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, so we encouraged the girls to dream of places yet unseen. 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.” 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 quickly 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 in the skyline, reaching toward Heaven. We weren’t sure it was the real deal, so we waited a few more miles. As New York Harbor’s pride and joy grew larger we woke our sleeping beauties. They were big eyed and totally awed by the magnificence of Lady Liberty shining in the early morning’s sunlight.
A few more miles and we parked our car, bought tickets and ferried to Liberty Island. As we walked and read the historical 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 as you walk through the grand entrance, you step back in time and feel the reality of those that came to our nation seeking a better tomorrow. It wasn’t pretty. I became shaken, heart broken, and humbled.
There was a mock unloading of cargo and a train depot with many confusing terminals. I viewed the place where people lined up waiting to be vetted for disease, criminal history, and financial prospects. Families were regularly separated by decisions far beyond their control, often by agents 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 full of people questioning other’s rights to share in prosperity.
The general demographic of those who crossed the ocean were men of other languages and cultures seeking financial stability so they could send home for their wives and children, or wives and children coming to find husbands and fathers they hadn’t heard from in months. I recognized a common thread of lives so void of hope that a desperate gamble for a better future seemed like the only option.
In the back of the museum there is an American flag, a hologram made from likenesses of the past. As I gazed upon it I realized I’m not brave. Destiny hasn’t ask of me what it asked of them. I gripped the hands of my children, I bowed my head in gratitude for the Christ that paid the ultimate price for my eternal freedom, and thanked Him for these men and women who played a part in creating 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
The good I enjoy exists because of someone else’s contribution, and in turn, the hope and freedom of future generations rests with me, and you. Rise to the challenge, be a blessing, or maybe the answer to their prayer.
Love,
Gretchen