The parking lot season
There was a season a while back when the hardest part of my day was the last two minutes before I walked into work. Things were heavy. Some of it was work, some of it was home, some of it was just life stacking up the way it does sometimes. I would pull into the lot, turn off the engine, and just sit there.
I did not want to go in. Not because the people were bad. They were good people. I just felt tired in a way that sleep was not fixing. I felt like I was running on fumes and pretending I had a full tank.
One morning, sitting there with my hands still on the wheel, I started talking to God. Nothing fancy. I did not close my eyes or fold my hands. I just said what was true.
What I said
It went something like this. God, I am tired. I do not have much today. Please help me be kind anyway. Help me do good work. Help me notice somebody who is having a harder day than me. And help me come home with something left for my family.
That was the whole thing. Maybe thirty seconds. Then I got out of the car and went in.
Nothing dramatic happened. No lightning. The day was still a regular day. But I noticed something. I walked in a little lighter. Not because my problems were gone. They were still right there. But I did not feel like I was carrying them completely alone anymore.
So I did it again the next day. And the next. It became a habit. Park the car, turn off the engine, say the quiet prayer, then go.
Why small prayers matter
I used to think prayer had to be long to count. Like you had to have the right words or the right setting. I am not a pastor and I do not have a lot of fancy language. I am just a regular guy who believes God listens.
What that hard season taught me is that hope can live in very small places. A parked car. A red light. The kitchen sink. The minute before you open a door you do not want to open. You do not have to wait until everything is calm to reach for it. Sometimes you reach for it right in the middle of the mess.
And for me, saying it out loud helped. Even quietly. Naming the tired. Naming the hope. Asking for help to be kind. There is something about hearing your own voice ask for help that softens you.
Play a Positive Phil game
Hope Hangman
Guess the word. Keep the sun up.
On the other side
That season did pass. They usually do, even when it does not feel like they will. Things got lighter. Some problems got solved. Some I just learned to carry better. I am still building, still climbing, still figuring a lot of it out. But I came through it.
I still say the prayer most mornings. Even on good days. Especially on good days, actually, because I do not want to only show up when I am desperate. Now it sounds more like, thank you for today, help me be kind, help me notice someone, help me come home with something left.
If you are in a hard season right now, I am not going to tell you it is easy. It is not. But I want to offer you something small. Before you walk into the thing you are dreading, take thirty seconds. Wherever you are. Say what is true. Ask for help. Ask to be kind. Then go.
You might not feel different right away. That is okay. Hope tends to show up quietly. It builds a little at a time, like light coming up before sunrise. You do not see the exact moment it gets bright. You just look up and notice you can see the road.
Hope does not need a big room. Sometimes it fits in a parked car.
