Disclaimer: This post has nothing to do with basketball, and in fact speaks intentionally against “madness.”
On March 1, I woke up in Chicago. I’d driven out the day before, February 29, to celebrate my oldest brother’s 40th birthday (or 10th birthday, as many enjoyed joking) with him and his family (his wife and two kids). My mom was up from Florida, too, and we’d all gone out to a quiet birthday dinner to celebrate. I was thankful to be within driving distance, able to live out my priority of being a more regular part of family moments.
My brother and his wife had Friday, March 1, off work. We spent the day in what felt to me like vacation mode: We went to the Starbucks Reserve Roastery downtown, then strolled around Eataly, where I tried out a few Italian wines and bread. We had lunch at a Thai place (my favorite lunchtime cuisine), and then we went back to the house, with me going through the Apostles’ Creed study on the car ride.
As I settled back into the couch, my older sister and her family (her husband and son) arrived. They’d come to spend the weekend celebrating and catching up with family. We’d all spend the evening with takeout and delivery food, resting in each other’s company.
After dinner, my sister reminded her husband to move their car, since they couldn’t park overnight in the spot they’d originally landed on that afternoon.
I snapped to attention. “Where did you park?” I asked. “And, uh, where are you not supposed to park?” When they described the location, I couldn’t picture it clearly in my head, so I walked outside to where I’d parked, but my car wasn’t there.
I went back inside and told them as much: “My car isn’t there.”
“What?!” my sister said.
“Yeah, it’s not there.”
“That’s not real,” my sister-in-law said, maybe reacting to my matter-of-fact delivery. “Right? That’s a joke.”
“Nope, yeah, it’s gone.”
“Are you sure that’s where you parked it?”
“Yeah, that’s, I mean. Yeah.” For a brief moment I doubted myself. My brother-in-law walked outside with me to check. We walked over to where my car had been, and I returned to full confidence that yes, that was the spot, and yes, my car was gone. We walked down the road a ways to find the street sign posted, with a snowflake on the top, with the words, “No parking. 3-7am. Dec 1 – April 1 or when snow is over 2 inches.” Well, that explained it: a wintertime rule so that snow-plowing could be done on this major road when necessary. It was a warm, sunny weekend, but that didn’t matter. “TOW ZONE” it said at the bottom. Fair enough.
We walked back inside to live that first delivery all over again: “Yeah, it’s not there. It’s been towed.” Better than stolen, I thought.
I called the number posted on the sign and followed the automated prompts, entering my license plate info on the keypad and learning that my car was at Chicago Auto Pound #6, a 25 minute drive away. I called the station directly, confirming the car was there, that they were open, and how much I’d need to pay in total for the towing and retrieval. It wasn’t cheap, by my standards.
It was nearly 9pm by this time. Not wanting to burden anyone else with my mistake, I offered to use an app to rideshare over to the lot and drive back. My brother said he’d drive me. The word family sat at the forefront of my mind, and I steeped in gratitude.
I wasn’t anxious about this process, I realized in the moment. A version of me that would have reacted anxiously still lives with me. How am I going to pay for this? How dare I spend money on Italian wine and bread when things like this could pop up at any moment? How could I miss the sign that warned me not to park overnight? How stupid am I? My self-talk can default to anxiety, self-criticism, and shame. But not in this moment. I was with family, and I was experiencing something I’d never experienced before, and I did have enough in my bank account to cover it all. (Why? Not because I’d worked so hard to store up enough for these situations, but because God ensured it was there when I needed it.)
“Now you’re like a real Chicagoan,” my brother said. “Next up is getting caught on a speed cam.” What a gracious way of looking at it with me, I thought.
We pulled up to the auto pound, and everything was dark. A few people lingered outside, and a streetlamp flickered off and on. “It’s probably best I didn’t Uber,” I said. My brother laughed, “Yeah…”
We walked inside, and there was quite a line. Everything moved quite slowly, as you might expect. I stood up at the window while one of the staff prepared some paperwork, and I looked at the walls around the window while I waited. Evidently, many people before me had stood at this same window, frustrated as they waited. “F*** the Police,” “ANARCHY,” and other similar sentiments were either scribbled in pen or straight-up carved into the wooden frame.
A couple behind me talked about how ridiculous this whole thing was: just big government preying on the little people. “I dunno,” I thought, “I’m pretty guilty here. There was a sign, and I didn’t read it. I’m glad there’s a system in place for me to come get my car back so late at night…”
Because my name isn’t technically listed as the car’s owner, I was told I’d have to pay the fees in cash. Odd, I thought. While I waited in line reading graffiti, my brother went to an ATM to get the cash, and I transferred the money to him. I sat on a bench alone, while more people came in to start the process of getting their car back. I didn’t feel afraid, I noticed, and I was grateful.
After paying the fees, I was given a slip of paper to go show the guards at the parking lot. I hopped in a truck with one of them, and he drove me through the lot to find my car. The windshield had an intake number writ large in yellow pen, and it gave me Scarlet Letter vibes. I hopped in, thankful the car turned on, and I followed my brother back to his house. It was late, but some family was still up, and we settled in to watch the new Napoleon movie. I drove back to Detroit the next morning, arriving twenty minutes before my Saturday night restaurant shift started.
Back in my apartment, I realized I’d left my phone charger in Chicago, and my sister said she’d bring it back with her. We agreed I’d come over on Monday after work to pick it up. My car was running rough the whole way to her place, and by the time I arrived, I smelled burning rubber. I got outside, and I saw a spark had fallen onto the lower part of my front left tire. I saw smoke.
I went inside, greeted by the family. Somewhat urgently, I said, “Umm, my car is smoking and I saw a spark, could someone–.” My brother-in-law grabbed a fire extinguisher and we all went outside.
Close inspection revealed that I needed new brake pads and rotors, at the least. My brother-in-law started calling around to different mechanics, seeing if anyone had the parts and time to address the situation. Thursday seemed like the earliest most people could do, but one person down the road said they could do first thing Tuesday morning.
“Do you need to go home tonight?” my sister asked. I’d just cleaned my cat’s litter box and put down fresh food and water that morning, so though I felt a little guilty about spending more time away from her, I said, “I guess not.”
We had dinner together, and I got to spend time playing with my nephew and watching TV with his parents. Family remained at the forefront of my mind.
The next morning, my brother-in-law followed me to the shop and then dropped me off at church for work. Later that afternoon, when I heard the car was ready to be picked up, my sister came to get me from work and drove me there.
I hadn’t expected a four-figure repair that week, but I wasn’t panicking. Maybe I’d have to live more frugally for a while. Head down, focus on work. There would be daily bread for this, too.
Oh, and one more thing. While at the Starbucks Roastery in Chicago, I got a text from my roommate. She’d found a new apartment to move into, and she’d already applied for and gotten it. Our lease, which had gone month-to-month, would thus come to an end on March 31, on Easter Sunday.
“I think we both need to give them notice today if you don’t want to take over the whole lease,” my roommate said. I had to decide that day: Did I want to say I’d take over the lease and gamble that I could find a new, suitable roommate within the month–and a hectic month, with me going to Florida that next week, and having teaching videos to shoot, and Easter coming up at the end of it? I couldn’t afford the place by myself, so that sounded unwise.
“I guess I’m going to need to plan to move,” I replied. I’ve have the month to find a new place and get moved, with all those other obligations standing firm.
On Tuesday morning, the day before I flew to Florida, I scheduled an appointment with a leasing agent for my current building. Together, we toured four different one-bedroom apartments. My cost of living would go up, but I could handle it for a year, I thought. It wouldn’t be a perfect situation, but they wouldn’t be charging me another security deposit, nor would they charge me their non-refundable pet fee again. I wouldn’t have to worry about loading up a truck. I could just carry everything to a freight elevator and move to another unit…
I searched for alternative arrangements around the city and in the suburbs. The only options that were more “affordable” would require me to move into a room in a shared house with strangers I’d find online. I didn’t feel up for that. The wisest decision seemed to be to stay.
I took the weekend in Florida to let it all sit, and when I came back, I told the leasing agent I’d take one of the one-bedrooms I’d toured. I felt at relative peace with that.
“Oh, is Easter in March? What? I thought it was in April!” my roommate asked.
“Yeah, it changes quite widely from year to year. Next year, it’ll be April 20th. This year, it’s March 31.”
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize.”
“Yeah. I was really looking forward to spending Holy Week in deep reflection, and that’s definitely going to be a challenge in the midst of all this… But hey, my new lease starts March 28, on Maundy Thursday. I’ll move all my stuff over that weekend, and then I’ll wake up on Resurrection Sunday to a new life in a new home. That’s a pretty cool thing.”
What good would it do to dwell on inconvenience, frustration, or anxiety? Should I accept good from God but not trouble? (Job 2:10) The LORD has promised to be with me through the waters, so that the rivers will not overwhelm me. What’s more, He promises, “[W]hen you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you” (Isaiah 43:2). Those are pretty clear and amazing promises! Everything that comes into my life has passed through the hands of my loving Father (Ecclesiastes 9:1). To complain would be to throw a childish temper tantrum at best, and to doubt God’s intentions and character at worst. May such a spirit be far from me.
A lot of big, unexpected stuff has popped up this March, but relatively speaking, it’s all been completely manageable. I’ve felt safe. I’ve had family around me. I’ve had work that has allowed me to live in every comfort I really need from day to day–truly, a privilege and a blessing.
So here we are, in the middle of Holy Week–a week “set apart” (for that is primarily what holiness refers to) for intentional remembrance of Christ’s loving, sacrificial work for us. In the midst of a busy work week (Preparation for the Fall sermon series is officially beginning at church, and March Madness is coming to Detroit this weekend, so it’s “all hands on deck” at the restaurant), I’m thankful for this weekly space to be still and contemplate God’s goodness to me. I pray you have the same opportunity to dwell in peace with God.
This week’s study of the Apostles’ Creed looks at the lines, “the holy catholic Church, the communion of saints.”
The Session 6 workbook material is here. There are a couple typos in the Scripture references in the workbook:
1) On p. 118, question 1 asks you to spend time in 2 Peter 2:1-12. This is a typo! It should be 1 Peter 2:1-12. Only the letter number is incorrect; all chapter and verse numbers are accurate.
2) On p. 120, question 1 asks you to look at Ephesians 2:20-21. The correct reference is Ephesians 3:21.
The accompanying teaching video is here:
Lord willing, Pastor Scott’s teaching message will be available on the Ward Church YouTube channel shortly.
Detroit, Reformed. 
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