The smells of New York City are usually the butt of a joke (which is often associated with the smell of a butt).
But in the spring, there is something sweet in the air.
There are trees that are scattered all over downtown that have this refreshing scent that overtakes your senses, your soul.
And you feel transported into another world where there is no pain, only pleasure, no darkness, only light.
One Sunday we sought out those smells and we ended up in this hidden little garden attached to a church.
It felt like a slice of paradise, like the garden of Eden in the midst of the city. We laughed and strolled.
Our first born son ran off to frolic and play with sticks, trying to attack flies. And my wife and I sat on a bench shaded by an aromatic tree, drinking in the scent of spring, holding our newborn son, grateful for the moment.
We might have taken a selfie or five (to get the perfect angle). It was heavenly.
But it wasn’t heaven. It was merely the hint of it, its aroma but not the flower.
We hope for that eternal spring where there is no death, only life, no pain, only joy.
Where we all play like children in a garden planted in the heart of the city of God.