Every time we tell our New York friends that we're staying in the city for Christmas rather than traveling to our home in Arkansas , we get the same response. . .
"You'll love it! New York is magical at Christmas; the lights are amazing."
So, I've paid attention. Not that I would have missed the lights without the heads-up, but I might not have looked closely enough, beyond the obvious.
While crowds craned their necks and positioned their cameras to capture the grandeur of the tree's 30,00 lights, I spotted a nearby angel quietly, delicately heralding the season's joy.
A few days later, I discovered more angels, floating among branches of the annual Christmas tree at the Metropolitan Museum of Art; each watchful face, illumined by the softest glow of candlelight.
Lights have stopped me in unlikely places, stopped and reminded me.
At Zuccotti Park where the Occupy Wall Streeters camped out for weeks, impassioned with their ideas for economic equality and reform. White lights remind me of deeply-held freedoms. . . to speak, to assemble, to petition.
And in a quiet chapel at Trinity Wall Street Church, a simple row of flickering candles invites me to sit, reflect, and light my own.
For gratitude.
For peace.
"You'll love it! New York is magical at Christmas; the lights are amazing."
So, I've paid attention. Not that I would have missed the lights without the heads-up, but I might not have looked closely enough, beyond the obvious.
The most obvious, of course, is. . .
A few days later, I discovered more angels, floating among branches of the annual Christmas tree at the Metropolitan Museum of Art; each watchful face, illumined by the softest glow of candlelight.
Lights have stopped me in unlikely places, stopped and reminded me.
At Zuccotti Park where the Occupy Wall Streeters camped out for weeks, impassioned with their ideas for economic equality and reform. White lights remind me of deeply-held freedoms. . . to speak, to assemble, to petition.
At One World Trade Center where violence altered the world, lights remind me of lives lost, yet lives which lead us into the future.
And in a quiet chapel at Trinity Wall Street Church, a simple row of flickering candles invites me to sit, reflect, and light my own.
For gratitude.
For peace.
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