Hospital Parking Lots

ambulance

Sometimes, when I need to get perspective, I drive to the hospital parking lot.

11 o’clock at night, one of three cars on the empty blacktop, I watch the man walk his dog.  I watch the white bug crawl up the windshield.  I watch the empty windows.  Watch the unmoving doors.  Listen to the night traffic and the buzz of parking lot lights.

I think about all the broken people sleeping on the other side of the walls.  I am broken.  They are broken.  We are broken.  The hot summer air is thick and the bugs loud and the lights bright and I think about the things broken people say to other broken people.

‘I love you.  Things will get better.  We’ll be okay.’

Will we?

I think about me and I think about them and I think about God.

God who made us poor creatures.  God who doesn’t explain why things break.  God who sits with me in a hospital parking lot and whispers,

‘We will’

I stare at the wall.  Watch the man disappear with his dog in the night.  Rest my weary head on the steering wheel.

Somehow, I know He is right.

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