I had blisters on my heels and the balls of my feet. I'd traversed five miles of pavement in the Big Apple with no socks or sense of direction. I was alone on a balmy day taking a risk for Jesus.
This was the third day of the Flinch Conference for the Fellowship of Grace Brethren Churches. Our leaders had heavily promoted the Saturday excursions (called Riskursions) to New York City. Initially, I had balked at the idea of going to the metropolis. A nap in my air conditioned hotel room sounded rejuvenating. However, because the theme of conference was risk, I boarded the Staten Island Ferry and immigrated from Newark.
The plan was travel with twenty-five other people to Bowery Mission. We agreed to lead chapel and serve food. I was slated to speak at the Mission, discussing the fear of loss and the relentless love of Jesus. But our plans fell through. The Mission double-booked, so our team dispersed. Most of our members divided into family groups or couples. I had come by myself. And after playing the third (and fifth) wheel enough in recent days (and nothing makes me feel lonelier), I ventured out alone.
Lower Manhattan became my refuge. I watched old men playing chess, protesters protesting, homeless people sleeping, cultists chanting, and tourist taking selfies. I posed for my own shot at the Empire State Building, shopped for souvenirs, and ate a Shakburger in Bryant Park.
During my hike many thoughts circled through my mind. I considered the scale of the city and its diversity of smells, socio-economic levels, and cultural offerings. I noticed the incessant blare of horns and sirens. I pondered the graffiti and garbage in the streets. I looked for landmarks and celebrities. I lamented the blisters on my feet.
And, of course, I thought of risk and the relentless love of Jesus. God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son. (John 3:16). I can think of no greater risk than the story of Jesus, who came and bled and died.
My blisters are but a flesh wound. By His wounds we are healed.