her life in prose

 There is so much here. New York is a treasure trove of humanity- history is under your feet and over your head at any given second, there is life and death and joy and depravity leeching into every subway ride. artists make their mark on brick and stone with brush and spray cans, heck, even with tar on over-trod sidewalks. There is worship- in the music on street corners and the smiles of volunteers handing out food to hungry passerby-s, in the slide of the metro card and the expectancy of commuters, in the glittering eyes of tourists, heads tilted up to take in the glittering skyscrapers.  At any given time of day I am overwhelmed, overstimulated, oversaturated by the sheer being in this city.  God doesn't call me to any of these things.  I must disconnect. Rededicate. Be committed to the peace of my Father amidst the disquiet of New York City. God is still here amidst everything else. Just Being.  He is the Great I Am. He is in a constant state of being. Of r...

 "The street below was dim and quiet. Across it the moon was shining above the trees in Old St. John's, just behind the great dark head of the lion on the monument. Anne wondered if it could have been only that morning that she had left Green Gables. She had the sense of a long passage of time which one day of change and travel gives. 'I suppose that very moon is looking down on Green Gables now,' she mused. 'But I won't think about it. That way homesickness lies. I'm not even going to have my good cry. I'll put that off to a more convenient season and just now I'll go calmly and sensibly to bed and to sleep."  (Anne of the Island, L.M. Montgomery)  When I watched my dad and brothers drive off down Greenwich Street, leaving me on the stained curb outside my building,  I expected a sense of abandonment to fully encompass my soul. But as they rounded the corner-arms still waving out the windows, as is tradition- I found myself breathless with cha...