When the Lord says no.

I came home early last Friday afternoon in a mood. My Howell brow was on full display for anyone who cared to pay attention. The mood was one that I’d consistently been fighting for a few weeks. It only reared its ugly head on Friday afternoons and it revolved around a simple fact: I had nothing to do.

You see, I sometimes get the feeling that I’m at a point in my life where I’m like Will Ferrell in Elf, discovering the revolving hotel door for the first time.

Now… my face isn’t nearly as happy as his (and I can assure you I’m not enjoying the revolving door), but the spinning around and around sums up my daily existence perfectly. My work schedule at this current moment of life is… hectic. Lots to do. All the time. So I run the rat race all week. 55+ hours. Consistently. Then, the week comes to an end, and I exit the revolving cycle of work, eat, sleep for a brief moment called the weekend. In that moment, I ponder my existence and wonder how I’m ever going to meet people if all I do is work, eat, sleep.

Hence, I was deep in my pondering as I wandered aimlessly around my apartment on 4:30 pm this particular Friday afternoon. I had been toying with the idea of going downtown for a few weeks. As any Charlestonian will tell you, “going downtown” in Charleston is a lot more than just hopping in your car, driving down, and killing some time. It’s an entire event. And, if you are young and single, I’m told it’s the event for Friday night. The only problem was, I’d never done it.

I’ve lived in Charleston for over a year, and I’ve never once gone downtown on Friday night. I’ve heard many stories though. Guys I work with have recounted countless escapades and events they’ve gotten involved in on King Street, Meeting Street, and all those other hubs when all the old retirees quit their carriage rides and late afternoon cheese and wine events and went home. That’s the time that CofC, CSU, the Citadel, and all the other kids poured onto the streets and into the bars and clubs to partake in drink and revelry. Being as such, I knew good and well that I had no business going down to try to replicate those experiences for myself.

The previous Friday, I had spent an hour on social media, looking at videos of all the hot spots where people would be at, trying to psych myself up to go. In a moment of clarity, I called my Mama, and she talked me off the ledge. She was correct in saying that there would be nothing good going on. However, I still suffer bouts of adolescent rebelliousness, and one overcame me the following week. I told myself I was a full-grown adult living in the big city, making my own money, and paying my own bills, so I could do whatever I wanted. I told myself that garbage, then I told the Lord that garbage, then I began freshening and cleaning myself up to go out on the town.

The whole time, I’m fighting myself. Stalling because I can’t shake the feeling I’m doing something wrong. I’m stopping multiple times to look in the mirror, swapping shirts, styling my hair in different ways, changing pants, etc. I was honestly acting like a girl preening. In hindsight, I realize that this was the moment where I should’ve regrounded myself, but still, I marched forward. I finished getting ready, went to grab the doorknob to leave, then paused again. The feeling came back. I walked back into my living room, sat down on the couch, and stared at the wall for a few minutes, trying to regain my courage. Trying to explain to the Holy Spirit why I was justified in what I was attempting to do. When I finally managed to squash the guilt, I stood up, grabbed my work bag, and left.

I plugged my normal parking garage location into Google Maps, I began my drive. 20 minutes later, nearing late dusk, I’m downtown. After all, that’s why my rent is so high. I live so close to everything. If you’re paying that high rent Sam, you need to at least try to enjoy the perks a bit. That’s what I’m telling myself as I see that the parking garage I was going to use is tied up for some event or something. Anyway….time to find another one.

That was my first clue.

Still, I pressed on. Drove around aimlessly, looking for another garage to park in. I found one about 10-20 minutes later over in the College of Charleston section of downtown. There was one spot on the G level of the parking garage. I had to do (what seemed like) a 20-point turn to work my Mustang into it, but I finally got it into place.

That was my second clue.

Still, I pressed on. I got out, grabbed my work bag, slung it over my shoulder, and began walking towards the exit. A few minutes later, I was out in the (now-night) air. Kids are everywhere, coming home from late classes, exiting grocery runs at the CVS (it was attached to the garage), heading to the Dining Hall, and talking about their general plans for the evening. I slid effortlessly into the masses, blending in perfectly with my white sneakers and backpack, and began walking toward King Street over the uneven cobblestone sidewalks.

Everyone was gearing up. The air was electric. The girl behind me was in a rush. As she passionately explained to the phone glued to her ear, her roommate had left her green backpack in the commons room, and she had to grab something from it before she could go out. I saw two younger boys crossing the crosswalk in front of me, carrying a case of Coors Light. No doubt they were heading towards the frat house down the street. The Dining Hall was bustling as well. People going in and out, talking and texting, coordinating schedules and clothes and Ubers and outings. I kept walking.

The closer I got to Kings Street, the tighter and skimpier the clothes got. Keep in mind now… it’s like 50 degrees on a night in February. These were some beautiful women, and they were out on the prowl, hunting solo and in groups. Maybe they were looking for free drinks or one-night stands, but I can promise you that women don’t go out looking like that regularly. I felt my worldview expanding in real-time. I’d heard about “nightlife”, and seen it portrayed in the movies, but here I was, actually getting to be a part of it! How foolish.

It was dark by this point, but King Street was lit up with neon and streetlights and signs. People everywhere. I kid you not. It was Pottersville from It’s a Wonderful Life.

I thought about slipping into some bar to grab a burger and listen to a cover band, then I realized I had my work bag on. They had rules about that stuff. Stores would think you were shoplifting, and nice restaurants didn’t want you bringing in big black backpacks for obvious reasons. I was stuck on the street.

That was my third clue.

Still I pressed on. Just because I couldn’t go inside any establishments didn’t mean I couldn’t find a taco stand or a pizza window or something right? So I kept walking, heading towards the Battery. I didn’t realize how far the new parking garage was away from the Battery. It was 2 miles. But I’d come this far, so why not keep going? I left the bustle of King Street and began walking through the dark neighborhoods leading to the Battery. I wasn’t too worried, considering all these houses were millions of dollars, but it was a bit creepy, just walking down the street in the dark. When I finally got to the Battery, it was empty. No one was there. Just the cannons and the statues and the water. I took a break from my two-mile trek and walked around White Point Garden Park. I admired the calm, dark water, free of all the sailboats and yachts.

After a sufficient break. I decided to take a different route back to the parking garage. I began meandering down East Battery Street, walking towards the Edmondston-Alston House. At night, you can see into those old houses much better. It’s weird though. They’re full of ornate tapestries and crystal chandeliers and such, but there are no people. I texted my sister, joking that some of them looked like Paul Revere or Benjamin Franklin had just left in a hurry and forgot to turn the lights out. Much of the decor was colonial and antique. I’ve learned it’s kind of the overarching theme down here in Charleston.

Around this time, I’m beginning to get VERY hungry, so I begin walking with renewed vigor towards the direction of the parking garage. I made it back into the land of the living, and the nightlife was in full swing. Music was coming out of various buildings. The frat houses and bars were pulsing with multi-colored lights. Ubers pulled over to let people out and pick others up. Some people were already beginning to stumble, no doubt having completed the first leg of their Friday-night bar-hop marathon.

As I passed them, I looked into the different establishments. THEY WERE ALL THE SAME. Themes abounded. Western, Biker, Southern Charm, Speakeasy, Miami, Vegas, etc. But the scene remained the same. A bunch of people, jam-packed together, dressed in tight, expensive clothing, sitting on barstools drinking or dancing on dance floors. As the night wore on, it was evident more and more types were emerging as well. Pottersville was beginning to feel more like Sodom and Gomorrah.

It was at this point that my Google Maps quit on me. The calibration messed up, and I had no idea where I was at. I. Was. Lost. L-O-S-T. The GPS had no idea of north from south, so it started telling me to go in circles. I didn’t fully figure this out for about 20 minutes, as I walked up and down Meeting Street, trying to get my bearings. In the daylight, it wouldn’t have been a problem. Alas, that was not the case. I’d never been lost before. Especially not in a big city. At night. By myself. The worry I was feeling was growing by the minute

That was the fourth clue.

Still, I pressed on. I opened an app that tracked the Samsung SmartTag2 that I had left in my Mustang. The calibration on it seemed to work fine. It was showing my car as being about half a mile away. So I set off once again. Soon, I was officially back in CofC territory. The parking garage in question had cops posted out in front of it. I didn’t recognize the parking garage entrance, nor remember any cops being out at the parking garage earlier in the night, but I figured maybe it was just the fact that it was dark that had my brain a bit addled.

I was worried I was going to be entering some school-only parking garage, and get flagged down by the boys in blue, but I just walked briskly with confidence into the garage. Perhaps my youthful complexion and backpack helped 😉. I began looking for the G level. There was no G-level. The levels in this parking garage were numbered, not lettered. I checked my SmartTag app. I was RIGHT OVER THE DOT. Still, I was in the wrong place in real life. I was in the wrong garage. The calibration was wrong. It hit me all hit me at once.

I’d walked over 5 miles at this point. I had no idea where I was. Google Maps wasn’t working. My Smart Tag wasn’t working. It was dark. I was tired. I was hungry. Reba said it best. I was all dressed up with nowhere to go. People were getting more revelrous every minute I stayed. I was alone in a dimly lit parking garage. There were cops downstairs. How did I end up here?

Because you didn’t listen to Me the first time Samuel.

Lord, if you get me out of this, I promise I’ll never come downtown on a Friday like this again. No clubs. No bars. No partying. I got the message.

All of a sudden, unwarranted, the thought of the CVS popped into my head. I PROMISE Y’ALL. I HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH THAT.

That was my fifth clue.

The garage where I had parked, as I said earlier, was attached to a CVS. There was reserved parking in the garage for CVS customers and employees. I ran out onto the street, praying there was a CVS I could see. There was! That gorgeous, lit-up sign was way down the road. I took off towards it, hoping that somewhere along the way I’d see a parking garage. Sure enough, as I got to the CVS, there was the parking garage. I slipped inside, fished my parking ticket out of my pocket, and went to pay at the kiosk to get my exit ticket to leave.

I inserted the ticket, and the screen asked me to scan my credit card for payment. It. Didn’t. Work.

That was my sixth clue.

So now I have no entrance ticket AND no exit ticket. The attendant clerk has long been gone for the night. No exit ticket means no way to get the gate to go up to get the car out of the garage. I frantically begin pressing buttons and beating on the kiosk, trying to get it to work. I slide my card in and out a few more times. It finally reads the card and spits out the exit ticket and receipt. I rip the paper out of the exit feeder tube and practically run for the car. I’m exaggerating a bit, but I want you to understand my mental state at this point. I WAS SO READY TO BE OUT OF DOWNTOWN.

After performing another 25-point turn, I get my Mustang out of the parking space and head for the exit. Because it was dark and I was dumb, I turned right out of the parking garage onto a one-way street. I should’ve turned left. I didn’t see the sign I guess. This fact became very clear to me when I saw headlights coming straight towards me. The other driver’s hand came out the window, and he hit the horn. Once again, it was dark, but I’m pretty sure birds were flipping through the air.

That was my seventh clue.

Once he got around me, I turned onto a street where I knew I was going in the correct direction. I decided then to go straight. If I went straight long enough, maybe I’d get out the dead spot and Google Maps would figure itself out. As soon as it did, my stomach started growling. Its well after 9pm at this point, and I STILL haven’t eaten. Stereotypically, all I have at my bachelor pad is a few pizza rolls and a jar of peanut butter, and I don’t want that. So I decided on a whim to skip the entrance ramp that would’ve taken me home and instead head to Park Circle to get some fish ‘n chips from The Codfather. The Codfather stays open super late because it is in the other hub of Charleston nightlife activity, Park Circle. In fact, it shares venue space with Holy City, which is one of the premiere breweries in the area. I told the Lord I wasn’t going to party at Park Circle or Holy City, so this wasn’t breaking the deal. I just wanted some food and I felt I needed to redeem the disaster of a night I’d had.

The traffic was bad heading to Park Circle. 9 minutes from the Codfather, I happened upon a railroad track with the arms down, blinking red lights.

That was my eighth clue.

The train in question was CREEPING on the tracks, no doubt due to some mechanical fault. I was in the right lane of the two lanes heading north on the 4 lane road. All the cars came to a stop and began piling up. The train got slower. And slower. And slower. Then, it stopped. I was literally blocked. There was no way to get around it. This huge, long train was stopped on the road. I was done.

I rolled down my window, and motioned to the car next to me in the left lane, asking if they could back up so I could maneuver my car into the south two lanes. Thankfully, they had enough room and they complied. I hit the two south lanes and roared off, heading back towards the interstate.

Magically, the traffic disappeared.

That was my ninth clue.

I don’t believe I stopped once on the entire trip home, even though I had to take the long way. I got the message. 9 times throughout the night the Lord straightened me out. I learned my lesson. As soon as I started doing what I was supposed to be doing, everything leveled out. Just like Jonah in the Bible.

The allure of the city nightlife, something that I’ve been dealing with ever since I moved here, is gone. I have no more desire to go downtown on a Friday night. I see now with visceral clarity how it’s all so vapid, temporal, hedonistic, and materialistic. The Lord protected me. From what exactly, I’m not sure. Maybe He just protected me from myself. Regardless, I’m thankful. And February 2, 2023 will forever stand as a testament to that. I fully plan on retelling this story to my kids and grandkids one day. Who knows… I may even find a way to work it into a sermon 😁.

As I reflect on this event, it brings to mind Psalm 55:22.

²² Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and He shall sustain thee. He shall never suffer the righteous to be moved.

Psalm 55:22

God’s not going to suffer the righteous to be moved. He’s going to keep you stable and relying on Him. He’s going to pull you back when you try to move yourself, (as I did that night), or He’s going to fortify you in place when others try to move you in a sinful direction. At the end of the day, HE is our sustenance, not these other things or people. He is always good. He is always faithful. He alone will sustain. When the Lord says no, listen.