Episode Details

As this episode is released, we find ourselves heading into Fourth of July weekend and the 250th anniversary of the United States. It's a time of year filled with fireworks, parades, family gatherings, and conversations about freedom. But over the last year, I've found myself reflecting on that word in a very different way. Not politically, but personally. Not through the lens of headlines, but through history. Before we go any further, I want to be clear about something. This isn't a political episode. I'm not interested in debating parties, policies, or telling anyone what they should believe. That's not what Becoming the Sanctuary is about. This conversation is about humanity, perspective, and the questions that connect all of us regardless of where we come from.

I've always been fascinated by history. Even as a kid, I found myself drawn to the Founding Fathers, the Revolutionary period, and the stories surrounding the birth of this country. I couldn't fully explain why at the time. There was simply something about that chapter of history that kept pulling me back. Over the last year, however, that fascination became much more personal as I began researching my own ancestry. What started as curiosity slowly turned into hundreds of hours spent tracing family lines, reading historical records, and discovering the people whose lives eventually led to mine.

Along my grandmother's family line, I discovered that I'm a direct descendant of William Bradford, governor of Plymouth Colony and one of the passengers aboard the Mayflower. I learned that I'm also a direct descendant of Abigail Faulkner, who survived the Salem Witch Trials. Through another branch of my family, I discovered I'm a collateral descendant of John Adams, and I uncovered direct ancestors who fought during both the Revolutionary War and the Civil War. Suddenly, history wasn't just something I was reading anymore. It became something I was connected to. These weren't simply names in textbooks. They were human beings who lived through uncertainty, hardship, hope, loss, and impossible decisions. They were ordinary people who had no idea that centuries later someone would still be telling their stories.

As I continued reading about that period of history, one phrase kept appearing over and over again: The American Experiment. I found myself captivated by that word, experiment. An experiment assumes something incredibly important. It assumes you don't already know the outcome. It assumes you're willing to try something that has never been done before, to learn from mistakes, to refine what isn't working, and to leave room for future generations to continue the work. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I don't believe the people who began this country thought they were creating something finished. I think they knew they were beginning something. Something that would be challenged. Something that would evolve. Something they themselves would never live long enough to see completed.

At the same time, studying history also reminded me that remarkable ideas can exist alongside remarkable blind spots. The ideals of liberty and equality were revolutionary, yet slavery still existed. Women were denied many of the rights we now consider fundamental. The Indigenous peoples who had lived on this land for generations often paid an unimaginable price as settlements expanded. Those aren't details we should ignore because they're uncomfortable. They're part of the story. In fact, I think acknowledging them gives us a more honest understanding of history. It reminds us that every generation is capable of extraordinary vision while also being limited by the culture and understanding of its own time.

Rather than judging history from a place of superiority, I found myself asking a much more humbling question. If future generations can clearly see the blind spots of those who came before us, what blind spots do we have