I can't believe that I'm seeing this.
Sitting on a bench, along Battery Park, watching the sun paint the sky over the distant high-rises, it seems almost too good to be true. I'm here for work. Alison literally came along for the ride -- and what a ride it was: from southwestern PA up to Grove City College in northwestern PA, across to our home town to drop off Alison's mom and straight from home into the city. But despite the hassle, here is a magical moment -- the sun gleaming off of the new World Trade building behind us, New Yorkers and tourists milling about, and the two of us soaking in the beauty.
And the absolute unpredictability of blessing.
One of the things that has drawn me into this journey from bench to bench has been to make my remaining time on this planet meaningful. I suppose it's because when I try to look ahead, I'm afraid I see the dark clouds of old age. It's easy to be glum about the future when loved ones who are older struggle with physical ailments as well as the loss of so many things -- mobility, friends, memory.
But moments like this tell me a different story: you don't know. Two years ago, if you had told me I'd be requested to be the artist at a high-powered business conference in the financial district in Manhattan, I would have guffawed loudly. (Who doesn't enjoy a hearty guffaw from time to time?) But here I am. Completely unforeseen.
There are unforeseen difficulties ahead. You betcha. But there are also moments of sheer delight and joy waiting to be stumbled upon, coming around a corner to find. Spectacular skies ready to be spread. Bottled up blessings to be uncorked. They may not all be of the wide-screen variety. Perhaps they'll be more of the tiny wonders, like a child's laugh or the familiar warmth of my wife's hand wrapped in mine.
Who knows what the future will bring. Certainly not me.
I'm starting to think that's not so bad after all.
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