Finding My Place

Hi, my name is Ryan.
And I’m a PARKaholic.
I grew up a pastor’s kid.  Serving was never an option.  Every Sunday.  Almost every Wednesday night. My parents had it way worse; so we weren’t to complain.
In college I was required to attend a church of 5,000.  I loved having nothing to do but just arrive. After college I rarely got involved in ministry.  I told myself that writing my devotional book was my service to the Kingdom, and I could do that on my terms—on my schedule.  Eventually, Crystal and I moved to Virginia; we became leaders in a Spanish church.  Because of my professional experience, I was asked to develop the Powerpoint system for our songs and announcements.  I don’t even speak Spanish.  It was a chore.  Every week.
Right before I came to Blue Ridge I had devolved spiritually to one of the darkest places of my life.  On top of a series of wrong choices, church became a place I attended only to rub my spiritual genie lamp. I was lonely, empty—miserable. I had to get out.  I had to do something different.
At Intro to Blue Ridge, Nan hired me on the spot to do some of the graphics here.  It was easy; and it made Nan’s day a lot of days.  But I didn’t really find passion there.
Then I joined the parking team.  My life changed.
All my life I’ve been told that my affection for cars was secular—unholy.
But the parking ministry let me play with cars FOR GOD. And I got a radio!  At church!  How cool is that? Oh, and a hat with my name on it.  It’s like a letterman jacket at Heaven High School, man!
Guys on the team cared about me, asked about me in an authentic way.  Rick and the boys threw the biggest party I’ve ever attended—for my baptism.  I got to get dunked in the vest, too.  I heard “I love you,” that day more than any day in my life—enough man hugs for a wedding.  HB became my big brother—or at least another crazy uncle.  Will made me sob next to his baptism tank, despite all the testosterone on that stage.  Kevin became my YMCA lifting partner. I’ve got buddies now with names like “Superfly” and “Hee Haw.”  Does it get any better than that?
Despite a demanding job running a national advertising agency, my Sunday energy in the magic vest is unexplained and uncontained.  (The guys won’t let me have coffee or soda.)  It’s truly the best hours of my week.  Almost every week, someone getting out of their car says, “You look like you love this,” or “You have way too much energy!”
I do. At least at church.  The other day, as we were walking into the house, Crystal said, “You can power down now.  You’re not at church anymore”
Not one single Sunday in my 15 months on the team have I ever not wanted to park cars.  Last Saturday night I got home from my parent’s house at 3am and at 8am gladly sped to my early service parking lot—to flail those orange wands and make Ridgers smile—to get them ready for the smile of God.
I turn 30 this weekend.  Two years ago my parents told me that they were afraid to let my teenage brother spend time with me.  But this is what my mom wrote in my birthday card, “We are so proud of your spiritual growth.  Love Mom.“
That happened for me in a parking lot.  Where did it happen for you?