On Sunday mornings, I pull my truck into the church parking lot around 7:45 A.M., before most people get there. Our building sits in the center of a clearing in the woods, with parking spaces forming a “U” across the front and down the sides. The lot is usually empty, but I always spot a familiar group of men and women huddled in a circle, all wearing the same bright green vests and hats: the parking team.
For months running on years, these folks have shuttled hundreds of cars in and out of our parking lot. Such orchestration requires a degree of focus that, under the wrong conditions, could verge on faithlessness—the type of hyper-control that might cause one to forget the transcendent in favor of the here-and-now. That’s why they gather there in the lot, before everyone begins parking, to pray.
What would the parking team pray for, pray tell?
It’s an easy bet that they pray for safety—wouldn’t you? Cars, minivans, big ol’ Southern-boy trucks, ...1
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