The world is full of non-places.
The parking lot outside the window of Room 212 at the Sleep Inn in Omaha, Nebraska is one of them. On an autumn night, wind makes the plexiglass window hum, and so I peel back the shade of the tomb of a room and look.
It’s a parking lot, entirely empty. The few guests here tonight have parked out front. Beyond the blacktop and curb is a bank of trees, a field, an office park, and, at last, a regional airport whose last flight already left.
The parking lot is a space created by man and left alone by man. Out there in the dark, windy, unknown and unnoticed spot, no two human bodies have ever met in passing, never touched, never spoken. Never admired, never even thought of. Maybe, once, a confused deer or a rabbit might have emerged from the little group of trees, suddenly tense at the exposure, wide-eyed at the flatness. But that would be all. This place has no retrievable past and no hope of anything happening here in the future. The last moment in history for this place was the day it was paved.
Even so, Lord Jesus, quickly come, come to the place outside this window, and night shall be no more. For where can I flee from Thy presence? If I run into the windy, abandoned parking lot behind Room 212, Thou art there before me, and after I leave, Thou remainest behind, dwelling in a place Thou lovest and that Thou rememberest in the midst of all the changing universe.
On the impulse for geographically local advent, see William Blake, "And did those feet in ancient time./Walk upon England's mountains green," etc.
ReplyDeleteJust came across your blog and loved this post. It reminds me of The Innocence Mission, especially the prayer. And I'm a sucker for all things Omaha, even its non-places.
ReplyDeleteYour name is familiar. Did I meet you once at a Jazz in June in Lincoln a long time ago? I think you knew my sister, Darby Arant. Anyway, I enjoyed the good writing. Take care.