The more basic a thing is, the easier it is to take for granted.
Like an unobstructed view of the sky. Or the shade of trees. Or grass under one’s feet.
In a city, those things can be hard to come by.
I have an hour or so in Manhattan before I’ll be swallowed by a high-rise, so naturally, I gravitate toward the most outdoor place I can think of nearby: Bryant Park. It’s a familiar spot, but as I enter the ringing shade of foliage, I breathe the request I’m training myself to pray: Show me what you want me to see.
I see people. Drawn to the green like bees to nectar, they sit in the bright sunshine, sucking up the serotonin. Some are in full corporate regalia. Some are stripped down for aerodynamics.
Even under the trees, the park is brimming with unfolding narratives. A child pauses in his play, surprised by his magnetic powers.
A dapper man hunches over his crossword, gloves protecting his hands from the ink.
Games of chess draw disparate competitors.
The park is an oasis. It’s not just relief from the desert of concrete around it. It is a resting place, where one can step out of the flow of intentions and responsibilities and simply prop a couple of freed feet on a chair.
It has me asking myself where my place of rest is, where I can feed my soul on beauty. In a sense, this blog is my attempt to take that oasis with me — to find that rest and beauty throughout each day, regardless of where I am.
Weary, working, burdened one,
Wherefore toil you so?
Cease your doing; all was done
Long, long ago.
Jesus, you promised to give weary and heavy-laden travelers like us rest for our souls if we would just come to you. You are the oasis we need. You are the green field in our congested, busy lives. Lord, would you also give us physical places of rest, too? We long for places where we can feel that we belong to something bigger than just ourselves.
