Happy Birthday

Saturday marked the day that 141 NYC forged ahead and put our feet into motion. All this time I’ve been comparing our move to NYC to labor pains, and the birth being our arrival to NYC, but last Saturday marks the official birthday of 141 NYC. I’ve walked around 14th Street and Union Square over a dozen times before to prepare for the day, but Saturday was like no other. The past 8 months of living in the unknown have been filled with uncertainty and constant waiting. I have spent many restless nights, waking in cold sweats, and crying out to God, “What have you done with my heart?” I’ve missed my friends and family. I’ve pined for the warm sand and perfect longboard waves of San Diego, home. I’ve yearned for those wet and misty streets of Portland, my heart. I’ve loved and lost lives to those streets. My blood, sweat and tears have dripped alongside my friends, into its very core, giving life to the roots that have intertwined us.


In 8 months I’ve struggled to have a heart for NY. The streets of Manhattan are rougher and usually have dog shit or bubblegum to welcome your brand new sneakers. Mixtures of strong perfumes, rotting mountains of garbage lining each block, Halal food carts, and the pungent odor of piss are a part of everyday life. Although Portland can have these qualities, it’s funny how the mind distorts our memory when we miss something so much. For a while all I could remember were the 70 degree days and sidewalks that glitter. I couldn’t get past those summer nights when we’d all sit around and either Keith, Sam, Dorje, Vern, and/or Jamie would serenade us with their guitars.

As soon as my feet touched the sidewalk last Saturday and I looked up into that building-lined gray sky, I sensed a familiarity. Light snow fell on me and I found my feet doing that back and forth cold dance that Ken Loyd has mastered so well. It was all coming back to me. My backpack was heavy and my stomach was knotted. I prayed for the spirit to guide us, then pushed off into the chaos. We made many friends and passed out many socks. We laid hands on a very ill older man and prayed over his fragile, dying body. He clutched onto my Dad’s hands and wouldn’t let go. His eyes were the same eyes I had seen a thousand times before, gentle and wise. At the end of the day we even found a $20 bill which covered our costs for the day (thanks to our friends Jeronimo and Rebecca for their donation)

Every second I’d lived up until that moment was preparation for what was to be born that day. All of the waiting and days spent in the dark had to happen. The streets may look, feel, and smell different, but I saw Christ in every eye that I looked into. The very eyes that brought me back to Him when I fell away. So in a way 141 NYC wasn’t born, but rather begotten. It took 3 years and 8 long months to get here, but we’re here and we’re lighting the way. All has been confirmed and my heart has been restored. The roots are still intertwined with family and friends in San Diego, and our Brothers and Sisters in Portland. But now they go deeper and spread further, as far as the East is from the West. Happy Birthday 141 NYC!

-Kelly