A village of people help a mother raise her children in a new land.

It’s five o’clock in the morning, dark, mostly quiet except for the drip-drip of the kitchen sink.

A 2-day-old baby rests quietly on my lap sucking my finger; his mother and sisters are sleeping in the bedroom. Mom arrived in this country just 10 months earlier with her three young daughters as part of the U.S. refugee program. Her husband died before they came, killed in Bangkok as he searched for work. He was an abusive man who ran with other women and drank too much homemade brew. Yet Mom, who had lived for years in a tiny bamboo hut in the jungles of Thailand, was determined to secure a better future for her family.
Born to a poor, refugee mother: Jennifer Drago holds Saw Cree Hey, wrapped in swaddling clothes.

But shortly after arrival here, some sweet-talking man came along. Did he seduce her with false promises of a good life together? Was she longing for some man to notice her and make her feel special? Who really understands all the emotional complexities that converge when male and female get together? The only certainty we have is that a child was conceived.

Oh, the shame, the humiliation she felt! It was so deep she could not bring herself to tell her caseworker until she was almost six months pregnant and could no longer hide the emerging life. She was too ashamed to tell the church that was supporting her family.

“So many people were helping us, and I feel so bad about what I did,” she said. “I sometimes don’t want people to see my face.”

It’s now 5:30 a.m.. The 3- and 5-year-old sisters emerge shyly from the bedroom, disappear into the bathroom and come out rubbing their eyes. They briefly look at their baby brother, then play with the action figures strewn on the kitchen table. Umbrellas hanging on a hook beckon them, and soon they are jumping about the tiny kitchen, opening and closing them, squealing with delight.

The refugee agency working with Mom gave more assistance. The caseworkers took her to an obstetrician; the church paid another month’s rent. When all the resources were exhausted, a Christian ministry that helps refugees prepare for American life took in the family. The children now go to childcare and school. Mom goes to school for the first time in her life, learning English. She tightly clasps a pencil and carefully prints her name, proud as any first grader.

Someone takes her for medical appointments. Someone takes her grocery shopping. Someone watches her kids so Mom can take a break. Someone gives her clothes and money and helps clean her place. But Mom is a giver as well. She works in the garden, cooks a meal for another family, helps sew a community quilt and comforts a neighbors’ wailing child.

The girls open the refrigerator. Without a common language between us, I surmise they want something to drink. I put water on the stove, find coffee mugs and packets of hot chocolate.

I don’t know what the next move will be for this family or how Mom will support them. They will apply for government assistance; she qualifies for $330 a month. That isn’t much when a two-bedroom apartment rent is $750. A common job for newly arrived refugees is cleaning hotel rooms or working in a chicken plant. The work is strenuous and tedious, the commute is three hours and the pay is about $8 an hour, without benefits. Moreover, with an economy in recession, even bad jobs are hard to find. Some government agency will locate the father of the baby for financial support, but that’s unlikely to be sufficient.

It’s now 7 a.m., dawn glistens. The 9-year-old walks into the kitchen and picks up a pot. She scrapes out last night’s leftover rice into the sink. She pours new rice into the pot, adds water, swishes it around with her hand, then returns the pot to the rice cooker. Breakfast is on the way.

It has taken a village to help this family. I don’t know any of the villagers’ political leanings, but I do know they are all pro-life. I know this, not by how they voted in last November’s elections but by the love, kindness and generosity they have shown this family.

For women with unwanted pregnancies to choose life, they need exactly what this woman is getting: forgiveness and acceptance; practical help with daily life; honest talk on responsibility, relationships and birth control; financial help; a way to contribute and improve her situation and a community of caring people to belong to. These are huge tasks that take much time, money, patience and love.

It is cheaper, easier and more convenient to have an abortion. If we want women to choose life, how are we helping them do that?

The baby is whimpering, so I bring him to Mom for his morning milk. “Because he was born in December, we decided to call him Saw Cree Hey. It means “Mister Christ Comes,” his mother explained. Yes, Mr. Christ Comes was born to a refugee in a strange land, to a poor, unmarried woman who was not overcome by the power of the Holy Spirit. But she has been overwhelmed by the power of love and support. Thanks be to God for this healthy baby, this courageous mother and the countless number of people who have made this beginning not only special but possible.

Jennifer Drago is the author of A Thousand and One Egyptian Nights (Herald Press, 2007) and lives and works at Jubilee Partners, a Christian Community in Comer, Ga., that provides hospitality to refugees.