Monday, December 16, 2013

Epiphany in a Parking Garage

“Should we go or not?”

That’s how our Sunday morning started.

We were already going to be an hour and a half late to the three hour long church service, we were going to mess with our son’s nap time, and yet we decided to go.

We piled into a cab and made the trek downtown to find ourselves in a ballroom of a hotel. Our little guy fell asleep on the way but awoke to the way-too-loud PA system. I decided to leave and try to find a quiet place for him to resume napping. The first try was a bust- a hallway by the bathrooms where clicky shoes, flushing toilets, and chatty voices made sleeping an impossibility. I headed back out the hallway that led into the meeting room, which was full of kids and laughter and a clown making balloon toys.

I kept moving away from people to find myself in the hotel’s parking garage. There was a smoker’s area in the corner with plastic chairs attached to each other,
the kind you see in bus stations or old airports. No smokers though, just empty chairs.

I sat down, holding my finally-sleeping son, and let him continue to rest in peace.
Beads of perspiration began to form on his head, and I could feel myself getting damp with sweat. I sat there indignantly, thinking, “So THIS is where new moms get to sit with their infants during church. This is just great.” I looked around at the parking garage- the oil-stained floor, the accumulation of dirt everywhere. A parking garage.

A place most people don’t give much thought to. It’s pretty much just the place you walk through to get to somewhere else. Unimportant, dirty, inconsequential.

And then it hit me.

Another mother held her baby in a similar place about 2000 years ago.

Her son was born in an unimportant, dirty, inconsequential place because no one else offered them a place to stay. But instead of being smug and self-important, she treasured up the details of her son’s birth and pondered them in her heart.

God, please help me to be more like Mary. I pray my eyes would be open to the treasures and my heart would ponder them in wonder. Thank you that I have something to celebrate at Christmas. Thank you for hope and for entering into our mess. Thank you for the love you've given to me and a new son I get to hold in my arms.

Thanks for this year's Christmas present: an epiphany with my son in a parking garage.