Do You Want to Come In?

We were walking down the familiar path near the park we often visit. We had walked on that pavement so many times that our feet had memorized the cracks and the wobble of the asphalt. Yet that day, the familiar sidewalk transformed into a portal to a different world.

It was my daughter who noticed the subtle vibration in the air first. With a heart full of pure curiosity, she looked up at me with gleaming eyes and asked, “What’s that sound?”

At first, I thought it was just someone playing music on the radio. But as we walked closer to the source of the sound, I realized it was live music. Real-life people were singing in real time. And it was coming from a church.

The big French doors were flung open, though I could not see the inside well. It looked dark, like a planetarium. Against the bright July sun, the church looked both secret and sacred, like a place we should not be approaching with curiosity.

So I gently tugged at my daughter’s tiny hand and tried to usher her away from the staircase that led up to those heavy wooden doors. But the song kept spilling out. It almost felt like the doors had been propped open because there was too much energy to contain inside. The music sounded full of sorrow and the hope of being human. It carried both force and gentleness, both weight and lightness.

Despite my effort to keep walking, my daughter’s feet were planted firmly on the ground. That was when a woman standing by the door noticed us. She had a banana-colored bandana wrapped around her beautifully shaped head, and she wore a long, flowy dress that matched the fabric on her crown. She walked toward us with an easy stride, came down the stairs, and greeted my daughter and me.

My daughter asked the same question again. “What’s that sound?”

The woman smiled softly and answered, with a hint of an African accent, “It’s gospel. They are singing inside.”

My daughter seemed delighted to hear this from someone other than her mother, as if the fact rang truer when it came from another adult. Then she kept peering inside.

The woman in bright, soulful color looked at us and asked, “Do you want to come in?”

My daughter nodded with absolute determination.

Her mother started perspiring.

I did not want to encroach. This was a sacred space, where people practiced a faith I do not share, or at least do not understand with the same level of devotion. I thought it was not a place we should enter unless we were committed like “them.” Unless we were like “them.”

So I thanked the woman and told her we had to get going, but maybe next time.

I did not know how much regret this interaction would create in the hours that followed. Later, I realized they were welcoming us. Their arms were open. Their doors were open. And it was me who decided there was a line dividing “us” and “them.”

But how can we expect to understand one another, to truly know and appreciate both the differences and the universality of humanness, if we keep drawing that line? How can we expect to love one another?

***

I will go back to the same pavement again, with my daughter’s little hand in mine and my resolution renewed. This time, if someone asks, “Do you want to come in?” I will answer, “Yes, please. I would love to come into your world.”

What a simple invitation. What a generous and vulnerable one.

Here is my world. I would love for you to come in.

I hope I can extend that invitation, too, with the same grace and ease that woman offered us, when I get the chance.

Written by SAKURACO