@andyantiles_ It is a great talk that helped a lot of people to reveal the truth for themselves. And l hope much more will come. Accountability matters.
"My name's Raymond. I'm 73. I work the parking lot at St. Joseph's Hospital. Minimum wage, orange vest, a whistle I barely use. Most people don't even look at me. I'm just the old man waving cars into spaces.
But I see everything.
Like the black sedan that circled the lot every morning at 6 a.m. for three weeks. Young man driving, grandmother in the passenger seat. Chemotherapy, I figured. He'd drop her at the entrance, then spend 20 minutes hunting for parking, missing her appointments.
One morning, I stopped him. "What time tomorrow?"
"6:15," he said, confused.
"Space A-7 will be empty. I'll save it."
He blinked. "You... you can do that?"
"I can now," I said.
Next morning, I stood in A-7, holding my ground as cars circled angrily. When his sedan pulled up, I moved. He rolled down his window, speechless. "Why?"
"Because she needs you in there with her," I said. "Not out here stressing."
He cried. Right there in the parking lot.
Word spread quietly. A father with a sick baby asked if I could help. A woman visiting her dying husband. I started arriving at 5 a.m., notebook in hand, tracking who needed what. Saved spots became sacred. People stopped honking. They waited. Because they knew someone else was fighting something bigger than traffic.
But here's what changed everything, A businessman in a Mercedes screamed at me one morning. "I'm not sick! I need that spot for a meeting!"
"Then walk," I said calmly. "That space is for someone whose hands are shaking too hard to grip a steering wheel."
He sped off, furious. But a woman behind him got out of her car and hugged me. "My son has leukemia," she sobbed. "Thank you for seeing us."
The hospital tried to stop me. "Liability issues," they said. But then families started writing letters. Dozens. "Raymond made the worst days bearable." "He gave us one less thing to break over."
Last month, they made it official. "Reserved Parking for Families in Crisis." Ten spots, marked with blue signs. And they asked me to manage it.
But the best part? A man I'd helped two years ago, his mother survived, came back. He's a carpenter. Built a small wooden box, mounted it by the reserved spaces. Inside? Prayer cards, tissues, breath mints, and a note,
"Take what you need. You're not alone. -Raymond & Friends"
People leave things now. Granola bars. Phone chargers. Yesterday, someone left a hand-knitted blanket.
I'm 73. I direct traffic in a hospital parking lot. But I've learned this: Healing doesn't just happen in operating rooms. Sometimes it starts in a parking space. When someone says, "I see your crisis. Let me carry this one small piece."
So pay attention. At the grocery checkout, the coffee line, wherever you are. Someone's drowning in the little things while fighting the big ones.
Hold a door. Save a spot. Carry the weight no one else sees.
It's not glamorous. But it's everything."
Let this story reach more hearts....
Credit: Mary Nelson
Was I stupid to love You?
It's the question every man wrestling with costly obedience asks at 3 AM.
When the bills are late.
When the church calls you divisive.
When your family calls you fanatic.
A tweet on discipleship that costs everything:
I sold everything.
You said to.
The house. The career. The reputation.
Gone.
My family calls me fanatic.
My church calls me divisive.
My bank account calls me fool.
Peter walked on water.
Then sank.
Then denied You three times.
Then got crucified upside down.
Was he stupid?
Job lost ten children in one day.
Sat in ash scraping boils with pottery for six months.
His wife told him to curse You and die.
His friends called him secret sinner.
You never answered his questions.
I gave You my twenties.
(Purity. Mission trips. Seminary debt.)
I gave You my thirties.
(Ministry. Poverty. Burnout.)
I'm giving You my forties.
(The years I was supposed to arrive.)
And I'm still obscure.
The Instagram preachers who water You down—
They have the platforms.
The passive men who call surrender "balance"—
They have the churches.
The guys who turned You into a life coach—
They have the book deals.
And I have... what?
Calluses.
Criticism.
Conviction.
You promised me a hundredfold.
I'm still counting.
You promised me life abundant.
Define abundant.
The rich young ruler walked away sad.
He wasn't stupid.
He was SMART.
He kept his wealth. His status. His safety.
I walked toward You.
And lost all three.
There are nights—God, there are nights—
Where the silence is so thick
I check the tomb to see if You left again.
Was I stupid to love You?
No burning bush.
No audible voice.
No confirmation text from heaven.
Just this:
The same question You asked Peter after the third denial:
"Do you love Me?"
And I do.
God help me, I do.
Not because it's smart.
Not because it's safe.
Not because it's WORKING.
Because You're TRUE.
I'd rather be a fool for the true God
than a success story for a fake one.
So no.
I wasn't stupid to love You.
I was stupid before I did.
Full poem + biblical framework:
https://t.co/oB72iPRuKZ