This is how I see her. This is the America I got to know.
Late one evening years ago, during the depths of a difficult winter in New York, my car got stuck in the snow. Without me asking, two young men pulled over and pushed the car out.
For many years I lived without family nearby. A co-worker, who has four great sons, treated me like his fifth. I was invited to Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners, helped countless times with my house, and shared precious uninhibited moments discussing favorite scenes from the latest animated movie. Hilarious impressions ensued.
I worked at a university. A kind-hearted man who held meditation sessions on campus became a friend. We often talked long after the sessions ended. He listened when I needed help with some old wounds. This is the America I got to know. Perhaps not the America many outside of her borders know of.
I stopped watching and reading the news weeks ago. There is only one source that I go to. A girl asks her mother’s boyfriend of 17 years to be her dad. He breaks down in tears.
An 86-year-old man is paying for the college tuition of eight high school students he’s never known.
An 11-year-old boy has donated 6425 smoke detectors to families across Texas. He dreams of one day becoming a firefighter.
This is the America I got to know. Perhaps not the America many outside of her borders know of. Many inside may not either.
I am not a citizen of America. But I lived on her shores. And how blessed I was. Whether I get to set foot on her hallowed soil again or not, whether I have the opportunity to give back even a fraction of what I received, I wish upon her the words — a prayer — of a Nobel laureate published more than a hundred years ago.
“Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high; Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls;
Where words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action –
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.”
Indeed, it is a prayer I wish upon every nation.
It’s late in the evening now. I go back to my one source before going to bed. A homeless man offers money to pay a student’s bus fare.
A Chinese billionaire donates $2 billion to support educational, medical and environmental causes.
A teacher in Afghanistan turns his bike into a mobile library and cruises the countryside, giving kids a chance to read.
Syrian refugees are giving back to their host country Canada and those affected by the Alberta wildfire – money, hampers of toys, clothes, food, provisions, and furniture that they received only months before.
This is how I see humanity. This is the humanity I know. Perhaps not the humanity visible to those distracted by the dissonance. But clear as day to those returning her sacred embrace.