God gave me such an amazing day today. A group of us went to Ellis Island because, well... we've never gone and we should have. I knew it was something important in my head, but not necessarily in my heart.
Until I got there.
At first the pictures blown up on the walls of the museum looked like the pictures I had seen all my life. But within ten minutes, there were so many emotions rolling around in me. Their faces changed. They didn't seemed hard and distant. As I stared at a picture of one couple, they seemed familiar, soft, like people I would like to know. After that, the museum came to life. It wasn't about me learning about this building, but about them. Polish laborer. German immigrants. Russian baker. Armenian girl. Such blank titles under face after face after face. My interest was peaking higher than my mind anticipated. I wanted to know more. What did they feel? What did they think? Was it scary like anyone would expect it to be, or were there other emotions that took them by surprise? What did the voices sound like echoing through the Registry Room or changing area or living quarters for those detained? Babies crying. Guards and inspectors shouting. Could they close their eyes and still hear it years later? What relationships were made in those rooms? Business partners. Neighbors. Best friends until the end.
Room after room God led me through the three floors of exhibits. He would direct me. "Go back and read that one paragraph." "Look over here." "Close your eyes and listen." "Stop and pray." "Look a little closer at that picture." "You're seeing it, Ashley. What I brought you here to see."
America is not about one country, it's about all the countries. As I walked from room to room, something that I always knew but never understood finally clicked inside me. There is no such thing as an American. America is a melting pot, which means we are all mutts. Mixed breeds. There is no true line. No pure heritage. We all originate from family from another country. And those ancestors are from family from another country. And another country. And another country. And another country. Until we all are standing in one place: the Garden. And in my mind's eye, as we stand there looking at one another, different colors, different shapes, different languages, different cultures, we realize something that we have painfully forgotten in our hearts.
We are all the same.