A friend visiting from Texas once remarked with wonder on the way people in my fair city park their cars in the middle of the street. Welcome to Philadelphia. Yo, we do what we gotta do.

Over the holidays, my daughter asked me to bring my 3-year-old granddaughter and 2-year-old grandson to a party at their nursery school in Center City. The facility has no parking lot; I would have to find street parking.

God is “the living God,” so I asked him while trolling slowly down Spruce Street if he would give us a parking space. Similar wonders of God include the parting of the Red Sea and walking on the water. I even prayed the thing out loud for the benefit of my passengers, so they could see the glory of God. No spots. I rounded the bend onto Sixth Street. No spots there either.

Finally I had to resort to a parking garage that was a block and a half from the school: $12. Why hadn’t God answered my prayer?

Then as I thought about it, I seemed to hear God say, “Do you do well to be angry? Did I not give you a parking place? Oh, you thought you had to have a 50-cent parking place or the prayer was not answered? The fact is you are worrying about all kinds of future financial scenarios instead of seeing my faithfulness today. What did I tell you about worrying about tomorrow? I own the cattle on a thousand hills—and all the parking spaces in the Philadelphia. If I want to give you a $12 parking place instead of a free one, do I not have the right? You asked for a place to park, and you got one.”