of God.

Our escape from the evil of the world,

Hidden from the hate of the others.

And the protection from our deepest fears.

Church,

Was where everyone held on to,

Where everyone leaned on.

Where we got the strength to fight for who we were,

Where we joined together as one,

Where we held hands and protected the lives of our children.

Church was our world,

Church was our life,

Church was our home.