I read the email Saturday afternoon as we pointed our car north and began the hour-and-a-half drive home from an early morning cross country meet. “It’s your lucky day! Tickets are still available for THE AVETT BROTHERS!” it declared in bold letters.
My third son and I saw them last year in what felt like a symbolic union: my first book began with a story about the three of us — mother, son, and our favorite band. I vowed to see them again whenever possible.
Because the concert is in Chattanooga, two hours north of home, my husband and I decided we couldn’t make it when tickets originally went on sale, especially since we have a 180-mile round trip for cross country this morning. The concert starts late, and it’s unlikely we’d get home before 2 a.m., staying awake 21 hours straight and logging 450 miles in that time.
Tomorrow is an important day at church — the kind you write in large letters on your calendar, circle in red, and anticipate for weeks in advance — so it doesn’t feel like a wise decision, as much as I want to go.
But wisdom is scarce when faced with the temptation of last-minute seats, and none of the reasons you shouldn’t go are fresh in your mind.
I click the Buy Tickets button in the email. Just looking can’t hurt, right? But oh man, those seats are sweet, the good ones reserved for the band’s use and released just hours before the show.
I turn the pitiful look on my husband, who rolls his eyes at me. If I buy tickets he’ll take me, even if he thinks it’s a bad idea. And I know that he does.
I keep quiet on that long ride home, but inside I stew and sulk and suddenly everything is wrong in my world when this morning it seemed so right. Tears sting; I want those seats bad. Part of me resents anything that keeps me from going.
Then a moment of clarity shows me what I’ve done: I’ve allowed this world to steal my joy and rob me of the pure hope I held for tomorrow, the expectation of a good day in His Word and His house.
It shames me. This world won’t feed my soul.
Maybe a concert wouldn’t skew your perspective, but you probably know something that would. It’s easy to become disillusioned, to lose focus. To think the world can fill your needs.
We worship a perfect and capable God. He’s a sure foundation, the glue that holds us together when life’s disappointments would tear us apart.
Have you relied on the world to feed your soul?
How do you remind yourself what’s most important?