I recently made the early morning flight to New York City, leaving Bluegrass Field in the dark and approaching LaGuardia with the sun just high enough in the East to set the city aglow. Passengers on the left-hand side of the plane leaned into their windows as the iconic outline of Manhattan came into view in the distance. Its bristling skyline appeared to rise straight out of the water.
“Do you see it?” the woman behind me asked her traveling companion.
“Not yet.”
I could feel their expectancy. And then, “There she is!”
Standing apart from the mass of gleaming towers was the lady of whom they spoke. Lady Liberty, of course, whose circular island pediment and graceful stance contrasted with the hard lines of the city. Whose form lacked the height of those structures behind her, yet whose singularity made her recognizable, accessible, beloved.
Window shades snapped open along the length of the plane as others claimed the view. Lady Liberty, like nothing else during the flight, enticed passengers away from their phones, their books, their reverie, and their sleep.
She matters. Because of the immigrants she welcomes to this country, yes. But she is more than our ambassador. Our connection with her is deep and visceral because she welcomes each person, including us, to be part of this nation. She invites the weary to take heart, she upholds the dignity of the oppressed, and encourages the heartsick to persevere.
She reminds us that we are strong enough to be compassionate and wise enough to follow her light. She is the best in us, and we rouse ourselves from slumber to catch a glimpse of her because she is how we will meet this day.
