On Saturday, I drove to Nashville. While I was there I had several hours to kill and no real plan for the killing. So after I made my "delivery" at Belmont, I headed back out to the highway to see what I could get into.
Not much at all. And it was wonderful. This might get boring for you but it's my testimony so try to hang in there.
I lived in Nashville for a few years and while I was there I wasn't exactly living for God. Nothing of the sort, actually. My life during those years can best be summed up with two words: bars and bad decisions (okay, so that's more than two. Sue me).
I moved to Nashville with the intent of pursuing dreams, following my interests, and making a life for myself doing what I thought made me happy. All the while I told myself that I was growing up, my life was taking a different direction than the people I was leaving behind, and this was just where my path led. Funny how we can so easily convince ourselves sometimes.
The reality of it was going to bars and clubs to hear bands, surrounding myself with people who were great for partying and having "fun" but were terrible for my realtionship with God or growing spiritually, and constantly trying to cover my last poor choice by making another wrong one. I used to poke fun at that old "slippery slope" idea until I found myself sliding all the way to the bottom of it. Remember the parable of the prodigal son? The Bible forgot to mention that his name was Chuck.
So I dragged myself out of the pigpen and came home trying to figure out what went wrong. Of course, I knew all along what was wrong, even during the whole ordeal I continually disregarded the Voice inside of me that was telling me I had taken the wrong path. It's clear to me now that most of those internal struggles I was having with decision-making weren't struggles over the decisions themselves. It was me rejecting God's counsel and trying to find a way to justify the choice I wanted to make. Oh, hindsight.
March 10, 2008. I went to Nashville for a few days to celebrate my birthday. I called up some old friends and thought it would be fun to re-live the days, hear some live music that is truly on a much higher level than anything you'll hear around here, and just let my hair down. So I did. On Sunday night, March 9th, I was teaching middle and high school boys about the Bible and on Monday night I was hanging out in a Nashville bar, meeting the newest wave of Music City power people, and passing draught beer around like it was milk and cookies. Wow. Does the word dense come to anyone else's mind?
So here's the revelation part. Saturday night I went to Border's, Dairy Queen, a Birkenstock store that had just closed, took a drive through historic Bellemeade and then checked my watch. I surmised that I still had about 3 hours to kill before I had to pick up my "parcels" and return to K-town. What to do with all that time?
I went to a gas station parking lot directly across from the Belmont auditorium and read a book. A Christian book, mind you.
See, I thought about where I could go to hang out. The only establishments left open were the bars... the same ones I frequented years ago and even last year. The same bands were probably playing, and some of my old acquaintances might have been there. But I couldn't imagine even getting near them. In fact, the thought sickened me.
The difference? A big ol' God.
Last year, this week last year to be precise, I had an encounter with that big ol' God that I ducked and dodged years ago. I refused to see it at the time but my birthday week in Nashville was a step backwards to those days of rebellion. I had taken my eyes off where God had brought me, what he had done for me, and put them on what I thought I needed, again, to be content and happy in this life. God, however, decided to show me otherwise. He broke me, squeezed the life out of me and left me in a place to see nothing other than Him. It's amazing how clear things become when the blinders are removed. By blinders I mean self.
So this past Saturday was a return to the scene of the crime. There's nothing evil or wicked about Nashville, of course. It's a great city and I love going there and knowing my way around. But it's a symbol of my rebellion and disobedience. My Sodom and Gomorrah, if you will. It symbolizes me listening to myself, following my own plans, and turning my back on the people who loved me and tried to get me to see things clearly. And it was the idol at my altar.
So on the trip home, my "parcels" were sleeping and I was thanking God for wrecking my life. I thanked Him for the blessings He has placed in my life now that are truly joyful and worthwhile: my friends, true friends who love me and want me to be safe, happy, and growing in God. JGen, the youth group, SCBC, one-year-olds and families, those stinky and irreverant middle and high school boys, those stinky and irreverant college kids [ :)], people who trust me to drive them to a concert, "sorority" checkpoints and brrooo-yay, bon-fires, lock-ins, skits, even Audio Adrenaline (of all things)!
But mostly for not letting go. I thank God for tolerating me, for forgiving me, for loving me so much that, even after years of rebellion and seeking my own ways, He still showers me with grace. Even when I try to chase after the things I think are good, He chases after me.
All the way my Savior leads me
Who have I to ask beside
How could I doubt His tender mercy
Who through life has been my guide
It's amazing what a little drive can do.
Didn't know I was fluent in Portuguese, huh?
