ACTON -- The Chavre household is a busy, rambunctious one.

On the sweltering afternoon of July 27, Midiana Chavre sat on her sofa and watched her four children -- eight-year-old Sammy, six-year-old Jonathan, three-year-old Sephora, and two-year-old Josias -- run, scream, cry, tumble, and play in the living room of their Acton apartment. Sammy will be entering the third grade this year, and loves learning and having fun at school. When he grows up, he wants to be a doctor or a YouTuber. He has dreams of becoming rich and famous on Tiktok, too. Johnny is entering first grade. He likes recess and watching TV after school. He wants to be a policeman or a YouTuber when he grows up.

The four Chavre children sleep in a single bed together. The other bedroom is where Midiana and her husband, John Chavre, sleep. It's less crowded than the emergency shelter they once stayed in, a repurposed hotel, which, like many others across the state, was pressed into service to house a massive influx of Haitian migrants like the Chavres. The shelter had one room with two beds. Sammy remembers there being "a lot of friends" there.

Josias and Sephora were born in Massachusetts and are U.S. citizens. The rest of the Chavres are asylum-seekers whose legal status is in limbo.

"My country is very bad," said Midiana Chavre, 40. "I don't have work in my country, food, anything. I come here for a better life for my kids."

As Midiana Chavre spoke, her children cycled through her arms, as well as those of Kris Cole, a parishioner of Holy Family in Concord. She and fellow parishioner Steve Wong volunteered at the shelter to play with the children for two hours each day. Wong noticed that many of the children seemed traumatized. When the emergency shelters closed in July 2025, the state helped the families find new housing. Some, like the Chavres, managed to find apartments. Others are still living in shelters.

"It's pretty good," Sammy said of life in the U.S.

Cole and Wong are part of Holy Family's Friends from Afar migrant ministry, which is in touch with over 50 families new to the U.S.

Friends from Afar helps them move into new homes, find steady employment, register their kids in local schools and daycares, fill out immigration paperwork, navigate the legal system, coordinate transportation, and earn drivers' licenses. Volunteers also provide air conditioning, refrigerators, snacks, diapers, backpacks, and winter clothes.

"The parishioners from the Concord-Carlisle collaborative who are ministering in the Friends from Afar ministry are the best," said Father David O'Leary, pastor of Holy Family. "We are a Matthew 25 parish -- feed the poor, visiting the prisoners, caring for the sick, and welcoming the stranger."

The legal assistance Friends from Afar provides to immigrants has become much harder after the recent revocation of Temporary Protected Service (TPS) for Haitian immigrants. TPS allowed many of the families in Friends from Afar's care to live and work legally in the U.S. Parents afraid of deportation are now scared to go outside and play with their children.

"They feel relief when one of our team members shows up and takes the kids out for a brief moment," said Marie Noel, director of faith formation at Holy Family. "That gives them a break."

At first, Cole thought that playing with the children in the shelters would be the extent of her volunteering.

"I liked the baby room," she said. "I liked to play with the younger kids, and I loved to just hold them. Sometimes they would come in, and they would just cry the whole time, and I loved just giving them love."

When the shelter closed, Cole feared she'd never see the children again. She continued visiting them for playdates at their new homes. Eventually, if their parents needed a ride or had questions about life in the U.S., she'd be there. Their kids became like her grandchildren. The Chavre children call Cole "manman," Haitian Creole for "mother."

"I love them," she said. "I truly love them."

When asked his thoughts on Wong and Cole, Johnny gave two thumbs up.

"I say thank you God and thank you for Kris because she's helped me," Midiana Chavre said. "Kris is the best. Thank you Kris."

When Midiana Chavre arrived in the U.S., she knew no English. Kris helped her practice for her job interview. She got the job, working as a nurse's assistant at an assisted living facility in Acton, after taking CAN classes in the shelter.

"I love my job," she said. "I love to help somebody."

She wants to become a nurse someday. Her husband, like many men who once lived in the shelter, works the night shift at an Amazon warehouse.

"I think the hardest part is watching how hard they work, how little they get," Cole said, "and watching our political environment demonize these people because they want a better life, they want to work, they want to follow the rules, they want to raise their kids, and they're trying, but it's so difficult here."

"Sometimes I think about Jesus in his day," Cole said. "Every person was asking for help from him. Everywhere he went, they were asking for help, and I feel like that's where we are. Every one of these families needs help, and it's very hard to meet all the needs."

Now that the families have been resettled throughout the area and are no longer in the shelter, they have lost their community and support network. They must "fend for themselves," Cole said.

"We try" to help, she said, "but it's overwhelming. It's a lot. There's not enough of us to go around. We need more people who want to visit the kids."

Midiana Chavre said that life in the U.S. is "okay now," but scary for immigrants like her and her family. New immigration policies mean that the length of time between asylum hearings has gone from years to weeks. Migrants are scared to go to immigration court for fear of being detained and deported.

"People are getting very nervous," Noel said.

Whether the Chavres can stay in the U.S. is unknown. Their next hearing will be in late 2026 or early 2027.