The Dream

I write this as a woman of faith. You may not be a person of faith, which I respect. But perhaps you will connect with some part of this if you are a person of love. Love is action.

The Dream

The tables are long because the family is large.

Summertime family reunions usually call for long tables.

There is excitement in the air to see those who haven’t been seen in a while. It is time to prepare.

White table cloths are ironed. The Whitest white.

China and silver. Really? Yes, paper and plastic won’t do. We will have the shiniest silver.

Food has been cooking, good things have been baked and are cooling in the breeze. That beautiful breeze. Cold drinks have been plunged into icy bins.

Because family matters.

Family members deserve the very best.

Who found the flowers? (did you?) Beautiful, fragrant flowers are laid down the middle of every table. Their perfume is the final touch.

We take a moment to change out of our work clothes and put on something clean and colorful. We run brushes through our hair and our teeth. Ready to smile big smiles and hug big hugs.

Summertime is hot on the border of our country. We (you and I and the rest of us) have traveled far to get here. But we have shade over our tables and the breeze blows.

We are ready. We are so ready for the family reunion.

That’s why we are where we are: at the border. Where summertime is really hot. We had to come here.

As we finish preparations, we look around at all the doors. So many doors. Locked doors. We can’t get in. Those locked doors are why we are here. They must be unlocked.

Then… bolts slide back. Some of the doors open. You and I can see them.

They are the mothers. Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of mothers. They blink into the bright sunlight. Through their bleary eyes and their teary eyes, the silver gleams, the china sparkles, the white tablecloths are so white…they are confused.

More bolts slide back. More doors open.

They are the fathers. Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of fathers. Walking out of the dark. And through their bleary eyes and their teary eyes, they look beyond all that shines, for the one they came here with. The one they walked so far with. The one they hoped and dreamed of having a safe life with.

The reunion has begun.

We want to watch, but it’s so intimate to watch the immense pain these dear ones have suffered in this (our) country. Frantically they search and slowly find the other half of their heart.

More bolts slide.  More doors open.

Oh…oh…they are the children. The older ones carry the babies out of their prison. Out of their cages. Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of children. And through their bleary eyes and their teary eyes they see a world sparkling. Whitest white. Shiny silver. Flower perfume fills small noses. They look, they see…

And then the shouts! And then the screams!

For what mother does not know her own baby?

For what father does not know his own child?

We are unable to move as we watch through bleary eyes and teary eyes, the miracle of reunion.

We stand in awe as broken apart families search and search, and then finally find the ones who make them whole. They cling to one another. Their tears puddle on the floor.

After a very long time of seeking and finding, we slip our arms through theirs. We take their life-worn hands in ours and we all sit at the tables.

The tables which are set for a family reunion. Nothing has been spared. A holy meal begins. We pass platters and platters food.

(“This is my body, broken for you,” Jesus says.)

No more brokenness.

We pass thirst-quenching cold drinks.

(“This is my blood, shed for you,” Jesus says.)

No more bloodshed.

Silver clinks on china. It sounds like angels laughing.

The Holy Spirit breeze continues to blow. It blows through our brushed hair. Through our bright clothes. It blows through our souls and connects us to one another.

We are sitting with our sisters and our brothers. With all the precious little ones (who have suffered far too much) who are the sweetest part of this big, noisy, crying, laughing, reunited family. For we are all made in the image of God. Each and every one of us.

And we (you and I) are called to alleviate suffering. We must.

Then one of us (is it you?) stands up and says to the ones from behind the bolted doors:

Welcome home.

The work begins. The healing begins. Hope flickers. Love will win.

 Because family matters.