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My wife had discovered that members or not, we were welcome to use the child play area at one of the nearby mega-churches.  It’s important to note that it is a so-called mega-church because the size of the parking lot would rival Wally World (yes, from National Lampoon’s Summer Vacation).  And, on a Tuesday morning, there is nary a car to be found amongst the what?, thousand, parking places.

After an hour or so, romping around, it was time to go home.

Keeping in mind that nearly-two-year-olds require their own, individual car seats installed in the backseat of our family-economy size SUV, I was able to open the back door on the passenger side all the way in order to deadlift Twin #1/#2 out of the stroller and into her (his?) seat.  Strapped in, door closed.

However, it was without just a little consternation, as I pushed the double-wide stroller around to the driver’s side of the SUV, that I found a little white car had nearly parked me in.

While I certainly could not get the stroller near the door, by being very gentle, I could open the left-side back door, well, “into” the little white car’s side and squeeze Twin #2 into his (her?) seat.  Strapped in, door closed.  Stroller into back of SUV.

My turn.  Fat chance.

I had to open the driver’s door a little past “into” the little white car’s front bumper.  I mean I was gentle, but there was some pressure of my, well, face it: 16 year-old SUV door edge on the I’m sure it was plastic, right-front bumper of the Buick Encore.

Yeah, at that point, I could have walked around to the passenger side of my SUV, opened the front door and climbed across that seat and the console.  I could have; but I was past reasoning.  And this was before I looked around at the parking lot.

Did I mention that this was in a mega-parking lot?  And, on a Tuesday morning?  At a church?

Trust me when I say that with the exception of my car and the little white car from New York, there was not a single car within my ability to throw a baseball.  Yes, honestly, there were maybe half-a-dozen other cars that I could see – but none anywhere near close.  Must have been fifty or so empty stalls.  Maybe 75.

So, kiddies buckled in, I drove home.

Now, the old me would have been expanding my vocabulary about little white cars, or cars with New York license plates.  Neither characterization would have been fair of course, but my little bitty brain could not fathom why anyone would park that close to another car in an otherwise empty HUGE parking lot.  It wasn’t raining (that in itself is odd for Puget Sound).  There were a couple of spaces closer to the door.  It wasn’t like parking that close was going to prevent parking lot rash – in fact, sadly, it only encouraged a couple of little marks.

But, the new me?  Well, the new me was thanking the Good Lord for the opportunity.  Uh, huh, right.  No, really:

Some people complain that, if there was a GOD, there would be no disease, no war, no income tax, no little white cars.  The undeniable existence of all these “challenges” is de facto proof that if there is a GOD, then He certainly is not a nice guy.

I beg to differ.

If none of these bad things happened, and the world was all roses and rainbows, how would someone like me ever have a chance at salvation?  I’m not saying I would offer the driver of that little white car a free car wash or something; but it did give me the opportunity to consider that maybe that other driver has bigger problems than me.

And that other driver was not trying to be an ass.  Maybe it just comes naturally to people who drive little white cars.  From New York.  But, that’s the old me.

Really though, life can be pretty tough, and my life is a cake-walk compared to 90% of the folks out there just trying to find a safe place to sleep or the next meal.  Yeah, it is tougher if you’re stupid (thank you, John Wayne).  The lesson to be learned is: what are you going to do when life gives you lemons?  (Yeah, I love clichés, too.)

I have learned to appreciate the Church’s seasonal calendar.  We just finished Lent and are well into the Easter Season.  Every year, the seasons bring something new; either something I previously had never considered, or a greater richness and depth to something that was just rattling around in my cranium.

And this year, Easter brought this:  Christ died a horrific death, which means two things to me: One, a crucifixion is not what GOD needed, but what we need.  Anything less than a crucifixion just would not have gotten our attention.  In fact, most people still just don’t get it.  Two, He died and I don’t get a bye.  I will grant you that He does not expect me to volunteer to be nailed to a tree; but some of the other things He did, He did to set an example.  I know I just don’t get it.  I just don’t get how anyone can say Christ gave us all a Get-Out-of-Jail-Free card.  He opened the door, sure.  But, that doesn’t mean it’s going to be a walk in the park.  It just might be more like a salmon swimming upstream (you just gotta see that spectacle to believe it).

It’s not that we are expected to suffer.  It is that we should expect to be tested.  And how we react to those tests makes a difference.  Not that we can possibly earn our way into Heaven.  Never more true than the saying that “there but for the grace of GOD go I.”  Point is, I am expected to do something.  What I do does matter.  Makes perfect sense to me.