“Trailer Trash” was the theme of the event, and its guests had embraced that fully: the garish colours of the paint that had been splattered across so many jean cut-offs clashed loudly with the lacy thongs that whale-tailed for freedom in every direction. It was a flashy, sexy, sweaty summer mess. I had never seen a place as full of babe-ly chicks as that little band house was last Friday night.
So in the midst of all that craziness — in that sea of highly-available blondes, brunettes, and redheads — did it feel good to know that the handsome host of the night was gunning for me? Yeah, it did; and I’ll be the first to admit that I got a little carried away.
The reason I even went to that party, believe it or not, was because I’ve been trying to be consistent. I hate rsvp-ing as “attending” to anything and then not showing up.
Well, I suppose the crush I had on Josh contributed a little. If it had been someone else’s shindig I might have nursed my work week with a good sleep. As it was, I didn’t want to crush the chemistry Josh and I had had last time I’d seen him (even if I didn’t agree with the stereotype propagated by his choice of party theme).
So, I went, and I accepted the Big Surf beer and then the Bailey’s on the rocks that he offered me (as well as a tequila shot from some a girl who seemed to think I’d go home with her). Then, ten minutes before my taxi arrived, I caved to the heat of the atmosphere and I made out with Josh on the dance floor.
Oops…
The next day, I was unsure how I felt. Josh wasn’t somebody I would actually date, so I knew it wasn’t ideal that I’d kissed him. But, in the grand scheme of things, did it really matter?
The answer came on Sunday at lunch. A friend of mine who had recently dedicated his life to Christ as a result of my friendship was in town visiting, and we went out for some cheap eats to catch up. Midway through our conversation, Tyler told me that he’d had a strange dream a few days earlier. He’d dreamed that he was at a house party at which I had been passed out drunk on the top of a bunk bed. “Kiss me!” I’d slurred, to which he’d responded, “No, you’re drunk!”
Knowing that it wouldn’t be like me to be in such a situation, Tyler gave me a curious look after finishing his story. “Why do you think I dreamed that?” he asked.
I admitted that the dream was pretty much a depiction of the night I’d had while he was sleeping. It was really embarrassing. My faith and the example of the way I (usually) live my life had brought Tyler to commit his own to the Lord just two months earlier, and here I was already being a bad example.
I realized then that therein lay a lesson. I knew that if my Christian community had been with me at that party I would have acted differently; I knew that if I had been aware Tyler might find out how I’d behaved, I would have behaved differently. This told me very clearly that I should have reined in the hormones and kept better track of my drink intake. Not only that, God was showing me that my community was there with me. They’re always with me. The body of Christ is one, and he connects us in ways we can’t possibly understand. He and we are one because he is always with us.
That may sound a little big brother-ish to the skeptical, but I think it’s a great thing and one that it is really important to be aware of. Next time I feel alone — whether in the sense of being lonely or the sense that I believe nobody knows what I’m doing — I’ll think back to this experience and understand that I’m really very connected. I feel there’s a lot of value in that.
What do you think? Does this experience of mine say anything to you? Do you think it could help to dispel loneliness, or the belief that your actions don’t matter, in your own life?
Flickr photo by Raul
