The Gate

There once was a farmer who lived on a beautiful farm. It provided him with enough on which to live, and the views were broad and long enough to suggest more to life than his farm.

Next door, however, there was a farm which was said to be vast and fertile, the likes no one had ever known. He’d read about his neighbor’s farm, its rich soil and endless views. He often gathered others to talk about what his neighbor’s farm must be like. From what the books and others said, the farm next door sounded like a dream come true.

The problem was, he could not see the other farm. From his, all he could see was a great wall dividing the two farms. In frustration, he stopped reading the books and talking to others. “What good is learning about a place I cannot see for myself,” he reasoned.

Then, one day, his neighbor built a gate in the wall, and called over, “Come over anytime. We’d love to have you.” The gate, and his neighbor’s sincere invitation, made the farmer feel better. He began reading books and talking to others again, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to do more than that. In the comfort of the place he knew, he looked over at the gate from time to time and smiled. It made him feel good just to know it was there.

In time, though, the longing within left him feeling empty and frustrated again. He tried reading more, and talking at greater lengths with others, but the emptiness and frustration did not subside.

“The gate’s not going to open itself,” said a familiar voice on the other side.  “My job was to build the gate and to invite you in. The rest is up to you. I did my part. Now it’s your turn.”

After a minute to think, the farmer was embarrassed to be invited a second time. Leaving his books and conversations with others behind, he walked toward the gate. Determined to see what lay on the other side for himself, he reached out, turned the latch, pushed the gate open, and walked through.

Letting Go

With two hands, the successful fisherman lifted his catch. Marveling at its beauty one last time, he reaches over the side of the boat and holds it gently in the water as it acclimates to its new surroundings. Suddenly it wiggles, letting him know it’s ready, and, with a mixture of gratitude and regret, he opens his hands, letting the fish swim off, out of sight.

That’s how it feels to be a parent sometimes. Whether driving them to the first day at school, seeing them off at an airport, or walking them down an aisle, our lives are never-ending cycles of such moments. Holding gently for only a moment, we gaze at their beauty and stand in awe. With both gratitude and regret, we reach over and place them in their new surroundings. Wishing we could continue to hold them, or maybe even pull them back into the boat, they wiggle and let us know it’s time. They’re ready. Opening our hands, they swim, which is what they were created to do, and are soon out of sight.

Such experiences are not unique to parents, of course. We all struggle to let go of those we love, and, no matter how often we participate in this sacred rite, it never gets easier. The love that causes our hearts to swell, is the same love that rips them apart. That’s the deal, I suppose. It’s what being a human being is all about, and, when we’re honest and feeling secure, we’d never have it any other way.

Belonging

“YOU.ARE.NOW.CITIZENS.OF.THE.UNITED.STATES.OF.AMERICA.” said the judge clearly and deliberately. No one in the room could help but be moved, and I left feeling every citizen of our country should attend such a ceremony. It helped me remember what a privilege it is to live here, what responsibilities come from being a citizen, and what an opportunity we all have to make our country a better place.

There was one moment in particular that stayed with me, however, like no other. It happened when one of the newest citizens, a Muslim woman dressed with a hijab, shook hands with a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution, dressed in an elegant suit. In that instant, they were equals. They belonged to America, and America belonged to them, equally.

The reason why the moment was so poignant was we don’t see things that way. Whether it’s in citizenship, or some other sphere of belonging, we often see gradations of belonging, where some are made to appear more valuable than others.

At a club I know, members actually work behind the scenes to get lower membership numbers because the lower the number, the more prominent their membership appears. At a school where I once worked, we were clearly instructed to sit or stand in seniority order for the annual faculty photograph. As members elbowed their way into position, it was clear the most valuable members were in front. In recovery circles, people use their time in sobriety as a form of status, rather than focusing on the present day. In churches, you can see it all over the place, not only in names adorning buildings and rooms, but in the way the minister is considered holier than the other members of the congregation.

In many ways, I think this way of looking at the world is what caused people to crucify Christ. He opened the gates of God’s love and grace to outsiders, and those who considered themselves insiders were furious. Through all he said and did, he clearly believed there were no levels of adoption into God’s family.

I don’t know what was going on in the minds of the Muslim or the Daughter of the American Revolution, but I think the founders of our country were dancing.