Growing up in the city offers specific cultural learning experiences. Having been a city boy for most of my life, trips to the country have always offered a unique kind of cultural experience. Therefore, I was educated when I went to my first ever Drive-In movie in the great city of Lewisburg, TN. I was fortunate enough to have one of my best friends, Sara, accompany me on this adventure. Sara lives in the country and translated for me at times when I saw things that I did not understand. Lewisburg is one of those places that you drive through and can just tell that life is slower. There were some people throwing a ball around on an old baseball field where clumps of grass were clearly visible in the infield from lack of upkeep. Fields with cows turned into old rundown buildings which turned into a Wal-Mart parking lot and then faded again into fields of corn and cows. I think I even spotted the stereotypical old man wearing a cowboy hat leaning on a fencepost chewing on a piece of straw at one point.
I grew up in the city. Suburban Nashville. We lived in a neighborhood on a quarter of an acre of land surrounded by a chain link fence. There was just enough room between houses to fit a car down the driveway. In any given day while driving around Nashville I could pass by 7 or 8 Wal-Marts. There are about 4 gas stations within every mile driven. We don’t have livestock. One time, though, I’m almost sure that I was driving through a neighborhood and a Shetland pony ran across the road and almost hit my car before darting back to the shoulder. It was all a blur. Terrifying.
Sometimes I look up at the sky when I’m driving home at night. All I see is darkness though, along with the occasional Southwest Airlines plane beginning its final approach to the airport. When you’re in the city, the light of the city snuffs out the stars. The busyness and activity desensitizes us to the beauty that lies just above us. The moon is often dim. The heavens look dirty.
When I was in Lewisburg at the drive-in that night, I was annoyed by a glare out of the corner of my eye. I tried readjusting my positioning so that my sight was not hampered by the jerk who was shining a light in my face beside us. I turned my head ever so slightly and realized that it was actually the moon shining like a spot light in my eyes and surrounded by thousands of stars. The movie disappeared for a moment as I stared in awe of this thing that I rarely see. It was so brilliant against the backdrop of blackness, so big, so infinite.
It made me think about how maybe the busyness and the stuff I surround myself with in my life dims my heart from experiencing God. Are things moving so fast and schedules packed so tightly that I miss the most important Thing? Has my mind gotten so muddied and so dirty with all of the cultural garbage that I am slowly going blind to that which is meaningful?
I purposely did not watch television last night. Ok, so it was Monday night and I only get 9 channels and nothing was on anyway. I tried watching the Bachelorette reunion show but then I felt like a loser, a guy sitting in my apartment, alone, watching the Bachelorette reunion show. The point is, I turned the TV off. It was painful to sit in silence with God. I disliked it. I grabbed my netbook and thought about seeing what I could find on Hulu but put it back down again. I kept glancing at my phone sitting next to me hoping that I would get a text from someone...anyone. Nothing. I sat with God for what seemed like forever…and it hurt. After 15 minutes has passed it began to get easier. I almost liked it somewhat. I might try it again soon.
Try it sometime yourself.
God will stop by if you invite him over to chat or to just sit and hang out.
It is in the differences from normal life that the best things stand out.
It took a night sky at the Drive-In with a good friend to notice the moon and stars perched above me.
It took a conscious effort of tuning out the world to notice that the Father was sitting on the couch right next to me.
What’s the most surprising; He had been there all along.
