“God moved out of Manhattan a long time ago…” was all I heard. I was listening intently to Gerald as I picked at my cheese Danish at an overpriced but chic coffee shop in the Financial District when that phrase caught my attention. I stopped him mid-sentence and repeated his statement for accuracy and then, pushing my chair back to give my mind room to process what I heard, slowly shook my head and said, “Wow.”

Gerald paused, waiting for something of greater substance to come from my mouth. But when it was clear my brain was stuck in gear he picked up where I had interrupted; still, I could not stop thinking of the implications of that statement. I’m one who actually believes this is a spiritually rich season in the life of New York City. While noontime confessions and unparalleled acts of benevolence are not commonplace, I hear a sufficient number of stories and see enough prints to reveal God’s hand at work in our greater metropolitan area.

But for others, God is nowhere to be found. I breathed in the smells of the coffee shop, held my drink with both hands, and leaning in interrupted Gerald once again. “Sorry to go backwards, but I can’t get past your ‘God moved’ statement. Tell me more about what you mean.”

Gerald obliged and shared the predictable tales of church neglect and abuse, hypocrisy and aloofness, and the painfully abhorrent charge of irrelevance. My years as a student minister brought back the stinging charge of youth ministry pioneer Jim Rayburn, “It’s a sin to bore a kid with the gospel.” The same holds true for adults.

For many, God and the church are synonymous. While not theologically accurate, it is a reasonable expectation. If God is in the transformation business, shouldn’t His children bear some resemblance to His love and care and compassion and creativity and unity? But just as plenty of children blaze a trail of independence far from the paved path parents laid before them, the same is true with those in the church. So what does the church do now? If God moved, is it possible to load a U-Haul and bring Him back? I think it is. And these are the two things the church must do: love God and love people.

Surprised? You’re not alone. When religious leaders challenged Jesus to state the most important law of God, He offered the same 2-for-1 special, sending the leaders away with more to think about then they hoped for. Jesus’ words sound simple and would look great on a T-shirt. But living them out is a high calling. Too many faith-filled people—of any religious affiliation—view God as a tattoo, something to wear, rather than a leader, someone to follow. But if God ever does move, I guarantee the moment a person chooses to follow His leadership and stands for justice or bends down to serve, a 17’ panel truck with God’s goods will be on the road headed back to Manhattan.

Want some evidence that God still has a Manhattan address? Here are three recent God-sightings:

1. Michele gives up a week of her vacation to volunteer as a counselor at a preteen camp
2. Jeremy organizes a trip to bring people to his home country to serve abandoned children
3. Catherine listens with care and intensity as another woman shares her pain

These examples have God’s fingerprints all over them—and they come in varied shapes and sizes and commitment levels and ability. Yet they are all signs of a spiritually fertile climate that reminds the church of its priorities in the city and around the world.

Gerald’s “God moved” statement is not divinely inspired but it is real to him and challenges the church to reflect God’s love in plentiful and practical ways. And in case Gerald ever does speak for God, let’s hope God hires a moving company. Otherwise, I’m turning off my phone. God’s got a huge sleeper-sofa.

I was at an amusement park last summer, wearing shorts, a T-shirt, socks and sneakers—perfect, practical attire for a day on my feet. But when my daughters and their friends invited me to join them on “River Rapids,” I wished I had worn my quick-dri, mesh-lined bathing suit and flip-flops. But not wanting to miss creating a memory, I stepped into line, and started calculating my odds of staying dry. Since each raft held eight people, I figured 3-4 would get drenched, 2-3 would get wet and 1-2 would escape with nothing but a splash of spray hitting their faces and momentarily staining their shirts.

I could not have been more wrong.

It became painfully obvious that the thoroughly drenched people walking past me were not evenly spaced amongst the eight riders per raft. Instead all eight dripped, wrung out their shirts, and recounted their adventure through chattering teeth. Suddenly feeling that family memories were overrated, I looked up at one of the many warning signs I ignored on my way in that read: “WARNING: You WILL Get Soaked.” I read it again, slowly this time, hoping to find the words “just kidding” at the end—or perhaps an asterisk that told us where the park’s dryers were located or how to obtain a splash-free raft especially designed for fathers who wanted to bond with their children but not at the expense of wet socks. No such asterisk could be found—not even one that offered tips on how to move the experience from “Soaked” to “Pretty Darn Wet.” Instead people who looked freshly showered continued to parade past me. There were no surprises ahead, just a heavy downpour that put my dry socks and underwear in jeopardy.

Life today is a lot like the “River Rapids” except the sign would read: “WARNING: You WILL Be Assaulted Today.” If you exit your car or home, calculating the odds of not being stepped on, bumped into, pushed, honked at, misunderstood, or told to do something I am certain is not anatomically possible, you will discover the odds are not in your favor. The truth is, you will be assaulted—verbally, emotionally, physically, and other creative ways—and there is no asterisk. Instead the warning is a service. It prepares you for what’s ahead. So when you are about to order your bacon, egg, and cheese on a roll and someone far behind you in line shouts out his order and is served first, don’t be surprised. And don’t be offended when your benevolent act of walking with an elderly woman across the street is greeted with a chorus of car horns. Just smile and wave. And then laugh to yourself when the universal sign of displeasure is pointed in your direction. Ahhh, the sweet sights, sounds, and gestures of everyday living.

Life can be enjoyable but it can also pack as many quick turns and potential pitfalls as the “River Rapids,” so here are quick survival tips to keep your blood from boiling and your socks dry:

1) Anticipate
This has already been discussed but—bottom line—understand you’re in a busy, metropolitan area with every possible personality and temperament going in the same direction at a fast pace. Your day will be chaotic.

2) Bless
There’s a biblical principle of returning a blessing for a curse. When someone tells you to try one of those anatomically challenging poses, why not stop and thank the person for the suggestion and see if they can offer any tips? Be forewarned, sarcasm does not always translate well in these situations.

3) Laugh
Loosen up. Look around and smile. Where else can you see what you see?

4) Listen
Ask questions. Taking a moment to politely interact with the frustrating person you work with or the one you’re seated next to on the subway might pleasantly surprise you.

5) Stroll
Slow down! If you’re practicing the first four suggestions, you’re already decreasing your pace, but keep going—or slowing. Think browse over bully, meander over march, stroll over storm.

It’s not realistic to check these off each and every day, but implementing one or two from time-to-time will grow your love for life and keep you sane when you inevitably are bumped and bruised verbally, emotionally, or physically. One final WARNING: This is Not Easy. But it’s a great ride and one where you have a chance to keep your socks and underwear dry.

I wanted to jump off the roof of the building. I was 100 feet above the top of the tree line and aware that any leap would mean certain death, but a seemingly endless expanse of vibrant, green leaves created a hypnotic invitation to jump and bounce and run and play among their tree tops. I stood on the patio of Penthouse ‘A’ on Central Park West in a trance, in awe that a place of such beauty and quiet and inspiration existed in New York City.

I’d been on higher buildings: the World Trade Center when it was first built, the Sear’s Tower as a kid, frequent trips to the Empire State Building, and less than a year ago my family lived on the 23^rd floor of our apartment building. It wasn’t the height nor was it the spectacular view that so captured my heart. I’m not usually quick to say things like this…but it was God. Amidst the search that day for a parking spot, the rush to be on time, the discomfort from the overbearing heat, the rumble of my stomach, and more than aware that a pile of work awaited me at home—I never thought about God. Not once. I did pray for a parking spot, but that was more a cry for mercy than a desire to commune with the Almighty.

Yet, the moment I stepped off the elevator and onto the patio of Penthouse ‘A’ I was wide-eyed, jaw-dropped, and glued to the building’s ledge. I’m certain there was noise—the roof was full of wedding celebrants—but all I could see, hear, and feel was a sense of fullness and wholeness and awe at the size and scope of God.

I committed to become friends with the apartment owners so I could return to that holy place, but odds are—since I’m still yet to meet them—I’ll never get another chance. This was a unique opportunity to not only see New York in a matchless way, one normally reserved for the wealthy or fortunate film maker, but to be reminded that God can be found throughout the city, and not just from multi-million dollar rooftops.

My brief time looking over the park, seeing the city skyline seemingly sprout from a lush, green foundation, reminded me of the first time I saw my wife in her wedding dress. I always thought Janine was beautiful and looked forward to spending my life with her, but when I saw her on our wedding day my knees buckled. I was in awe of her beauty and suddenly understood in a new way how privileged I was to be called her husband. That’s what happened on Central Park West. God revealed Himself in such a way that my heart burst of love for the city and its people and the God of the city. It was then that I realized that God was alive in the city and could be found and heard throughout. It was as if I saw everything again—for the first time.

My moment on the roof ended and days later as I walked the city streets, reflecting on my holy penthouse experience, I paused and looked up, hoping to reclaim that happy place in my mind. But instead, my eyes fixed on the tops of the buildings and I made a rather obvious realization: the city’s buildings reach heavenward. Yes, I am aware that vertical objects point upward, but in just that moment I thought of Psalm 121:

¹I lift up my eyes to the mountains—

where does my help come from?

²My help comes from the Lord,

the Maker of heaven and earth.

New York City’s streets are awe-inspiring for tourists but can be dark and gloomy for residents. The buildings box you in and if you think about it long enough tempt you to feel small and insignificant. Yet on this day, I received a perspective shift. These same canyon-lined buildings refreshed my Central Park West experience, directing me heavenward, encouraging me that I am surrounded by hope. New York’s own Whoopi Goldberg reminds us that “Normal is in the eyes of the beholder.” And if that’s true, the normal tons of cold steel and concrete can serve as my reminder that God is with me, ready and willing to lead my life. New York City does not have the mountains the psalmist writes about, but we do have high rises. I’d much prefer to be reminded of these truths from my own Penthouse ‘A,’ but unless its owners are feeling unusually benevolent, I claim the New York City skyline as my ubiquitous reminder of God’s presence and activity in the city. The pace of the city—and unclaimed dog waste—requires that we walk with our heads down and purpose in our gait, but the peace of God invites us to look up and remember, “Our help comes from the Lord.”

Officer Rob is head and shoulders above the rest. He’s not a tall man, but he is a New York City police officer with the Mounted Unit, allowing him to look down on even the most vertically enhanced individuals from his vehicle of choice: a 4-year old golden brown Thoroughbred named Ginger. Officer Rob is a worthy representative of NY’s finest: he’s quick to say ‘hello’, he patrols with authority, and always agrees to a photo-op from interested onlookers. But Officer Rob lives in denial: he ignores the moments his horse leaves a hefty deposit on a sidewalk or street.

The stated fine for dog owners not cleaning up after their pet is $250. A steep fine but one that doesn’t intimidate all pet owners, evidenced by a recent pair of shoes I was forced to scrub. Because we live in an energy-conscious era which promotes pedal power and electric cars, a pile of poo might be worth the inconvenience. A mounted police unit is good for the environment, albeit tough on the footwear. But I was curious as to how one of NY’s finest would respond the day he and I discussed future plans while Ginger disclosed her past.

Horses have a direct, no-nonsense delivery system. While a cat prefers privacy, and a dog circles endlessly in search of the perfect spot, a horse can relieve itself on the run—without missing a step. Considering the pace of our culture, that’s actually a gift. And much to my inconvenience, horses also feel the freedom to go regardless of their proximity to former precinct constituents. As Officer Rob and I spoke of his child’s forthcoming birthday party, I was forced to back up a few steps to avoid residual spray from Ginger’s urination, and then Officer Rob and I politely looked away while Ginger completed her duty—pounds and pounds of it—on the sidewalk.

Dog owners carry clean-up bags of different sizes based on breed: my friend’s poodle only needs a sandwich bag while I’ve seen Great Dane owners carrying gallon-sized storage bags. But Ginger? Officer Rob needed a hefty bag. And if the law required offenders to pay by the pound, he’d be bankrupt.

On most days, Ginger would be going on the go, allowing Officer Rob to plead ignorance as his horse trotted past the evidence. But not this day. Ginger’s deposit could not be overlooked. She polluted the street—the sidewalk, no less—so I asked a birthday party follow-up question to allow more time for this scene to develop. Without stopping our conversation he got off of his horse and placed his hand on his saddlebag. Was he getting a hefty bag? I hoped it was two-ply. Would it have drawstrings? Would the NYPD logo be emblazoned on the side? Instead, he merely tightened the bag’s buckle and kicked Ginger’s gems into the street. That was it. There would be no Hefty bag, no call for back-up, nor a request for emergency street cleaning. Nothing but a couple of kicks that would keep the local shoe-shine store in business.

Officer Rob shared some final party thoughts while I breathed in through my mouth and out through my nose with short, rapid-fire exhales, straining to ignore the tear-inducing smell. After parting I came to the sad but true realization: life isn’t fair. Not at all. When a police officer can ticket you for not cleaning up after your dog yet leave his own animal’s waste on the street so high a child could get lost in it, something’s wrong. And while a pile of poo may be one of the easier inconveniences one learns to avoid in the city, the truth is we are all surrounded by indecencies that offer no explanation. One solution is to stay indoors and avoid all evil or go out and fight every injustice along the way. I choose to hit the street and pursue the goals set before me, and I encourage you to do the same. Don’t allow the day’s obstacles to slow you down. Just watch your step.

Walking up Warburton Avenue in Yonkers, NY toward the school crossing guard is my first school memory. I was officially a “big boy.” Not only was I in first grade but I had my own house key and walked to and from school by myself. It was my coming of age and the beginning of a season of anxiety for my single mom who worked the morning shift as a hospital nurse. She taught me to get myself up and dressed, eat breakfast and make it to school on time. Although not on the pre-approved “To Do” list, I managed to sneak in some morning TV and enjoyed feeling powerful when I locked the door with my very own key. My mother, on the other hand, worried her entire shift until my 3:15PM phone call revealed I returned home safely.

When we moved into New York City two years later, I graduated not only into third grade but to the added responsibility of taking two city buses to travel cross town from our Upper West Side apartment to my East Side school. Having my own key offered power but a city bus pass—this was a ticket into the adult world. I was still years away from shaving, but I did my best to fit in with my fellow commuters by taking extra steps to keep up with the crowd and buying a Daily News each morning at our corner newsstand. I was no longer a “big boy.” I was becoming a man.

Those are the memories of a six and eight-year-old. As a 43-year-old father who now shaves and reads his newspapers online, I could not imagine offering my three daughters similar independence at such young ages. I’ve often reviewed those years with my mother and she speaks of them with a sense of guilt, as if she forced me to grow up faster than necessary. But the truth is she did what all parents strive to do: the best she could.

Of course when we reminisce, my mother’s recollections are quite different from what her independence-loving-Daily-News-totin’ eight-year-old remembers. I learned that during my first week of traveling to and from school on my own—I was never alone. My mother walked behind me to the bus stop, unbeknownst to me, and then followed my bus in a cab until seeing me safely arrive at school. This happened for an entire week, the time it took for her to gain confidence in her son’s street smarts and decision-making ability, which conveniently corresponded to her remaining number of vacation days. My mother also gave me new information about the “nice ladies” I saw every morning at the bus stop. They greeted me each day, straightened my parochial school tie, and fixed my hair. I always thought they dressed funny to go to work—although they smelled nice. I’ve since learned they weren’t going to work; rather, they were going home. They were prostitutes.

Two years ago my eldest daughter headed off to middle school in New York City—on her own. My wife or I had walked her to school every day of her life. But not that year. She still walked—but alone—and I wasn’t sure I could handle it. I phoned my mother for advice and also researched the cost to implant a GPS tracking device.

The week before school began I offered my final city-living boot camp instructions and role-played a variety of scenarios I prayed she’d never encounter. We practiced how to scream for help and knee a guy in the groin. But I also took time to heap a healthy dose of encouragement on her. She was ready for more independence and could handle it; it was me I was concerned about. This was now chance for me to fully trust God.

The Bible tells us in Psalm 46 that God is our refuge and strength, an ever present help in trouble. It says much about God’s character but also reveals the heart of a parent. When my mother tracked me during the first week of school she was modeling the character of God. So when my daughter entered middle school I could be found safely following my daughter from a distance, until I could actually believe what the Bible says. Her first day to class was my first chance to trust God, that He would actually watch over my daughter better than I.

So each day, before my daughter walked out the door, I told her I loved her, to make sure she had her cell phone, and to remember to aim for the groin. And then I prayed: “Dear God, thank You for loving my daughter more than I ever could. Keep her safe. Keep me sane. Help me to trust You. Amen.”

I found out that the water in the tub would not shut off. I turned the knobs to the off position and they spun around and around. I continued to turn, hoping for a minor miracle, but fearfully realizing what was ahead: I would need to use a tool.

Most men, so I’ve heard, like tools. I’m quite comfortable with a couple of tools–TV remote control or my laptop–but the kind that Janine collects in a large yellow container (tool box?) are not for me.

I called the plumber and he coached me on what to do. Janine, graciously, did not laugh, and I managed to do everything that was instructed. Unfortunately, without success. I was next guided to turn off the water main. (”Water what?”) After further coaching, amidst muffled plumber laughter, I was able to turn off the water. The plumber said he’d arrive at 7AM and feeling proud, I said to Janine: “I used a tool. Who can we call?”

Saturday
Just returned from soccer game and getting ready for leader meeting. We’re meeting from 1-4 for encouragement and equipping. More to come…

Psalm 103:1-5 (NLT)
1 Let all that I am praise the Lord; with my whole heart, I will praise his holy name. 2 Let all that I am praise the Lord; may I never forget the good things he does for me. 3 He forgives all my sins and heals all my diseases. 4 He redeems me from death and crowns me with love and tender mercies. 5 He fills my life with good things. My youth is renewed like the eagle’s!

Think of a place you can go to that gives you a sense of awe of the grandeur of God.

• Along a river?
• Hiking on a trail?
• Where you can view a mountain range?
• A grass field?
• The top of a skyscraper?
• A park?

Read and re-read these verses several times and take the opportunity to thank God for who He is and all He has done in your life.

Think about it
What event or activity gives you the freedom to cheer and express yourself passionately? What would it be like to put that same enthusiasm and energy into living for God? Try it today—even if only for a few minutes.

Psalm 32:1-2 (NLT)
1 Oh, what joy for those whose disobedience is forgiven, whose sin is put out of sight! 2 Yes, what joy for those whose record the Lord has cleared of guilt, whose lives are lived in complete honesty!

Write the word “Forgiveness” in the middle of the page and circle it. Think of all the benefits to forgiveness and write those around the circle. As specific memories from times you have been forgiven come to mind, write the names of the incidents and connect them to the circle. If names of people you need to forgive come to mind, add those as well. Add any additional thoughts about forgiveness (song lyrics, movie titles, books, etc.).

Colossians 1:13-14 (NLT)
13 For he has rescued us from the kingdom of darkness and transferred us into the Kingdom of his dear Son, 14 who purchased our freedom and forgave our sins.

Write out today’s key verse on a piece of paper and take it with you to review throughout the day. Work through it phrase by phrase until you can recite it in its entirety. Write out any key thoughts you may have throughout the day.

Definition
Rescued:

1) To draw or snatch from danger, rescue, deliver. This is more with the meaning of drawing to oneself than merely rescuing from someone or something.

2) It forcefully portrays the gracious initiative and independent activity of God, the impotence and helplessness of man, and the contrast between the two modes of existence.