The Gift of an Extended Neighborhood

By Kassandra Tapia Ochoa

 By the time I was ten, I had probably crossed the border over a thousand times, moving between the United States and Mexico with a freedom that felt ordinary to me. I could wake up in the U.S. and be at my nana’s house in Mexico by the afternoon. This rhythm felt so natural to me, two smells, two sounds, and two languages overlapping like a familiar melody. As a kid with family in both countries and the ability to go back and forth, you believe this is simply how life works. I now understand that while people should not cross without process or accountability, it also should not be so difficult for families to move, visit, or reunite. It wasn't just me going to Mexico. It was also my cousins, tios, and tias crossing into the United States to visit us, and that felt natural too. There was a beautiful back and forth that made both sides of the border feel like one extended neighborhood. Yet I remember one cousin who never crossed, and as a child, I never wondered why. Now I know it was not a lack of desire but a lack of permission. Children don’t understand visas and legalities, but adults know that some doors stay closed because of systems that are not equally accessible.

Looking back, I realize my generation did not have the language to talk about immigration, legality, or systemic injustice like youth do today. I am grateful that Latino youth now have more knowledge and the courage to speak up, with many becoming advocates. Growing up in a border town meant almost everyone lived the same dual reality. Other kids had grandparents just across the border and crossed frequently, so I never felt different. It was a community where living in between was understood. 

As I grew older and moved away, my experience became more unique. People often had no clue what that life was like, and I talked about it less because I didn't know how to explain something so ordinary but unusual to others. Now, I feel deep joy when I meet someone shaped by both sides of the border. Yet, I confess that I did not appreciate it then. I didn't understand what a blessing it was to belong in two places at once. How rare it was to feel at home on both sides of a line that for many now represents fear and heartbreak. I will never forget the day my dad became a U.S. citizen. I didn't understand the paperwork, waiting, sacrifices, or fear that follows immigrants. I only knew he looked proud, and because of that, I felt proud too.

Now I see that moment as holy, a glimpse of the resilience that defines so many immigrant stories. As an adult, recognizing that I am also a 1.5 immigrant, I carry a different awareness. While my childhood was full of easy crossings, many families now face separation and trauma. Children witness moments that scar them: parents being detained, siblings taken away. It breaks my heart to live in a country where immigrants are treated as though their lives hold less value. I believe in justice and due process, but I also believe in humanity and that these families are made in the image of God. 

I didn't grow up with a Christian worldview, but later in life, when I became a Christian, it changed how I see borders, justice, compassion, and people. Learning about the Jesus who healed, welcomed, and crossed boundaries widened my empathy. Faith drew me closer to the reality of the border. It reminded me that Jesus was once a refugee child and that scripture speaks of God’s tenderness toward the foreigner.

Deuteronomy 10:18-19 says,

“He defends the cause of the fatherless and the widow and loves the foreigner residing among you…”

This passage and others like it make me realize that I was living in that call long before I had language for it. I was raised in a mixed household, shaped by two cultures and formed by two nations long before I met the God who loves despite borders. 

With gratitude for my own story and compassion for those whose stories look different, I pray for a world where every child of an immigrant feels pride instead of fear, joy instead of trauma, and belonging instead of displacement. I pray we see immigrants as neighbors, image bearers, and people worthy of dignity, justice, and love.

Kassandra “Kassy” Tapia is a Mexican-American wife, mom of two, and creative from a small border town in Arizona. She loves Jesus, people, going to the movies, and a daily dose of iced coffee. Growing up between languages and communities shaped her commitment to translation, storytelling, and work that builds bridges across differences. She was introduced to the gospel and a life of service as a teenager in the local church, which she considers the most transformative moment of her life. Over the years, she has helped develop youth ministries, led worship teams, planned numerous events, and served as an associate pastor in a bilingual, multigenerational congregation, where her passion for ministry, discipleship, and biblical teaching deepened. She enjoys public speaking and using social media as a tool for building community. She currently works with Sojourners’ SojoAction team as a digital content and community specialist and serves alongside her husband in the creative areas of worship and production at ILO Church.