I never used to exit the building from the south side. I thought it would feel depressing or sad or uncomfortable.

Now, I seek its hush of peace.

The downtown neighborhood of my office is a work in progress. It’s not so much a neighborhood as it is a construction zone. At lunch time I walk north and away from the construction, into the neighborhood full of moms and children and office workers. I need to walk during the day, to step away from whatever I’m working on and to feel fresh air on my face.

It wasn’t until last week that I began walking through the 9/11 memorial area.  At first it seemed wrong—who wanted a reminder of that time every single day?  But then I noticed the bright green of the trees in first bloom, so I decided to keep going.

I could hear the quiet, even when it was crowded—and even when crowds of people were talking.  There’s a reverence in the air, a sacredness.  The light seems to fall differently, no matter what time of day.

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We rebuild, not what was, but for what we are to become. The nearby construction is the perfect metaphor for rebuilding all those areas of our lives where we took a wrong turn and felt the aftermath of destruction. We can begin again.

As I walk through the memorial, looking at the names of those lost on September 11, it hasn’t failed to put whatever worries on my mind into perspective. Not once. Its grace is a reminder we only have now.

Maybe it’s time to make the most of it.

xo, with goodness and grace.

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