There is something inherently wrong with needing to pay for parking when you go to the hospital to visit someone (and even more so when you go seeking treatment!). It has this feeling attached to it of being taken, a feeling similar to the one I get when I’m dealing with a phone company. I know the funds are apparently going to the hospital, but it feels more like a cash grab that’s taken from folks who don’t have a choice in the matter. I can afford to pay for parking – that’s not the point. It’s the principle of it that sits off. But, of course, there are bigger fish to fry…
I recently heard a talk by a fella named Rob Bell in Toronto (and yes, there was parking to be paid). He talked about the word “holy”, how it is often used attached to other words (holy smokes, holy cow, holy Moses, etc. When I was growing up, I wasn’t supposed to use these expressions). He then told about a man named Isaiah in the Bible having this dream about angels circling a throne where God was seated and singing “Holy, holy, holy”, not “holy this” or “holy that”, but a “holy” that stands alone. Bell said that the Hebrew word for this holy was “Kadosh” (Google seems to agree). “Kadosh, kadosh, kadosh”. He also told the story of a man named Joshua in the Bible who, when encountering an angel, Joshua asks him if he (the angel) is for them or against them. The angel simply says “no” and instructs Joshua to take off his footwear as he was standing on holy ground. Bell expounded further on this holy that stands alone, a holy that is awe-full and is outside of categorization. He then told a series of stories, personal and otherwise, of times when he encountered or heard of this holy. In between each story, strung together like different verses in a song, he would intone the refrain – “kadosh, kadosh, kadosh”.
The day after hearing this talk, I was heading back to the hospital and saw that there was a parking spot on a side street away from the paid parking areas. Rather pleased with my “find”, I practised my nonskills of parallel parking, and headed inside.
Now the thing with this free parking is that you’ve got two hours and then you start thinking about the possibility of a parking ticket. Two hours went by and my visit wasn’t finished so off I trotted to move my vehicle. I caught a descending elevator at the last second when the woman inside held it for me. It occurred to me as I got on that her eyes were red-rimmed, and as we started our descent, I heard her sniffle.
I am a person who likes my space and err towards granting others their space. But I also thought about my husband who so easily makes a connection with any Tom, Dick, or Harry and has a way of making said Tom, Dick, and Harry feel seen. So, I gently nudged and prompted my introverted self to ask quietly, “Tough day?”.
She glanced at me, startled slightly, and said that her dad had just died. She said that it was time but that it was still hard. I quietly said “I’m sorry” and shared her tears. And just like that we were at our floor, and she quickly exited the elevator and hurried off. I saw her get into a waiting taxi as I made my way outside. And as I headed down the cement stairs at the side of the hospital, I heard the refrain, “kadosh, kadosh, kadosh”.
(Photo by Kris Martin)
I got to my vehicle on the street and there was room in front of me that I could simply pull forward and technically be in a different spot. However, I didn’t know if a bylaw officer would realize I had moved, and I also had vague recollections about needing to at least leave and go around the block before parking in the same spot. I did that. Came back and “my spot” was still there, but it seemed too easy, so around I went again. And lost the parking space. Resigned, I went to a nearby lot and parked and went to the machine to pay for my parking. And there, stuck to the side of the machine with makeshift tape, was someone’s parking stub with an hour or so of leftover time. Seriously. It was like there was this holy smirk, mischievous but tender, gifted onto my kadosh encounter. I had the passing thought that I could leave it for someone else, but in a way it felt like it was there for me. Like some kind of lighthearted toast with the Divine.
Chance timing? Yep, could be. Coincidence? Yeah, it might be that too. Serendipity? Un-huh, perhaps. Or maybe it was all purely and simply, “kadosh, kadosh, kadosh”.
How often do I kibosh the kadosh with my desire (goodhearted though it may be) to help, fix, define, and/or categorize? How often might I be missing the Divine shimmerings in my analysis or my hurry and flurry? How often do I dismiss the holy and take it from a noun to an adjective?
Now I don’t think it’s like I need to go around on tippy toes trying to craft kadosh or that I need to quell my thinker, but I do wonder about honing a certain awareness, a “slowing the hurry down” (Ann Voskamp), and a learning to see underneath and beyond the obvious to the presence and underpinnings of something other. And I wonder if a slowing down of my hurry and if a quiet acceptance of the unexplainable can seep good into my tiny corner of the planet and open the way for the holy?
Life, it seems, has times of heady, mountaintop vistas and times of darker, valley pathways, but then there’s the in between of the everyday, run-of-the-mill, so called “normal”, messy stuff of living. Work and school, children, grandchildren, and aged parents, farm and home, things that break down, ponds that leak (a tale of its own), friends and community – create your list. These everyday spaces hold “Kadosh, Kadosh, Kadosh”, often in disguise. May we pause and may we see.
