Piety in the Parking Lot

I was really important for about two minutes the other day and then, once again I was smacked in the face with the truth about myself. Our township supervisor was opening up a package that had three shiny new green parking signs, and one of them was mine. I finally had my own reserved parking spot! Enough of those folks who were using the bike path parking in all of the good spots! No more election-day dilemmas of early voters making us walk a distance! We were entitled to the three best parking spots in the lot.

And then it hit me. I don’t feel that same sense of entitlement at my afternoon/Sunday morning job at the church. The only reserved spots at the church (other than handicapped) are for “first time visitors.” In fact staff people are encouraged to park far away from the door, especially on Sunday morning and I’ve never questioned it. In the true spirit of “piety” and “servanthood,” I’ve always parked across the street in the grass.

So I had a dilemma. Why was I willing to be a servant at church, but nowhere else? Now what should I do? I decided that I probably was an okay little servant because, after all I had identified the problem quickly and besides, I wasn’t the only one with a reserved spot—there were three of us. We had made the decision as a group. I was able to live with that . . . until . . . someone . . . stole . . . my . . . spot.

I had to go to the eye doctor one morning so I left the office and came back. The parking lot had 3 cars in it; the supervisor’s, the clerk’s, and wait a minute . . . someone was in my spot! And they were just there sitting in their truck . . . ignoring my looks of indignation! The gentleman (and it pains me to call him that) had dropped his wife off to pay their taxes, and she was in the office! And I had to process her check . . . and try to be nice! After they left, I found out that they had done it intentionally complaining that we had taken the best spots, leaving them to walk further. And you know what? They’re right! Servant behavior goes beyond how I behave at church, or how I behave in spiritual matters. It’s a life-style and I haven’t caught on yet.

So, now what do I do? I’m not sure. I could take that sign and move it to a parking spot far far away, but that’s kind of silly. I could add another sign to the “Reserved for Township Treasurer” that says “or anyone else who needs it.” I think for now I’ll leave it as it is, and I’ll let it serve as a daily reminder of my short-comings, lest I get too arrogant.

But for now . . . I guess I’ll put the idea of that reserved bathroom stall on hold. Sometimes those tennis players think they own the place . . . oh yeah I have a long way to go.

Oops . . . there He is (Jesus and the Jelly Doughnut)

Some days it’s easy, some days it’s messy, and other days it seems like it barely happens at all. From the time I awaken in the morning, to the time I go to bed at night, my expectations of what the day is going to be like seldom match how those days turn out, especially on those days when I’m following Jesus. I used the phrase, “oops, there He is” to describe how some of my days have turned out lately, and was challenged to blog about it. It was one of those half-way sincere challenges, but it made me stop and think about why I said it.

I had a really good week a few weeks ago. I woke up at 4:00a.m. one morning, worrying about the challenges that day was going to bring, just knowing that at some point someone was going to be upset with me; it wasn’t a question of “if,” it was a question of “when” and “how many?” So I did the only thing I knew how to do, I prayed about it. I asked God to take control of the day, subconsciously believing that, if it went as badly as I thought it might, I could blame Him, rather than myself. By 10:30 a.m., I was surprised to realize that the inevitable had not yet happened, by afternoon I was downright hopeful, and by 9:30 that evening thoroughly amazed at how well the day had gone.

So I invited God to take charge of the next few days as well. I couldn’t believe how the burden of stress was lifted as I became accustomed to not being in charge (like I ever was anyway). I stopped anticipating and started to live in the moment. One afternoon we were out in the boat and I started to worry about how we were going to get it back into the slip since it was a breezy day, we needed to be stern in (like backing in, in a car), and the harbor was crowded. I sensed immediately that worry was not going to help and, “oops, there He was,” reminding me that I wasn’t in charge and to enjoy the afternoon on the water. As we approached the harbor, Ron also voiced his worry so we talked about it. We came up with a concise plan as to who would do what when we got there. We pulled into that slip like pros.

But one of the biggest admissions that week was realizing my powerlessness over the weather. Since it was Venetian Festival time in Charlevoix, and we spent a lot of time outdoors, I started in on my “weather-fretting.” Watching the seven-day forecast (never correct in Northern Michigan), looking at the sky, followed by complaining and grumbling; that would be my normal routine, but “oops, there He was” again, telling me that, if my happiness depended on the weather, I would be unhappy about two thirds of my life.

I started to catch on to the idea that I wasn’t responsible for other people’s behavior, only my own. We were watching one of the many concerts in the park, and there were people behind us complaining (just loudly enough so we could hear them) about our chairs being too tall. After my son Tony politely yet firmly had some “words” with them, I was able to turn around, look them in the eye, and offer to negotiate our place on the lawn for theirs.

So . . . after one serendipitous week, you’d think I would have learned something. Well, you know how that goes. You start to think you’re pretty clever for letting God be in charge, and that puts you right back to square one. I’m not sure I’ll ever quite get it. It’s not that I don’t want Him in charge, but often He’s my second choice because I still think I’m the better choice.

Like the other day I was in a crowded doughnut shop, trying to figure out what kind of doughnut I wanted. I was already upset because all of the cream-filled ones were gone and I watched as everything I picked was sucked up by the people (mostly tourists making random selections) in front of me. I wanted to complain loudly to Ron, or at best let out a huge annoyed sigh, but “oops, there He was.” Jesus stopped me in my tracks and asked me if I really needed to stress out over a doughnut.

I think it’s scary sometimes to follow Jesus. The advantages of letting Him take charge of situations that I could potentially mess up, are huge. But there are times where He puts me in situations that I don’t wish to be in—messy, challenging and sometimes discouraging. I’ve got stories about that too, but I’ll save them.

For now, I’m going to keep extending that invitation to Him, and watch what He does. And when He gives me that lemon-filled doughnut instead of the cream-filled one, well I guess I’m going to have to eat it.