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| Rockefeller Center Gardens, May 2012 © Elise Grinstead |
A week later, but in the same spirit...
Today [July 9th] is our NYC one-year anniversary, and the city has tried to throw its punches at me to see what I have grown to handle in a year. Activating debit card for purchasing subway card—check. Walk the walk to the station under a nice, cool overcast sky, only to shortly be overwhelmed by a lingering stench during my entire walk that actually made me want to hurl (that doesn’t happen much anymore, I have a much stronger stomach)—check. Arrive at subway station to find unusually long lines for the Metrocard machine, then go to another part of the station to purchase card from another machine, only to find out that all machines cannot process credit cards at that moment—check. Surrounded by ire people who are wondering how the world functions without credit cards being accepted—check. A trip to Duane Reade to the Chase ATM—of which I am not a member of, but there are no Wells Fargo ATMs in Brooklyn—cash withdrawn, and back to the machines—check. Seeing that the machines cannot give change and I do not want to put $20 into a metrocard due to my tax-exempt debit card that I should be able to use for transit—check. Then to the booth with an actual person (yes, they exist, for all of us who rely on machines far too often!) to buy two rides with $5 of cash—check. Card slid, through the turnstile, onto the train, and a seat to boot. Ahhh. Then, one stop in, a guy who definitely has a body odor problem and no apparent use of deodorant decides to stand in front of my seat, arm stretched out to reach the upper railing with his pit aimed perfectly at my face. Wonderful. I arrive at my destination and walk to the subway exit where a woman lost her balance on her ridiculous platform shoes, causing her to flail, whack the girl in front of me in the face, causing that girl to fall back into me, all the while platform shoe lady just keeps on walking like she didn’t touch anyone. Oh, the density of this city.
But, today is a year into this adventure of living in NYC, and the difference between today and a year ago is that I hardly flinched at the events of today as they transpired. A New York City resident assesses the situation, reacts quickly, and moves forward. In many ways, that’s how you “survive” here. A year ago, I would have been in the crowd of ire people (hopefully not ire myself), wondering how I was supposed to get on the train if I couldn’t buy a metrocard. And about said woman falling into my arms—I just pushed her back up again and kept walking—and she did too. We didn’t say anything to one another. Oh, anonymity. And the difference between today and a year ago is I just laugh at its events instead of them causing me to wonder what I am doing in such a crazy place. This is the city, and this is where I live.
Today I type in an air-conditioned office under a makeshift “tent” draping over my cubicle walls to block the fluorescent lights above. I am surrounded by pictures of places and people far away, and it does not accurately reflect what this year has brought. There have not been green hills after the rain. There have been green meadows in Central, Prospect, and Brooklyn Bridge Parks. There have not been fallen leaves on a rural county road. There have been buttloads of leaves up and down every street, roof, and building, even into the summer. There have not been wide expanses of sky at the top of mountain summits. There have been buildings stretching across the horizon, or at least in my immediate view almost every day. There have not been visits to California oceans—though there are New York ones. The picture of Morro Rock I took a couple of years ago that flanks me to my left—it makes me recognize a picture of it on one of our book jackets, as it is a setting for a mystery published by HarperCollins. There are ties—yes—but the elements of familiarity are vastly different than what I have known for the better part of my life.
Upon hearing we live in the city, people who live in places not New York have common reactions: “Oh, that must be so exciting, romantic even!” “Isn’t it expensive?” “I don’t think I could live there, but I would come visit you!” “How big is your apartment, really? And how much do you pay for it?...What?!? That much?” “You’re really far away from your families, huh?” and so on. These thoughts and questions have also crossed my mind at different times.
Almost three years ago we began to consider such a move. Looking back, I can better see how faithful the Lord is and has been. We moved here a year ago without jobs lined up—just a three month sublet, about three months of savings, a moving truck half full of belongings, and a trust that He was leading. Within five days of moving here, I had my first interview for the job that I now work at today. God provided work for John too—building up somewhat inconspicuously to the elusive architecture job he was blessed with in March. We have developed friends, a rich community, and are growing into a neighborhood we love. We have an apartment with our own furniture and are self-sustaining. We have learned the ways of this city relatively well that we no longer feel out-of place on a regular basis. Each and every one of these, in their whole and its individual pieces, truly is by the grace of God.
A year later, I realize that I probably would never have picked this place to live on my own. But, the Lord led John, and consequently me, here. The moments of tension in being here are fewer and further between, but when they do come, I am reminded of how thankful I am that this being here is not of me but of God. He has deemed it good that we are here. He has provided. He has brought many things into fruition already and He is giving vision for the future. And ultimately, I want nothing less. I want nothing less than being intimately acquainted with the Lord in many measures and ways as a result of being here. I want nothing less than what He has deemed good and worthy. I want nothing less than learning to see this place through His eyes, and learning to love its hordes of (often) lonely individuals like He does. I want nothing less than the weekly strain on my back of being here, because it reminds me to bend low before my God and remember my position before Him.
I want nothing less, nothing easier—because if I did, I would only be left to wonder what I am fearful and hesitating to embrace that is of Him and not of me. Daily, I need the Lord in this place. But daily, I can also see the Lord magnified in this place. Humbly, I seek to play a part.
This is New York; this is Brooklyn. This is the city, and this is where we live.
