A Simple Praise ©

There’s something magical about being in New York during the Christmas season. Lampposts are decorated with wreaths and silver and gold ornaments. Storefront displays take on a whimsical façade that captures your attention for a full 90 seconds. Christmas music is piped through the outdoor speakers and in just about every store you walk in. Albeit I don’t do it often, but when the opportunity arises, I try to take advantage of it. This past weekend was one of those occasions. I went to Harlem, NY and the moment I walked out of the train station onto 125^th Street, I felt the magic.

The air was crisp and even though it was Sunday, the sidewalks were thick with activity. About a block down, hanging between every other streetlight, brightly lit starbursts lit up the way. A few more blocks down, at the corner of Lenox Ave. and 125^th a great banner of red, green, and gold garland hung proclaiming “Welcome to 125^th Street”

All this is wonderful and comforting, but doesn’t come close to what I witnessed. After the play we attended and the browsing through various stores, we made our way back to the train station. While waiting for our train, I sat and took in the sights and sounds that surrounded us. There was a man who vehemently stated that he was not homeless, but was waiting for the garbage truck to pass by. I realized this was his claim because of the signs posted throughout the station that the waiting area was for passengers only. We engaged in a brief conversation with this man and he shared his Christmas and New Year’s plans. Looking at his appearance, one might have doubted his stories of owning a house in “Belmont…no, Big Bear…” He wasn’t sure where his house was, but I accepted that he believed he had one, and that was enough for me.

After the station cleared, there was a man standing near the ticket booth. He was wearing a pair of headphones and carrying a portable CD player. He was stepping and dancing throughout the station, wrapped up in his own world of melodies. Passers-by avoided him and some pointed and snickered. I sat and watched him, curious to know what he was listening to that ignited so much joy; enough to cause him to dance so freely without concern of whom was looking. I determined that he may have had a slight mental disorder, but it didn’t matter. He sat down briefly, and accidently dropped his CD player. The CD fell out and he struggled a bit trying to pick up. Normally, I would have offered help, but I was so compelled by his next action, I stayed at bay. He knelt down, right there in the middle of the train station and praised God. He offered up kisses, kissed his CD and the player, and proceeded to put his belongings back in order. He continued to praise, with the most beautiful sincerity, “I love You God,” bowing and blowing kisses toward heaven. That’s when I got a clue to what he may have been listening to.

I felt tears well up and realized that what I was witnessing is exactly what God asks of us: Praise. The people standing around pointing and laughing probably thought this man was crazy.

Recognizing God’s mercy I said, “God honors that.”