I waited patiently. The scene was fascinating, messy, and potentially dangerous in a New York kind of way. I was standing under an art house signage in the West Village. The traffic flowing north on sixth avenue was overwhelming. Lights, near wrecks, and horns were mixing in with pouring rain, extended and dangerous water-filled potholes, and people blissfully ignoring everything including traffic lights. This was life, New York style!
I was having fun. I was dry as I watched, imaging my observations as the first step in a longer conversation. The novellas playing out in my head were truly amazing, wonderful, and bizarre. Young punks, couples intent on displaying their new found sexuality, and artsy types blended in with people dressing for success and parents just trying to survive. Kids strolled in harmony with their parents hands, gently pulling to stomp in each puddle along the way.
In my meditative reflection, I missed the stranger walking towards me. As the wrinkled paper cup was extended I knew what was coming next. The banter was friendly yet there was an edge to it. On principle I had nothing to give; ironically far closer to the truth than I wanted to admit. As the conversation continued endlessly I found myself increasingly uncomfortable. I had no idea how I could end this without harsh words or an even harsher response.
Beside me was a young girl, well traveled yet somehow vulnerable. I realized, in the middle of the increasingly intense banter, I had come under her watchful eye. Reaching into her torn dress pocket, she extended her hand. “Here is a quarter. Please leave this gentleman and myself alone. Now.”
“The very ground under our feet mourns, the Lebanon mountains hang their heads, flowering Sharon is a weed-choked gully, and the forests of Bashan and Carmel? Bare branches. ‘Now I'm stepping in,’ God says. ‘From now on, I'm taking over. The gloves come off. Now see how mighty I am.’” (Isaiah 33.9, 10)
I met God on West 3rd and Sixth Avenue. God has great tastes and incredible timing.
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