Between Mickey and Manhattan: Discovering Treasures Hiding in Plain Sight

“Open my eyes that I may see wonderful things…” Psalm 119:18

In this past month, I have discovered two treasures that were hiding in plain sight. It doesn’t surprise me because I have tunnel vision. I can walk past a giant landmark one hundred times before I even notice it. And then I ask my husband, “Is that building new?” He laughs at me because it’s been there since the days of paper maps.

My latest "How did I miss that?" moment is a doozy. After visiting Orlando multiple times over the years, I recently stumbled upon a treasure so massive and beautiful I'm actually embarrassed I missed it. Nestled amidst the castles and the rollercoasters is a literal sanctuary: The Basilica of Mary Queen of the Universe. It turns out, while I was busy navigating traffic to the next attraction, a breathtaking architectural wonder was waiting right in front of my nose. In a city known for thunder rides and talking mice, finding a place of such profound, quiet beauty felt like finding a diamond in the ocean. It’s located right in the heart of the tourist district, yet it feels worlds away from the “happiest place on earth.”

Since it was Easter Sunday, I went on a digital hunt for a Mass near our hotel. To my surprise, the Basilica popped up just a five-minute drive away. The drive felt like winding through an enchanted forest, a quiet green escape that felt miles away from the Disney crowds. But as we pulled in, the illusion of a "hidden" gem vanished—the massive parking lot was already overflowing, despite us being fifteen minutes early. Looking at the sea of cars, I turned to my husband and asked, “Are we back at Disney, or are we actually at church?”

As we were walking in, I was taken aback. Hundreds of chairs were lined up outside the main doors like an overflow stadium. I honestly wondered, “Are they seriously expecting these many people?” The answer was a resounding yes. Inside, the Basilica—which holds about 3,000—was bursting at the seams. We nearly ended up in those outdoor "sideline" seats ourselves!

It was a beautiful sight to see entire families gathered for the Eucharist. The contrast was impossible to ignore: just the day before, we had been at the Magic Kingdom, which hadn't so much as tucked a single Easter egg into its decor. But here? This place was vibrant with the Resurrection. It warmed my heart to see so many people with their priorities firmly in place: God, family, and then the attractions. As we drove away and saw the line for the next Mass stretching over a mile down the road, I couldn't help but smile. On this particular Sunday in Orlando, Jesus outdrew Mickey Mouse by a landslide.

Seeing that sea of people in Orlando reminded me that the most beautiful things in life aren't always the ones with the loudest marketing. It’s a lesson I carried with me from the Florida heat all the way up to the bustling streets of Manhattan. A few days ago, I found myself at St. Patrick’s Cathedral, a place I have also visited many times, yet true to form, I had been missing a masterpiece hiding right behind the high altar. There, tucked away in a spot I had walked past a dozen times before, was a treasure that felt like it was waiting just for me: The Holy Child of Earth and Heaven. He’s just a boy, barely a toddler, but he’s holding a globe in his hand as casually as if it were a baseball. I did a little digging into why he’s there, and the story is better than any fiction. 

Directly across the street from the Cathedral stands the famous, massive bronze statue of Atlas at Rockefeller Center. If you have been to New York, you cannot miss him. Even I, with my tunnel vision, have looked up at him every time I have walked past him: a giant, muscular Titan straining and buckling under the crushing weight of the heavens on his shoulders. He is the ultimate symbol of human effort and the heavy "weight of the world." 

The Child Jesus was placed behind the altar specifically to challenge Atlas. While the "giant" across the street struggles to hold everything up, this tiny Child holds the entire cosmos in his palm without even trying. It’s a silent, beautiful sermon in bronze: we can either try to be like Atlas and carry the world's burdens on our own strength, or we can trust the One who holds the world—and us—in the palm of His hand. 

Looking back on my month of "unintended" treasure hunting, I have realized that having tunnel vision is not always a flaw—it just means the world still has the capacity to surprise me. Whether it’s a 3,000-seat Basilica hidden in the shadow of a theme park or a tiny bronze Child answering a giant Titan across a busy New York street, these treasures were waiting for me all along. I just had to stop looking for the next "attraction" and start looking for the "eternal."

My husband will probably still laugh the next time I ask if a fifty-year-old building is new, and I will likely still walk past a masterpiece or two on my way to get coffee. But I’m learning. The most beautiful things in life aren’t always shouting for our attention with giant statues or fast passes; sometimes, they are just sitting quietly in plain sight, waiting for us to finally—blissfully—notice them.

Copyright © 2026 Christy Romero. All rights reserved. If you thought of someone while reading this, bless them by sharing it with them.