“From Warm Springs to Manhattan: A Journey Through History, Humanity, and Hope”
Recently, I turned 60. As birthdays go, this one felt different—not just a number, but a marker in time. Leading up to this milestone birthday, there was a darkness over me. I felt the pull to reflect, to reconnect with history, with faith, and perhaps, with my purpose. So I set out on a trip that would become more than just miles traveled.
It began in Georgia, at the Franklin D. Roosevelt “Little White House” in Warm Springs. Standing in that humble retreat, I was reminded of how even the most powerful leaders seek quiet places to think, to wrestle with burdens, and to serve something greater than themselves. From there, I made my way to Charlotte, North Carolina, to the Billy Graham Library—a place that doesn’t just tell the story of a man, but of a message: God loves you. Walking through his life’s timeline, I felt a longing for that kind of clarity and courage in today’s world.
From there, my journey took a sharper turn. I rode the train from Albany into the heart of New York City, arriving at the ever-bustling Penn Station. We walked the streets of Lower Manhattan—Battery Park, the haunting silence of the 9/11 Memorial, the towering shadows of the city that never sleeps. The day stretched into night as we hiked the city from its southern tip all the way back up to the bright chaos of Times Square.
But it was Washington Square Park that left the strongest impression. The place was packed—students, musicians, tourists, wanderers—and the air was thick with the unmistakable scent of marijuana. It wasn’t just a whiff here or there; it hung over the entire park, following us through the day. Everyone seemed to be smoking, laughing, or drifting along in a kind of distracted haze.
And yet, beneath the surface, I sensed something else. A searching. A longing. A quiet ache hidden behind sunglasses and earbuds and social media posts. These were people—young and old—trying to numb something, or escape something, or maybe just feel something.
As I re-entered Penn Station late that night, exhausted from the miles we’d walked but stirred deep in my spirit, one thought echoed in my heart:
The world needs another Billy Graham.
Not for headlines or stadium counts—but because people are desperate to know that God loves them. Not in a vague, theoretical way—but in the kind of love that meets them right where they are, whether in a park clouded by smoke or in a quiet hotel room far from home.
We need someone bold enough to stand in places like Madison Square Garden or Central Park and say, There is hope. You’re not forgotten. God sees you. We need someone who can cut through the noise with a voice of truth, compassion, and conviction.
This world isn’t beyond saving. It’s just searching—for meaning, identity, peace, forgiveness. The kind that can’t be found in a substance or a screen but only in a Savior.
And maybe, just maybe, we’re not waiting for the next Billy Graham. Maybe we’re being called to be a voice ourselves—to say, however we can, in word and deed: God loves you. Come home.