“In the image of God created He him. Male and female He created them.”

The glory of God is revealed in the stars Psalms says. Declaring, fiery gasses roaring His brilliance across light years and space. And this earth displays His handiwork. Look closely and the glory is revealed again in the minute details.

But faces are easily forgotten. Or pigeon-holed. Potential friend. Common stranger. Persona non grata. Persona non-existent. These the crowning glory of His creation. Made in His own image.

Last week I took my son and daughter to New York City to pursue opportunities in their passion, acting. Over and over I heard it. “NYC . . people either love it or hate it.” I belonged to the latter.

Trips as a child to see my grandparents in Brooklyn are survived by memories of traffic, nausea, and noise. Twice as a teenager I visited the city with friends. Got lost once and car sick the other. Noise, traffic, smells. That defined the city for me.

But dreams have a way of pushing you out of your comfort zone. Especially when those dreams belong to your precious ones.

The night before we left, I was overwhelmed with irrational fear. To myself, “It’s just another city. You’ve traveled in and out of DC with kids for years and visited lots other cities. You’ll be fine.” To my husband, “Tell me the truth. I need to hear it. Why are we doing this?” His reply, “God gives gifts and opportunities. He’s led us step by step to this place. He is using our children to further His kingdom.” Strong arms, his prayers, and my pleading ones lull to sleep.

And in the morning I awake with a joy, anticipation, and boldness that are not my own. The next three days we are in and out of the city. We stay in a hotel room so small it feels claustrophobic. I use the parking garages. Take the subway. And hail a taxi twice (okay, Em did it once). We walked miles. Saw the Empire State Building, New York Public Library, Rockefeller Center, and probably a lot more I didn’t recognize.

But what I did recognize were faces. Everywhere. Masses.

I told the kids driving in that God must have such love for the city because there are so many people there. People. Created in His image. Formed in their mothers’ wombs. Fashioned. Their days all written before there was even one of them. A virtual gallery of His finest works.

I love the woods. And mountains. Quiet. Fresh air. Large spaces. The heavens and the earth and their declarations. The gallery of creation. But I learned something. Amidst the chaos, noise, and dirt live the crowning glory. His masterpieces. Begging on the street. Struggling down the subway stairs with her groceries. Staring deadpan. Walking past. Faces. 

I still wouldn’t put myself in the “I love New York” category. But I love what I saw. I love the awareness the mass of faces gave me. 

To see. To consider their maker. To love.