Immigrants Must Honor Their Heritage, Embrace Future of U.S.

"For I am not ashamed, for I know whom I have believed, and I am convinced that He is able to guard what I have entrusted to Him until that day." — 2 Timothy 1:12

I have encountered, read, and reviewed this Bible verse many times, following my long journey from Iraq to my new homeland, the United States of America!

In Iraq, especially during my early years there, religion wasn’t just a subject; it was a structure.

We studied the Islamic faith in a detailed framework, learning the steps, rules, and obligations which guided how we lived, prayed, and thought.

Some of it made sense. And frankly some of it didn’t.

Daily life in Iraq moved fast, the country as a whole moved even faster.

There was little time to pause, to reflect, or to ask why.

Why?

We were swept up in conflict, and survival became the only real "curriculum."

Eventually, my family made it to America, a place of both uncertainty and profound hope.

As refugees, we tried to belong, to rebuild, and struggled to stay afloat.

And yet, even in those early years of adjustment, something began to stir in me, something I couldn’t quite name.

I noticed a particular quality in people I met, especially those educated in Christian schools. In particular, I have met many Americans educated by the Jesuits, whose motto is “Men and Women for Others.”

Shortly after immigrating to the United States, I was honored to earn my MBA at Georgetown University.

Whether they still practiced or not, there was something about the way Jesuit-educated Americans lived.

A sense of moral grounding. A generosity of spirit that seemed to come not from obligation, but from instinct.

It was woven into their being, almost effortlessly.

Whether they were aware of it or not, I could see it clearly: something sacred had touched their formation.

Something had been planted deep, and it bore fruit in how they treated others with dignity, with restraint, and with a certain grace that lingered long after conversations ended.

That quiet strength drew me in.

So, when I came across St. Paul’s words in 2 Timothy, "For the which cause I also suffer these things: nevertheless I am not ashamed: for I know whom I have believed, and am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have committed unto him against that day," these words did not feel foreign.

They felt like truth.

They marked a turning point for me not just in certainty, but in identity.

I no longer needed to explain my path or justify my questions.

I didn’t have to carry shame for stepping outside of tradition.

I began to reinterpret the teachings of my life, not to reject them, but to understand them more fully through the lens of truth, compassion, and freedom.

That need, to make meaning for ourselves, is something many immigrants and refugees carry quietly.

When you’re separated from your familiar systems of faith and beliefs, it can be disorienting. Some feel uprooted. Others stick even more tightly.

But for me, that distance became a bridge: a space of rediscovery; a chance to build something deeply personal and unshakable.

And through it all, my children have been my compass.

Their curiosity, their questions, and their joy have been a gentle nudge toward the life I was always meant to live. In my children, I see a future shaped not by fear, but by freedom.

Through them, I’ve learned to let go of survival mode and embrace a life of dignity, liberty, and purpose.

I’ve come to understand not only the promise of this country, but the beauty of its Founding truth: that every person is entitled to pursue well-being, peace, and a life of meaning.

I am especially grateful for my children who, in their curiosity and resilience, have helped me claim my voice as a mother, a citizen, and a woman of faith.

They’ve reminded me that liberty isn’t just a political concept, it’s a deeply spiritual one.

Through them, I’ve come to stand more fully in my calling.

I hope all immigrants and refugees will let questions deepen their American roots.

This is my prayer for all fellow immigrants to America:

That you may live with harmony not by forgetting your past, but by honoring the new life growing from it; not by erasing your heritage but by contributing your voice to the American promise: that all people, to quote our July 4, 1776, Declaration of Independence, "are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness."

Rana Alsaadi is a refugee from Iraq and now a naturalized American citizen. Prior to co-founding PACEM Solutions International in Falls Church, Virginia, Mrs. Alsaadi held multiple Senior Executive positions and served with the US Department of State as a Cultural Advisor and the US Department of Defense as a Translator/Analyst in Iraq. Mrs. Alsaadi earned her Bachelor of Arts degree in English from Baghdad University and her Executive Master of Business Administration from Georgetown University. Read Rana Al Saadi's Reports — More Here.