What do strip clubs have to do with foster care?

This is one of about 20 strip clubs I drive by everyday after work...

(Photo from Google Streetview Maps)

Most of the time, I'm completely oblivious to the cars coming and going from these "establishments" as I drive down Dallas' infamous Harry Hines Blvd. 

However, while making the 23 mile trek home a few days ago, something caught my eye. 

It was a simple shrug of the shoulders by a valet parking lot attendant. In the few seconds it took for me to pass the club, I noticed a man trying to find a parking spot and the valet attendant non-verbally letting him know the lot was full and he'd have to find somewhere else to park. 

It took me a minute to think about what I thought about this (I know - way too much thinking after a long day at work.) I glanced at the clock. It was about 6:15 on a Wednesday evening. 

Initially, my thoughts turned to the families of the men who we're fighting for these parking spaces. 

It's 6:15. Kids are home from school. They're finishing homework and playing outside. They're waiting for dad to come home so they can have dinner, read stories, and get tucked into bed. Moms are coming home from work and cleaning up messes from the day. They're working on said-dinner and trying to catch their breath for a minute. Most are nearing a breaking point and wondering how to do the mom and wife thing "right" and how they'll possibly make it through another day. 

And dad's looking for a parking spot. 

Not at the grocery store to help mom prep for dinner. Not at the YMCA to help sign the kids up for basketball. Not even at the gas station to fill up and get home to his family as quickly as he can. 

Maybe I thought about it a little too much, but I couldn't help but feel my heart break a little bit for their wives and children. 

I'm just going to be honest (not Juan Pablo honest, but pretty honest.) My next few thoughts were a little bit more judgmental. Bear with me. 

Maybe if these men were as concerned about filling up the parking spots at home, there wouldn't be as many problems in the world. Maybe we wouldn't have as many unwanted pregnancies, or abortions, or foster kids whose parents don't want them or can't take care of them.

God gave me a minute to rant, rave, and judge, and then he spoke very softly, like he always does. 

"I love them. I love the men walking in the building. I love the women dancing on stage. They're my children, too. I'm just waiting for them. I'll be patient and loving, and you should do the same."

Within a few minutes, my anger turned to empathy. My rage turned to peace. And acceptance. And love. 

While I'm not in line trying to get a parking spot at a Gentleman's Club, I deal with my own sins. Because I'm selfish, and human, and just generally dumb sometimes. 

But He is still patient with me and he loves me. So I should probably do the same.