A Thursday afternoon in August 2003. It was only, like, the hottest day EVER. I was a chaplain that summer at a hospital on Long Island; and for some reason that I can't even remember, I decided to go home to my apartment in the city a couple hours early.
I loved the reverse-commute from and to New York City, out and back into Penn Station every day. It meant coming home to my favorite place--a city full of light and life--a place that never sleeps, it never grows dim, it always burns, burns, burns, like candles and fireworks. I don't remember much about that hot day before my commute home, only that I was just ready to be back in the city. I was ready for my friends, a delicious dinner, a really cold beer, a good night's rest; I was ready for it to be Friday.
Read full transcript...The most valuable lessons of life are so difficult to learn and so easy to forget. What we have learned at University of Adversity so quickly fades from memory when a few years of prosperity leave us with the illusion that we are ten feet tall and bullet proof. When our primary sense of security is material possessions, we forget how quickly the bottom can drop out from under us when financial institutions fail, the Dow tanks, and the price of oil escalates and the dollar becomes weak around the world.
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