Last space in the parking lot

It was one of those things.  We were running late to the concert.  We put our coins in the meter.  The gate went up, and then down behind us.  We pulled into the last parking space and realized then it was the very last space.  This meant we heard the opening act, not the person we had come to see, but the one we were gifted to see.  Somehow daily bread.  For us, Friday night, it was daily bread.  

I read an interview in Christian Century with Christian Wiman, an editor for Poetry.  He is relatively new to the Christian faith.  He made a distinction between poetry and prayer.  I realized I link the two, and that for me, the two often feel one and the same.  I think it*s why I hesitate to name the things I write as one or the other.  I call them reflections, and leave it at that.  I hope and pray people see God, however they are meant to, in what I am given to write.  I hope it is at least in part, daily bread.

I know very little it seems,

Maybe less each day.

I do know this:

I will know the next thing

When it comes due,

When it becomes available.

The last space in the parking lot

Was ours Friday night,

Enough to show us

God provides

Our daily bread.

We are not supplied with a parking lot

Full

Of empty spaces

When we need only one.

The hope of course

Is that we will see it

Do it

Pay it

Receive it

Give thanks for it.

I know little but I do know this:

The hope and prayer is to know

When we are the next thing,

The last space in the parking lot

For the person standing next to us

Behind us in line;

When we are daily bread,

Even manna,

We will see it

Do it

Pay it

Receive it

Give thanks for it.

When it comes due

We will cast our bread

On the waters

And rejoice.