Before life changed, I took a trip to New York City. Often, trips to the city involved excited chaos as my husband and I planned, packed, wrangled our three sons, loaded up the minivan, and headed out on the road. This trip was different. My father was having surgery. The boys stayed home with their father and, rather than drive, I took the bus. Despite the nature of my trip, as we neared Manhattan the familiar scene brought welcome butterflies of nostalgia. Looking out the window, I noticed a woman standing on the corner holding the hand of a little girl wearing a school uniform. While I watched them wait to cross the street a thought went through my mind, “This will all end in an instant? A moment?” I can’t remember the exact word. It was as if the words stopped but the meaning was there, both words heard but not spoken. With that thought, the excitement of entering the city, the nostalgia, the butterflies, the feeling of waking up, of coming home, of being alive in the midst of the bustle, they all disappeared. And I fell deep into thought.
I grew up in New York in the ‘80s and ‘90s attending churches that both believed and acted in the power of the Holy Spirit as written in Acts 2:17-18, “And it shall come to pass in the last days, saith God, I will pour out of my Spirit upon all flesh: and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams: And on my servants and on my handmaidens I will pour out in those days of my spirit; and they shall prophesy.” One prophesy that I had heard at various times was that New York City would end in flames. A member of one church I attended dreamed a bomb would explode over the city. The late David Wilkerson of Times Square Church spoke of a vision he had of flames bursting from the buildings and apartments. And so, when I heard God’s words on the bus, instead of asking Him what He was trying to tell me, I assumed His meaning and stopped listening.
During that trip I had hours of downtime while I waited to visit my father in the hospital. I chose to distract myself by taking in the sites. It was November, almost the Christmas season, and I visited Macy’s and Rockefeller Center with hopes that the tree would be up and the windows decorated. I took in the sights of Times Square and 5th Avenue, and walked the streets surrounding my childhood home of Greenwich Village. Though surrounded by crowds everywhere I went, the city felt empty. Dull. Lifeless. Godless. The city had lost its glimmer and I had the odd sense that I was saying goodbye, but I didn’t know why.
Other than a short weekend visit in February of 2020, that was my last visit to Manhattan. By March, the city was shutting down. God had tried to warn me on the bus that life as I knew it would soon come to a grinding halt. No more would a mother walking her child home from school be a familiar scene. The schools would soon close their doors. Macy’s would board up their windows. The restaurants and shops would shut down. The daily hustle and bustle would end. The city that never sleeps would have a curfew. New York City would be a ghost town. Even though I did not listen to His warning, God showed me grace and allowed me the chance to say goodbye to the city of my childhood. He loved me enough to speak to me even though He knew I would tune Him out. In the following months, whenever I began to doubt hearing His voice, I was reminded of the words He spoke to me on the bus, “This will all end in an instant.” I was reminded of the truth of those words. And that gave me comfort when the chaos hit and life changed.
Look to the Ant 