Life at Casa Alterna is full of surprises. The journey of offering refuge is unpredictable but filled with moments of grace. A couple of weekends ago, while Charlotte was out of town with our only car, I received an urgent request from our partners at Team Libertad: Could we host eight asylum seekers at Casa Alterna? It’s always an honor to extend hospitality to those in need, but I wondered how I could prepare for—much less host—eight new friends seeking refuge, all on my own.
In that moment, I considered calling on friends or volunteers who have long supported our mission of hospitality. I knew that if I made a last-minute plea, many would gladly step up. But instead of reaching out to our network, I turned to those who would understand the situation most deeply—the long-term asylum-seeking residents at Casa Alterna. Without hesitation, they all enthusiastically said, “Yes.”
These residents—who had once been strangers in need of refuge themselves—arrived at the Atlanta Friends Meeting eager to help. Together, we set up beds, rolled out cots, and made a grocery run. As we sought out food for our incoming guests from North African countries like Chad and Morocco, we stocked the shelves with items they would recognize: couscous, dates, and spices with rich aromas. While unfamiliar to some of us, these ingredients were comforting to our new friends. This act of solidarity was a profound breakthrough for our ministry. Together, we showed that mutual aid thrives when we allow those we serve to also serve, transforming fellow asylum seekers who share a common wound into powerful healers.
This shared effort laid the foundation for four days of joy and hope. Our guests and I visited Atlanta’s Arab Festival. The event left a deep impression on all of us, especially as the ongoing genocide in Gaza was an ever-present concern to the organizers and those in attendance. It reminded us how connected our global struggles for justice and peace are.
As our guest sat eating his grits, I was reminded that Casa Alterna truly is a gift of grace—for those who come seeking refuge and for those of us who offer it.
The next weekend, we found ourselves hosting four new guests. These new friends arrived late and hungry, so we made a late-night trip to Waffle House. The five of us huddled into a booth meant for four, with me pulling up a chair at the end. There was warmth and curiosity as people began sharing their food with one another—a gesture far more common in their cultures than in our individualistic Western one. One guest from South Asia ordered a bowl of grits, adding salt, pepper, and lots of hot sauce without even tasting it first. He smiled as he sought comfort in this Southern staple.
However, the mood shifted when he shared the reason for his flight. As a recent convert to a religious minority, he had faced brutal persecution back home. His family had been attacked, leaving his wife hospitalized, and his father paralyzed. As our guest sat eating his grits, I was reminded that Casa Alterna truly is a gift of grace—for those who come seeking refuge and for those of us who offer it.
These moments—whether filled with laughter, mutual aid, or heartbreaking stories—are at the heart of the world I want to help create.
These moments—whether filled with laughter, mutual aid, or heartbreaking stories—are at the heart of the world I want to help create. They are simple acts of mercy and compassion, global solidarity, joy amidst uncertainty, shared vulnerability, and resilient hope.
Reflecting on this heart-filling week, I’m left with a question for us all: What is your vision of a more beautiful world? Each small act, whether offering a meal, a kind word or simply listening to someone’s story, can create snapshots of beauty in our lives. As we continue to welcome and support those seeking refuge, we not only meet their needs but also enrich our own lives and communities, cultivating a shared humanity that crosses borders.
Casa Alterna 