Parking spaces and bird poop

There is a cardinal that poops on my car every Sunday morning. Seriously, I am not imagining or exaggerating, and it has been going on for at least 6 months, probably much longer. (It took me awhile to figure out what was going on.) 

Our church has ample parking, except that, like every building constrained by the limitations of space and time, there are a limited number of spaces close to the church on Sunday morning. You can always find a place to park, but you may have to hike a bit.  Choong-Ho does a wonderful job of teaching our new member class to “park far, sit close,” thereby leaving the prime church real estate of front-row parking and back-row seating to visitors, and I quote him frequently. Since I try not to ask people not to do things that I’m not willing to do myself, I park in the back corner of the lot by the recycling bins on Sundays. 

Every Sunday morning (literally every week) when I pull into my spot, there is a red cardinal sitting on the rearview mirrors of the other two cars that park with me in the hinterlands. The bird flies into the trees as I pull in, and by the time I return to my car in the afternoon, there is a trail of bird poop on my car beneath my rearview mirror.  Every week.

Yesterday, the cardinal was nowhere to be seen when I arrived at church. I actually found myself worrying a bit about this little fellow. When I walked out to my car after church, though, there he was. Sitting on my rearview mirror. As if to greet me, he pooped on my car and flew away while I watched. 

I’ve been trying to make sense of my avian friend’s actions.  It seems really unusual that a bird would be so regular about these weekly visits.  If I belonged to a different faith heritage, perhaps I would consider that my father has reincarnated into his favorite species and is communicating with me in the only way now available to him. While I’m not sure exactly when this bird started visiting my car, it’s possible that it coincides with my father’s death.  However, if that really is the reality, I’ll have to get on the other side of eternity before I’m convinced.

My main thinking is much more pedestrian, almost pre-schoolishly petulant.  “It’s just not fair. I park all this way away from the church, putting others’ needs first, hiking through an often-icy parking lot in a skirt and my church shoes.  And what do I get? Weekly bird poop!  Where is my gold medal?  After all, I’m being selfless and generous and Christian, right?”

Apparently, I do pre-schooler pretty well. At a local business that I go to most days, the parking lot is crowded.  However, the owners of another business inside the building park their two cars in the closest available spots. How do I know? They have vanity plates on their cars that have the business’ name on them.  I try to turn off my inner Pharisee, but I can’t help but think that they care more about their own comfort than the comfort of their customers. 

Right about then, when my superiority starts to run amok, the better voices in my head chime in. I know there are a lot of folks with handicap plates on their car that would exchange their disability gladly for a long walk and a little bird poop.  There are a lot worse things in this world than having to walk across a large parking lot.

In fact, I have found great blessing parking so far away. I’ve learned not to bring my laptop on Sundays, so that I don’t have to carry it so far. As I tread carefully through the icy patches, it reminds me to pray for the others who will be dealing with that same ice as they come to worship.  On my way through the building, I get a chance to peruse the parking lot for trash and make a quick walk-through to check the bathrooms.  

Which reminds me once again that I need to practice getting over myself.  There is such great joy that surrounds me every day of my life, if I’ll only see the good stuff. After all, how many folks have a personal bird to sing them into worship each week?

And if you ever wonder what car your pastor drives, it’s a cute little red Ford C-Max. You’ll know it’s mine by the bird poop underneath the rearview mirrors.

Olympic Rock Stars

The stars of this year’s Olympics aren’t in medal contention. In fact, they are in dead last place in their event. Regardless, they are rock stars wherever they go around the Olympic village.  Mainline news organizations can’t get enough of them, and videos of them dancing with folks around the Olympic Village are going viral on Twitter.  Long before they arrived in Sochi, we worried for their weather-disrupted travel and lost luggage.

They are the Jamaican Bobsled Team.

Their immense popularity doesn’t stem from their medal chances. Much of it is due to the beloved Disney film, “Cool Runnings,” that detailed (loosely) the travails of the very first Jamaican bobsled team.  But there has got to be more to this current crush of love than simply an old movie. Why are they so popular?

My hunch is that it is the incongruity of these Olympic athletes that is drawing the world’s adulation.  It is one thing to admire the honed skill of a bobsledder who grew up in a long tradition of winter sports in a cold weather clime.  It is something else entirely to watch someone competing from a country that has never seen a snowflake.  Would you have been able to imagine that Jamaica would be able to field a bobsled team? Ever? It’s just not the way that we expect it to work out.  We are impressed with the many Jamaicans who have excelled in the summer Olympics, but we are amazed at the daring improbability of Jamaicans who bobsled. 

The cross in on my mind these days, probably since I’m in the thick of worship planning for Lent, Easter, and beyond. Thinking about the Jamaicans has gotten me thinking that maybe that’s why we Christians are so taken with the cross.  It’s not the typical story of faith and redemption. It involves lots of unexpected elements, and victory doesn’t come about in the usual way. Our story involves outsiders, like tax collectors and prostitutes and others shut out totally from religion.  The culmination of our story involves no gold medals.  There are no victory speeches for the cameras, only words of love and pain spoken from the cross. Yet the power of that story endures, because it is our story. 

Who ever thought someone from Jamaica could bobsled in the Olympics? Who ever thought that a bunch of flawed and broken people would be worth dying for?   Isn't it wonderful when reality is so much bigger than our imagination?

The Slow Line

If everyone was endowed with a superpower, then mine would be Finding the Slowest Checkout Line.  I am able to do it unfailingly, usually in exact proportion to how much of a rush I am in. Sunday at Costco was no different. 

After a full morning at church, followed by lunch with my husband, I decided to go to Costco.  Costco on Sunday afternoon is always a mob scene, but I needed to get a few things before the next version of winter hits tomorrow. It was as crowded as I expected. On the good news side of things, I was able to see most of my congregation while I gathered the few things I needed.  (We Methodists tend to have the same ideas at the same time.) I headed to the checkout lane and ended up in a line so short that I was able to start unloading onto the belt immediately.

Engage superpower.

My cart was about half unloaded when I realized that the conveyor belt was not conveying.  I looked up to see that we were waiting for a manager to help with the family in front of me. The manager was, unusually, nowhere to be seen. And so we waited. The manager arrived and curtly explained some membership issue to the family. Clearly, English was not this family’s first language, but things were resolved enough that the conveyor belt started moving merrily along. I resumed my unloading. And then the belt came grinding to a halt as I heard Len, our checker, telling the family that he wanted to get the manager again. This time, the manager came right away, and Len said, kindly, “I’m not sure this family understood what you were explaining last time. Could you do it again?” More slowly this time, the manager explained the issue.  Comprehension gleamed in their faces as they realized that they could save money with this one step that the manager was telling them. They happily followed his advice and received back more change than they had received initially.

In spite of my impatience, I was pleased for the family. And I realized that, during my waiting time, I had noticed that the folks behind me had some items that looked much yummier than what was in my basket. We struck up a friendly conversation as we waited together, although they never did offer me one of their chocolates.  A church member that I hadn’t seen earlier came up to me while I was waiting.  And, when it was my turn to check out with Len, he took extra time to get a bag to put over the fresh flowers I had picked up on impulse. “It’s cold out there, we don’t want them to get hurt,” he explained as he bagged them up.  

As I walked out to my car, I realized what a blessing that extra time in line had been. I had gotten to talk with two new friends and a church member.  Len had taken care of one family, and he had shown that same consideration to me and my flowers. Because of those encounters, I was smiling as I weaved through the ice in the parking lot.  And it occurred it me that maybe there is something special about my superpower after all.