When I first looked out of the window of my new bedroom here in Baltimore, I was disappointed to find that my view was almost entirely obstructed by the roof of Memorial Church.
Ever since I was a child, I have loved to get lost in staring out of a window. To me, there is something so freeing about drawing the blinds to invite the beauty of the outdoors into my bedroom; although I was never expecting to see much nature from my window, I was surprised that 90% of the line of sight looking out of my window is taken up by the church roof. This made me rather frustrated as I was unpacking all of my belongings and setting up my new bedroom and I started to let the frustration overwhelm my thoughts with negativity and impatience.
It wasn’t until the sun started to set that I was reminded of the importance of a second look.
Although I can’t see the people who pass by on the streets below, I realized that with that I was granted much more privacy — even with the shades drawn completely. I can light my room with nothing but natural light until the sun sets and watch the birds come and go all day.
Best of all, it was during the first sunset in my new bedroom that I was given a reminder: when you can’t see what lies ahead, look up to the cross. Although I noticed the rooftop cross outside my window in the early afternoon, I paid little mind to it. As the sun sank and illuminated the cross, I was coaxed out of my frustration and into peace as I remembered what it was that brought me to this house: my adoration of Christ’s love for all of humanity and my desire to spread that love by working towards social justice.
Now, instead of staring at trees blowing in the wind or cars driving by, I make it a point each evening to look up to the cross, that reminder of God’s love, and give thanks for the blessings brought to me that day.
Here’s to a service year full of second looks, reminders of love, and the discovery of hidden blessings.