We need a broader understanding of what it means to be heroic. A brave person is not made in a single moment, on center stage, but in the thousands of little choices that go unseen by all by God. For me, bravery is built every time I choose to walk into a room believing that I am a daughter of the King.
As I interact with precious sojourners learning their way in southern America, I am reminded of my childhood in South Miami. My friends, from 2nd grade on, were most often 2nd generation Cuban. Their parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles fled from Cuba to find freedom in America. I enjoy rich childhood memories of visiting in their homes, listening to their fluid Spanish with dramatic tones and gestures and I delighted in their delicious native foods.