Orion's Belt: The Importance of Staying Thin
There's a stargazing telescope in the trunk of my car that I got from Santa Claus a couple years ago. On Christmas morning, I set it up in the front yard and spied on the back of my neighbor's head for twenty minutes as he sat on the couch. It was very James Bond-esque.
I've found that stargazing is a lot like that. Not much happens, but it's still exciting to spy on something that doesn't know you're watching.
* * *
I was coming home from a concert in Nashville about a month ago and I found myself driving through middle-of-nowhere Kentucky at about 1:30 in the morning.
I turned the music loud in my car, rumbling through the country side like those cartoon trucks that kind of dance on their suspension. It's funny how those cartoons never get a flat tire, isn't it?
The car began to shake as metal ground against concrete. I felt like the mom from Home Alone, jolted awake into a panic. I pressed the brakes hard, sliding onto the shoulder and slipping a few words only the surrounding ears of corn could hear (I can't tell if that pun was really awesome or really terrible).
The problem was, indeed, a flat tire so I popped the trunk and started wading through the endless piles of college kid junk. One telescope. Three frisbees. Two golf clubs. An unopened clothes iron. One big, orange sombrero. After several minutes of spelunking, I finally found the jack.
* * *
Sometimes when I'm stargazing, the stars look like they could outnumber Abraham's offspring.
To me, nights like that are what the ancient Celts called "thin places," places where the veil between the seen and the unseen fades. As the band Needtobreathe would say, it is "a crack in the door filled with light."
* * *
The tool was more a toy than anything, or at least that's how it seemed to me. I'm an English major, which means I'm more inclined to write an essay on the literary significance of tools in Medieval agriculture than actually use one.
I turned the crank on the jack over and over but the two detachable rods kept slipping, leaving my knuckles to bash against the concrete. After I had punched the road three or four times, I dropped the crank and flung myself down on the pavement in a fit of sleep-deprived exhaustion.
* * *
Those "thin" nights feel like Heaven fell to Earth with the sun, or like St. Peter went home after work at night and forgot to shut the pearly gates behind him.
I wonder if the Celts believed in "thin" people, too?
* * *
I unconsciously reached for the iPhone sitting beside me, cursing Steve Jobs for not making a tire tool app. I needed to escape the situation, but more than that I needed to check Facebook. At 1:45 in the morning. My subconscious thinks I'm much more popular than I actually am, I guess.
But as I reached for the phone, the reflection of the stars on the screen caught my eye. I looked up to see one of the brightest skies I'd ever seen. It looked like a 4th grade girl's notebook, bedazzled with glitter until I couldn't tell what color was ever beneath.
The air was thin, like I was spying on Heaven.
* * *
Orion is skinny. He's a stick figure with a belt, which has always struck me as unnecessary.
His figure is so slim you can see right through him. He's transparent, like a window on the gates of Heaven.
* * *
I really wish I could end the story here, but I can't. I have to be honest. Because as suddenly and unexpectedly as the heavenly door opened, it slammed shut.
I should warn you, if you're allergic to awkward confessions, you may want to ready your EpiPen.
As I sat there looking at the stars, I started to think about the potential blog post that could come from my flat tire. The constellations swirled into cheesy life lessons as I constructed the blog in my head.
"'When life leaves you on the side of the road, call the Mechanic.' No, I think that's a Carrie Underwood song," I thought. "Oh, I've got it.. 'Sometimes you have to break down to look up.' Did I see that on a cat poster? Yeah, that might be plagiarism..."
At one point I even laid down in the middle of I-24 like I was in some sort of quirky John Green novel just so I could include it in the story. I'm serious. I told you this would be awkward.
God didn't close the door that night, I did. I slammed it shut, locked myself in my room and started writing about it.
* * *
I wonder if we can be thin like Orion? I wonder if we can be transparent?
It would mean that we'd be willing to let gazers stare straight through us, leaving everything bare before the world until we are only an outline of the form we've made ourselves to be.
And that would take a little honesty, I think. It would mean looking someone in the eye and telling them our faults and our doubts. It might even take some awkward confessions.
But if it's true that He is strong in my weakness, I think it's worth it.
That's why I like Orion so much. I bet we'd be friends if we ever met.
* * *
The spare tire was only slightly more substantial than an inflatable pool ring. I headed home at half the maximum speed, the morning air filling the car as the starlight shone through my windshield.
To me, it was what the ancient Celts called a "thin place."
