It is a city of unashamed brokenness and unrivaled beauty, overwhelming excess and unlimited need. And a piece of my heart lives there. It doesn’t live in a house or expensive hotel. It doesn’t rest on a particular person who walks those flashing, flesh-lined streets. It covers the strip, the outlying communities, and the canyons in the distance. From the slot machine gambler hoping to hit the jackpot with his last coin, the young woman on the street in body paint, offering passers-by a photo op, and the beggar holding the sign that reads, “I’m not gonna lie. I need a beer,” to the gated communities, the red marbled mountains, the ghost towns, and the wild horses. It is broken. It is wild. It is real. It is beautiful.
I want to ride horses through the canyons. I want to walk the strip under the flashing lights. I want to pass through the noisy casinos full of desperate people. And I want to tell them who they are. I want to take the young woman by the shoulders and tell her that her value is so far beyond the cheap thrill someone gets from standing next to her nude-ish body for a photo. I want to tell the gambler that a sure-thing is waiting on the other side of surrender. I want to tell the guy with the sign where to find the living water. I want them all to know that they are worth dying for, and that it has already been done.
It is a lie, you know. What happens in Vegas doesn’t stay in Vegas. It follows you home. It sits on your shoulder. It whispers memories in your ear.
The photo above is the statue in front of New York-New York, taken while I was driving back to the airport the week after my father died. Not the best photo taken while driving, but I did not want to lose that moment.
The photo above was taken at Red Rock Canyon the week that God breathed new life into our marriage. I pray for the opportunity to share the new life He offers with the rest of the city some day.
Words Lived 