Pouting, parades, and parking tickets.

Not too long ago, I was in a bad mood for a week straight. I was angry . . . but I knew that was irrational, so then I would get angry at myself for being so angry, which led me to feel bad for being so hard on myself, and then my brain would get tired and I'd get angry again just because I was exhausted. Vicious.

I felt so bad for snapping at my friend that I went home and baked him a pumpkin spice cake as an apology. It looked almost perfect when I took it out of the oven, but upon cooling it was obvious that I had accidentally mixed my emotions into the batter. The middle sunk almost immediately into a gooey, unappetizing mess and I had to pitch the whole thing. (I offered him the bowl of widowed frosting, but he declined.)

Anyway, the point is: I was kind of a wreck.

I realized that my soul-searching had caused me to become a bit self-absorbed, so I tried to counteract that by looking for opportunities to serve others. Fortunately, this plan aligned perfectly with a plea from a friend who needed an extra set of hands at her new consignment store during the Del Ray Halloween Parade. I hopped in my car, parked my good intentions on the street in front of her boutique, rolled up my sleeves, and got busy.

Several hours, 100 hangers, 17 trick-or-treating princesses, 10 lions, and 4 junior firemen later, I was feeling sufficiently distracted but still a bit bruised inside. So I prayed:

Father,

Maker of all that is, seen and unseen: You hold all of history in Your hands and yet still have room to hold me. Search this heart You created; test my anxious thoughts. I confess that I've been feeling a bit forgotten lately, but I know that Your eye is on this sparrow. Please send me a tangible reminder of Your love today.

Amen.

That seemed reasonable at the time. My heart was too hardened to feel anything useful, so I wanted a reminder that I could wrestle with. But here's what happened instead:

My car got towed.

Because that's what happens when you park on a street where a parade is about to pass by.

Embarrassingly, I cried the entire seven blocks between the newly vacant parking spot and the middle school where my car had been relocated. Really, God? I ask You to show me that You love me and instead you let them tow my car?


Funny thing, though: on each of  those seven blocks, I noticed at least two "Emergency - No Parking" signs. I swear they had been invisible before.

When I finally reached my car, there was a bright orange envelope on my windshield. It contained a $40 parking ticket from the city of Alexandria, but it might as well have been a note reading something like this:

Em, 

You asked Me to show you that I love you, so I sent you to the parade. You could have participated, but you were too wrapped up in your own world to notice the signs. Don't park your car where I'm about to throw a party. I do love you, but I need you to participate in the work that's already been planned.

Always,

God