How to find God in the hospital car park

1 I lift up my eyes to the mountains – where does my help come from?
2 My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.
3 He will not let your foot slip –he who watches over you will not slumber;
4 indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep. (Psalm 121:1-4)

The queue had barely moved.

I circled the hospital car park once, then again, following the slow procession of cars beneath the grey sky. Every space seemed to disappear just as I reached it. A driver edged forward; someone else signalled and slipped into a spot. My hands tightened on the steering wheel. I had come to visit someone who was ill, and already I felt late, anxious and helpless.

Around me, other people were carrying their own worries. A woman stared at her phone, perhaps waiting for news. A man gripped the wheel and leaned forward, searching the rows. A parent tried to soothe a restless child in the back seat. We were strangers, but for a few minutes we shared the same small world: the slow queue, the circling cars, the hope of finding somewhere to stop.

“Lord, please help me find a space,” I prayed.

It was an ordinary request, almost embarrassingly practical. Yet as I said the words, I remembered that God is not reserved for church pews, quiet mornings or moments when we know exactly what to say. He meets us in the places where we are, among the traffic, in the worry, beside the hospital entrance. We do not have to feel calm before we pray. Sometimes prayer begins with a sigh and a simple plea for help.

As the cars crawled forward, I began to pray for the people around me. For the woman looking at her phone: may she receive kind news. For the parent: give them patience and strength. For the driver circling ahead: ease whatever burden they are carrying. I did not know their stories, but God did. My frustration did not vanish, and I still wanted a parking space. But my attention widened. The other drivers were no longer obstacles; they were people who, like me, might be frightened, tired or hoping for a little kindness.

That small change mattered. Prayer did not make the illness disappear or tell me what would happen next. It helped me remember that I was not alone, and neither were the people in those cars. The hospital can hold fear and uncertainty, but it also holds remarkable tenderness: a hand held in a waiting room, a cup of tea brought to a bedside, a nurse who takes time to listen. God’s care often reaches us through such ordinary acts.

Then, at last, a car pulled out. I eased into the space and switched off the engine. For a moment, I sat still. The space was small, but it was enough. I took a breath and asked God to go with me inside—to help me listen, to offer comfort where I could, and to trust him with what I could not change.

We may not always find the answer we are seeking, or the words that will make everything better. But we can look for God in the middle of the waiting: in patience, in prayer for strangers, in courage for the next step, and in love shared with someone who is suffering.

That day, I found a space in the hospital car park. And, as I sat there, I remembered to find a space for God in my heart too.

5 The Lord watches over you –the Lord is your shade at your right hand;
6 the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night.
7 The Lord will keep you from all harm – he will watch over your life;
8 the Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and for evermore.
(Psalm 121:5-8)

Brian Leathers October 2026