“Hello?!” I sat quietly in my dorm room hoping that he would eventually go away but he just kept incessantly knocking and calling my name. My junior year in high school the campus Chaplain, Pastor Bill Kerasoma, who we endearingly called PK, visited me in my dorm room to have a serious talk. He was (and still is) a father figure and a mentor to me. I loved him, I adored him, I respected him, and also, I was very scared of him.
“Son, open the door.”
His presence at my door created so much anxiety and fear, but why? Was it his robust physical stature? Or maybe it was his larger-than-life persona? Maybe, it was his strong, gruff, baritone voice? Or could it have been his position of authority? Or…maybe the fear was due to my current immigration status and lack of ability to pay my bill? Yes. Yes, to it all. He was intimidating and I was very aware of my own private dilemma.
“PK, why are you here?” I sheepishly asked from the safety of a locked door. I knew why he was there. He was there to take me to the Social Security office in town. I wasn’t getting paid for my work hours because I hadn’t gotten my social security number, which wouldn’t be a big deal…if, I had a social security number. Many students start school too young to work, so the school would wait until students got to a certain age, then they would take the students into town to get their SSN. For me, however, there was no SSN waiting at the social security office, and I knew that. Three years of schooling and I had been able to skirt around the required trip to town for my SSN, but the school had finally decided it was time. So, PK was at my door.
Up until that moment, I had enjoyed being at school. I made lifelong friends, sang in choirs, played on most varsity teams. I studied hard, learned how to do my laundry, had my first girlfriend, and learned many skills from various jobs on campus. I gained the respect of all the faculty and staff. I built for myself a happy community, but had I been lying to myself and to the world? Maybe I was not worthy of being part of this community?
“Son, don’t be afraid and open the door!”
My greatest fear had finally come true. My shameful and egregious citizenship status was about to be discovered by the world and I was going to be deported. My family was six hours away in Los Angeles so I wouldn’t have any time for goodbyes. My friends would find out about my status and hate me. And I would be all alone.
I opened the door.
Not being able to hide any longer, and PK being so persistent, I opened the door in hopes that I could convince him of not taking me to town. I gave him excuse after excuse, lie after lie, but he wasn’t falling for it. Finally, in tears, shame, and fear, I cried out, “You can’t take me because I’m illegal and they will deport me.”
A tidal wave of emotions overwhelmed my 17-year-old body in that moment. I had to share the most private and shameful part of my life with this man who just naturally frightens me by his very personhood. My spirit fell apart as I faced the abyss of being deported and all alone in the world with no one to save me from this shameful fate. In that moment, without missing a beat, PK grabbed me off the ledge of utter despair and pulled me into his very present and larger-than-life orbit. He held me close, cradling me just like one of his sons, and with assurance and gentleness in his voice, tears streaming down his eyes, he said.
“Son, you don’t have to be afraid! I’m here, we’ll make it.”
After prayer and consolation, he left my room, and the world began to weave back together into regular boarding school life. Varsity games, banquets, choir tours, and so on. A year later the school even granted me permission to graduate.
The teenage years, for most of my friends, was a very normal part of life, but for me a very specific visit changed everything. I can’t begin to imagine what Mary must have gone through, but I can empathize with feeling like you are all alone and your world is about to change forever.
It was indeed a visitation that changed me. I wasn’t sure how to articulate the change as a teenager, but I knew that something had changed in the trajectory of how my life would go, and today I am still discovering what that incarnation looks like. I’m still brought to tears as I think of that moment many years ago, not realizing then that God would use my deepest fear as a source of encouragement and strength for others in life.
All because of a God, a messenger, who came close me, speaking into my fear, “Be not afraid.”
Iki Taimi serves as lead pastor of the La Sierra University Church.