One of my favorite poems is The Bridge Builder, by Will Allen Dromgoole. Her* poem resonates with me and can teach many valuable lessons. I first heard it standing with a troop of Boy Scouts I was leading through the honor trail as they were being taught about their duty to help other people at all times, it has never left me. The poem evokes powerful feelings of duty to others, others you may never meet, but that you know will face challenges that you could ease if you would be willing to put in effort on someone else's behalf. It speaks of supreme service, work that does nothing for you, but will ease the burdens of others. Like I said, i think about it often, and it means different things to me depending on what is on my mind at the time.
Recently I have read and heard people talking about how their ancestors worked hard and sacrificed to get to this land for freedom and safety. Some have talked about how they (or someone they know) recently worked and struggled through the current immigration roadblocks to finally, legally, become a permanent resident or citizen of this country. These comments are usually in regards to how everyone should just do it legally if they want to come here. Most recently it is in response to Pres. Trump announcing an end to DACA (deferred action for childhood arrivals), a program put in place during President Obama's administration to defer deportation of children brought here by their parents who are or have successfully completed their secondary education and have desires beyond. This post isn't really about DACA, because I think there are reasonable legal arguments about executive power and how things should be done. This is about the mindset of 'my ancestors' or 'my cousin' or 'I' came here legally, everyone else should do all the hard things I did.
I propose the following idea. Maybe instead of demanding that everyone go through the same struggles, and heartache, and roadblocks, and strife that we or those we love have been forced to go through. Maybe loving our neighbor includes working to remove stumbling blocks and hazards. Maybe loving our neighbor includes wanting his life to be better than the worst parts of ours. I think my ancestors who traveled to this land for religious freedom, or freedom from political persecution, or opportunity, or whatever they came for hoped with all their hearts that their descendants would enjoy the freedoms and safety and opportunity that they themselves were struggling for. I propose this last idea. I don't think any of them hoped that their descendants would fight to make sure that the next guy who wanted to be free, or safe, or have opportunity would be barred from coming to this same land. I wish that we could strive harder to build a bridge for the one who comes after.
The Bridge Builder
By Will Allen Dromgoole
An old man going a lone highway,
Came, at the evening cold and gray,
To a chasm vast and deep and wide.
Through which was flowing a sullen tide
The old man crossed in the twilight dim,
The sullen stream had no fear for him;
But he turned when safe on the other side
And built a bridge to span the tide.
“Old man,” said a fellow pilgrim near,
“You are wasting your strength with building here;
Your journey will end with the ending day,
You never again will pass this way;
You’ve crossed the chasm, deep and wide,
Why build this bridge at evening tide?”
The builder lifted his old gray head;
“Good friend, in the path I have come,” he said,
“There followed after me to-day
A youth whose feet must pass this way.
This chasm that has been as naught to me
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be;
He, too, must cross in the twilight dim;
Good friend, I am building this bridge for him!”
*not a typo, Will Allen Dromgoole was a woman, and to read about her, kind of an impressive one at that.
