Bring Me Your Weary
In the spring of 2001 my 6 year old made a request. As the school year wound down, our thoughts began to revolve around delivering new school buses across the United States. We had some say in our choice of destination and so we encouraged the girls to dream of places yet seen. Melissa, having just completed first grade with an awakening to American History said, “I want to see the Statue of Liberty. She is a symbol of America’s freedom.” And so, the first opportunity to head east was taken. Our buses went to Philadelphia, we stayed the night in a hotel and got up at daylight on July 3 headed toward Jersey City, New Jersey.
The girls returned to slumber as the miles ticked by. Keith and I were marveling at the city scenes so foreign to us when we saw a torch on the horizon reaching toward Heaven. We weren’t sure it was the real deal and we didn’t want a false alarm so we waited a few more miles. As New York Harbor’s pride and joy grew larger we woke our angels. They were big eyed, starry eyed and totally awed by the magnificence of Lady Liberty’s majesty.
A few more minutes and we parked our car, bought tickets and ferried to Liberty Island. As we walked and read the markers our minds were broadened to a greater understanding of those that came before us. We returned to the ferry and continued to Ellis Island, the famous entry point of America for the tired, the poor, the huddled masses.
This historical landmark, this national monument, is beautifully staged so you walk through the grand entrance and step back in time to the reality of those that came to our nation seeking a better tomorrow. It wasn’t pretty. I became shaken, heart broken, humbled and a better person.
There was a mock unloading of cargo, and a train depot with its many terminals. Hand rails marked the lines where people were vetted for disease, criminal history, and financial prospects. You couldn’t just step off the boat, gather your things and go. Families were often separated by decisions far beyond their control, by people with a less than ethical agenda. It wasn’t the welcome wagon or the Red Cross waiting on the docks. It was a crowded city with a crowded beyond questioning other’s rights to share in what they enjoyed.
The general demographic of those who came were men of other languages and cultures seeking financial stability so they could send home for their wives and children and wives and children coming to find the husbands they hadn’t heard from in months. The common thread was a present so void of hope that an unknown future seemed like the only option rather than a gamble. Was it freedom they were reaching to grasp or was it hope?
Freedom and hope are two threads of the same tapestry. One does not exist without the other. Your hope and my hope exist because of someone else’s contribution, just as our freedom does and in turn the hope and freedom of future generations rests with us.
In the back of the museum there is an American flag, a hologram made from faces of the past. As I gazed upon it I realized I wasn’t that brave. I bowed my head in grateful adoration for the Christ that paid the price for my eternal freedom and the men and women who establish and maintain the blessings I enjoy.
This is how we know what love is; Jesus Christ laid down His life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers and sisters. I John 3:16
Love,
Gretchen