By David Lee

A month from today, I will be taking some time off from my duties at Lighthouse Immigrant Advocates to get married.

I’ve been looking forward to celebrating with some of my closest friends and family for a while now, but there’s a lot to do yet to get ready. Finalizing catering, officiant, venue, and attending to a thousand small details that could make or break what I have been encouraged to remember is a very important day in my life.

It was in the process of checking off these myriad wedding tasks that I found myself holding the most important piece of paper I will ever have, my naturalization certificate. I’ll need to bring this to the Ottawa County clerk to apply for a marriage license, as I do not have my birth certificate, not in a form that would work for this purpose.

And just like that, I feel a hundred percent the immigrant I was before getting this document. Having to prove who I was, what my status was, which really affected my sense of self. Back then, I was in the beginning stages of defining my identity. Am I Korean? I wasn’t Korean-American, at least not yet. And certainly not yet an American, no. Something in between. Something undefined, but real.

I owe the entirety of my citizenship to others. To my parents, who lived on hopes and prayers to purse an education, and then careers in a foreign country after a lifetime of growing up in South Korea. They navigated the immigration system of the 90’s, which would be unrecognizable to immigrants and immigration advocates today. This was a world before 9/11, before DHS or ICE or USCIS or CBP. My parents pursued a dream, and we got really, really lucky along the way. They did everything right, passed the citizenship test, completed the ceremony. It was through their efforts that I became a citizen. Parents will move mountains for their children, and I still strive to repay, or pay forward, what my parents have done for me, this greatest gift of my life.

I’m sharing all of this with you because, as a fundraiser, I have signed up to connect wonderful people to the causes they care about, to serve in their efforts to express their most deeply held beliefs, and to believe in a future that does not yet exist. Part of this hope comes largely from my own experiences, from the full awareness of the gifts that I have received. The other source of my hope comes from the very people that make this work possible.

As an immigrant that works with Lighthouse Immigrant Advocates, I constantly draw on my own lived experiences for context into the world of immigration we live and work in today. What stops me in my tracks are the many, many people who have no lived experience, whose connection to our work is a friend or colleague, who still find a way to believe as deeply in immigrants and immigration as I do. This includes our staff, and includes many of the people that are reading this email right now, who are happy to help open doors they have never had to walk through, for the idea that the world could be kinder and more welcoming than it is today. Those who have a hope.

As part of their “homework” for their cases, our clients also bring some of their most important documents to us - birth certificates and marriage licenses being especially common. They’re needed to prove status, identity, and move forward with their cases. We tread most carefully in our work for clients, because we are entering the realm of their hope too.

I have kept my naturalization certificate safe for many years now, for what feels like a lifetime. A reminder of the day that my life officially changed, forever. It feels like fate that this is the same document I’ll need to move forward from being unmarried to being able to check off “Married”. It is another personal reminder of how important the work of Lighthouse Immigrant Advocates is. And I am honored to be able to share this reminder with you.

I am blessed to be in my late thirties and getting married, and to have already a home full of the things I need, and so, we have opted to ask our wedding guests to consider making a donation to local causes close to our hearts in lieu of gifts. Specifically, I’ve asked my “side” of the aisle to support Lighthouse Immigrant Advocates, a place and group of people who have the audacity to believe in a future where immigration status is not a barrier, one more family at a time.

Thank you for being that people. I write this with the hope to express how much your gifts and support mean to me, and to people like me, and all of the people we serve.

Finally, as a fundraiser for LIA, I would be remiss to write without an ask for your support. In the midst of all of the outside forces (inflation, political divides, misinformation, tremendous change) that make it challenging to fundraise for a growing nonprofit, I work with the hope and faith that our community of support will continue grow in support to meet the growth in work that Lighthouse is committed to. Please continue to include LIA in your giving as we work to serve new arrivals and old friends, whether that's now, or later in the year.

Thank you for giving and supporting a truly unique organization, of ordinary people accomplishing the extraordinary in the face of great adversity. I am humbled to be living and beliving in a hopeful future with you. 

In hope,

David 은석/Eunsuk Lee
Advancement Director

This post was originally sent in mid-July 2023 to LIA’s supporters by email. Reprinted with permission.