So I've started writing things down to 'blog about later, but I haven't actually done anything with them yet. I should probably go ahead and start clearing out my list before it gets any longer. Here's item number one.
Last week, I went country dancing.
Ugh... I feel like I need to start a new paragraph just to get away from that sentence. But it's true. I did.
Now, I should immediately qualify that it wasn't my idea. Nobody asked me for suggestions as to what we should do for the evening, and there was no voting process involved. It was just kind of a "Hey, we're going country dancing" thing. But I liked the people going and I didn't want to be the odd man out. If you wanna be social, sometimes you just gotta suck it up and go with whatever the group is doing.
And so it was that I found myself at a place called "Midnight Rodeo." I had never been there before, but I'd heard of it from a number of other people who frequent this establishment with some regularity. They would always mention it as though it were just a regular part of their day, never explaining what this place was or why they were going there. It was months of hearing about it before I understood that it was not, in fact, a literal rodeo that took place at midnight, but instead some type of dance hall with drinking involved. As a matter of transparency, I should confess that one of the primary reasons I had never gone there was because I never wanted to: in my wildest imaginations about what this place was or what went on there, I never got the impression that one might discuss literature or art house films over some really tight jazz or soulful blues music. In fact, it didn't even seem like the type of establishment that would appeal to my more base interests of fart jokes and World of Warcraft.
I was right.
This place is basically what would happen if you took my high school, filtered it through the movie "Pure Country" and turned what was left into 200 people dancing in a nightclub.
Oh, and then, if you took those people and soaked them in alcohol and rolled them around in sequins and snuff. In short, it was super-classy.
Don't get me wrong, I had fun. Like I said, I enjoyed the company of the people I was with and they were of a type with whom I could crack jokes and laugh about how ridiculous this place was. But still, it was kind of a beating. Pretty much everything about this place represents everything I come from. The fashion, the music, the speech patterns... all of it is in some way reminiscent of and/or connected to my childhood and teenage years. For instance, as I walked to the bathroom, I passed a poster for "The Bart Crow Band." Now, I'm sure that this would be just another trashy hick garage band to you, but Mr. Crow, himself being a native Maypearlean, actually played baseball with my cousin in high school. In fact, part of the reason why making a "Pure Country" joke is funny in the first place is that the bulk of the movie was actually filmed in Maypearl. I can still remember my family members talking about seeing George Straight from a distance as though the president were in town.
But add to that another layer. Add to that the drunk woman old enough to be my mother giving hickeys to her husband/boyfriend not three feet to my left. Add to that the husky young squire getting all up ons with his lady-of-size in plain sight of everyone at the bar. Add to that the frat guy with the sleepy-looking, bloodshot eyes and irritated expression on his face being dragged to the dance floor by his date. Add to that the fact that I, myself, have been those people, others gawking unabashedly at me, with no concern for my dignity. You see, it isn't just that it reminds me of where I grew up and what I grew up around... it's a clear picture of what I used to be and who I am always prone to become.
In particular, there was this lady... well, I hesitate to call her a lady, and I know I shouldn't talk this way about her... but there was this short, trollish, pile of a woman wearing what seemed like a dress made out of woven magnetic tape ribbons and a white veil attached to a tiara that had tiny, glow-in-the-dark penises on it. She had a sash across her goblin-like torso (that said "Bride-to-be" as if the veil were too subtle a hint) and she was line dancing with what I assumed were her bridesmaids-to-be, though "maid" might be too strong a term. The hobgoblin was in the middle, interlocking arms with her bridesthings, obviously having had too much to drink, and not so much "dancing" as "flailing and kicking violently while being dragged around in circles by a group of what look to be transvestites." Again, I know this is a horrible way to describe the scene, and I'll might feel bad about it later, but I honestly don't know how else to put it. I just remember standing there, mouth agape, feeling a really twisted sense of awe at how there was simply nothing about their situation that could possibly be more revolting or unattractive. I just kept trying to picture what sort of lucky guy would get to walk down the aisle with this heap of abject horror.
But then I started thinking about something I'd read in the Bible recently. Two of the most common analogies that God uses to characterize his relationship with people is 1. a picture of marriage, the holy and beautiful institution that I was watching these ladies trample all over to the tune of "Cotton-Eyed Joe," and 2. the image of a Father with his children. It occurred to me that my tendency in regard to faith is to try and soften the impact that it has on me; to color myself as being okay or, at least, not as bad-off as "the least of these." I want to be able to determine my own value and worth based on things that I think I'm good at or that I find attractive. I want to be independent. I want to be free. I don't want to be looked down on or told that I'm insufficient. I want God to love me because I'm lovable. I don't want to need him. And I certainly don't want to be the ugliest bride on the dance floor.
But then I look back on where I came from and what I've been through. Once you get out of a hole, you can see how far down in it I was. I can look back on my drinking days through a lens of sobriety and recognize the out-of-control-drunk that lives inside me. I can be the bystander in a crowd of intoxicated hillbillies with an objectivity that you just don't possess when you're the one being dragged around in circles by your friends. And when I do that, I see how ugly and unappealing I was.
Given what a marriages and parents should be, I can see why God chose to use them to describe what he's like. Parents are one-sided caregivers and marriage is a one-sided promise. Parents don't do things beneficial for their children because they stand to gain something from it (or at least they shouldn't). You take care of your kids because they're yours and you love them. Period. Marriage is a promise that says "I promise to remain faithful to you no matter what kind of stupid choices you make and regardless of what an insufferable jerk you act like." It's a promise that doesn't ask for anything in return. I know it seems unfair and I know that most of us want it to be, but the next time you're at a wedding, listen to the vows. They never end anything with the statement "...as long as you promise to keep the house clean and fulfill me sexually and make a bunch of money" or whatever. It's a commitment that gives. It doesn't ask for anything in return.
And if I understand grace correctly, that's the essence of it. It's the purest form of love you can imagine. It gives up everything in the face of no gain. It's a statement that says, "You're a drunken mess and I don't have to put up with you, but I love you and I'm going to anyway." It's a sweet and tender kind of love, not because it's beautiful to look at, but precisely because it's not. It takes no strength of character whatsoever to sidle up to the bar and knock 'em back 'til you can't feel your nose and end up slobbering all over yourself and some trashy woman. It takes a supernatural brand of it to look on those exact kinds of people and step down into their messes and see value in them and pursue them with love and kindness.
All told, I think that may be the ugliest thing about me: I see other people and their train wrecks as spectacles to be laughed at rather than crises to be mourned. I have no compassion or heart for struggles that aren't my own. I want to be well-put-together and healthy, but only for my own benefit, not so I can turn around and help others.
I just keep on flailing and kicking, and God loves me anyway...
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