For today

This morning, I awoke—with little light streaming through our newly hung curtains—and checked the weather on my phone. A special alert came up: “Dense Fog Advisory.” Could it be? I wondered…I really haven’t experienced fog much here in Brooklyn yet, at least not on the street level. I peered through our curtains to the east and found I couldn’t even see the buildings more than three streets over, including the dominant Brooklyn skyline that is now our normal view day in and out. I smiled. I went to wrap on further warmth to my body with the robe that has been packed away for a week, finding comfort in its softness, and walked into the kitchen to see the west view. I couldn’t even see the river, less than ¼ mile away from us, just over the highway. Again, I smiled.

The internet wasn’t working this morning, so I did not read the news as I usually do while eating my breakfast. Instead, I simply sat, ate, and read a book that fed my soul instead.

In doing so, it made me wonder again--like I did last night--as to why in a city with as much stimulus it bears, do I seek to create more stimulus in my mind than is needed? It seems there is such a line between stimulus that is beneficial in resting and stimulus that just clutters up the mind more. The line is not always thick and it is not always thin. It depends on the day, on my heart and mind, and this is where discernment must come in.

This city…this city. The only way to truly “escape” it is basically to close one’s eyes and sleep, but even then, as my dear husband has found, there is not always rest. There are noises from the hissing of a radiator heating, honking from the highway, doors closing of nearby neighbors, and occasionally, lights that shine forth into said windows. We even found that we must close our bedroom door at night, for right now our living room window without curtains, displays a seeming strobe light of endless lights in no true rhythm or pattern as they stream forth from the highway. Even our new apartment is evidence of this paradox: on the east, the street is calm, quiet, very few cars but more pedestrians with their children, families, dogs. On the west side with a barrier of about 50 meters, we have the craziness of the highway, complete with the on-ramp in front of us, but then, just on the other side of it, is the East River, its tranquility evidenced as water sparkles and shines both in the day and night. We go up to the roof above us, and we can see for seemingly miles—a rarity in this city—complete with the sunsets, city lights of night, and breaking of dawn. This, is peace.

There seems to be such an innate human wrestling with the pursuit of peace and how to best attain it. We cling onto the little we have and fight for what we do not yet. The drivers on the highway show the best example: in their pursuit to get to a said place, they honk, swerve into the lanes, accelerate quickly only to have to decelerate quickly due to the traffic in front, and all of these actions on every individual’s part only leads to more frustrated individuals, a frustrated general public, and a disharmony of the parts working as a whole.

What then, in my mind and my heart, honks forth, swerves in front of things that shouldn’t, races ahead to only be decelerated again? And what of my mind and heart is simply resigned to sit in the traffic and go the pace that the situation currently allows at the time?

In time, I will get there. But there’s only so much I can do to in navigating a situation. It is better to be on the journey and allow it to take me when and where I should go.

I see this exit—should I take it? Should I go there? I see that building—what’s in it? The walking and learning of a new neighborhood feeds this innate questioning. But even more, it whispers to me, who do you want to become?

Overall, there is such peace. But there too, is an innate wrestling. I see the prospects of so many things, like the rooftops and skylines from our new building, both near and far. And those far—for some reason, I think I have to get there soon. The questions race through my mind… “What of getting involved here? What does that mean? In a few years, God willing, we will start a family. So, what does that mean for now?” In this questioning, the buildings between here and there create tension; they seem to become obstacles needing to be navigated on the way to an eventual goal and reality. I start to get anxious about what those intermediate buildings may hold and I forget the process of journeying, of discovering.

I forget that what is between here and there, God uses and will continue to in shaping me to whom I hope to become.

Take, for instance, the quaint little neighborhood café on the first floor of our building: Iris Café. This too, is a reminder. John brought to mind a poem I wrote three and a half years ago titled “Flowers Along the Way.” In reading it just now, I find it ironically appropriate here too, in a new way.

Heart unsettled
Uncertainty resides
Whisper in the midst
New things into light
Unknown territory ahead
Ground unsteady beneath
Destination a ways away
But still I never fall
For the Spoken Word remains
Be still in the moving
Sands ever shifting
Path ever changing
Only One keeps me going
For the Living God remains
Climbing still
Trusting ever more
Heart will never break
And there will be flowers along the way


It is easy to forget that there are treasures in the journey, flowers along the way. Or perhaps—in this city—buildings along the way.

In all this, what then of a smile this morning with the fog, and a blessed contentment that came with it? “Why so content with it?” I asked myself. In my spiritual life, fog has never really been a settling thing for me before. It has masked things I wished to be visible for perspective in my surroundings. Yet, on the morn of last night, I found it incredibly comforting. Yes. I can’t see those far buildings or river of possibilities today. I can only see what is right in front of me. Simplicity granted in a mind and heart of stimulus and thoughts, dwelling in the midst of a bustling and full city. Gratitude became the response for God masking the things far away today as a reminder…

…that for today, I am right here.