Hearing my heartbeat

CO-MUN NI-TY. CO-MUN NI-TY. My heart is palpitating with desire for community here in The Bronx with my new roommates, with my neighbors, with others in TGC already here. Things are moving at the visible speed of molasses put in the refrigerator. I am trying to not lose hope, to simply wait with joy, and to do my part for now. I look forward to dinner with others (some living here and some not) tonight in SoBro. It is hard to wait and for me to accept things moving this slowly. For the past week, though slow, I have honestly seen Abba show me in little but profound ways that I am not forgotten nor has He forgotten about The Bronx.

I read something two days ago in Rob Bell's Velvet Elvis that continues to resonate with me. I was with my friends at one of our favorite restaurants the other night. We had been there at least three hours when I noticed we were the last ones in the place. The employees were starting to stack chairs and vacuum the floors, and we were still talking. I was looking around the table at my wife, whom I just adore; our friend Shauna, who may be one of the best storytellers on the planet; Tom, whom I would take a bullet for; and Tom's wife Cecilia, who is one of the most loving, authentic people I have ever met. And I'm sitting in this restaurant looking around the table, soaking it in, totally overwhelmed with the holiness of it all. The sacredness of the moment. That sense that in spite of everything awful I have ever seen we've going to make it. I know that sounds like it's from a greeting card, but I know you know what I'm talking about. Ordinary moments in ordinary settings that all of a sudden become infused with something else. With meaning. Significance. Hope. These kinds of moments are what I specifically began dreaming of last week with UES family and want with fellow Bronxites! I would love for us to be folks that are a combination of this, Philippians 2, and Ephesians.