towns

Driving through towns upon cities through the United States I have begun to ponder about American culture. No, not just American culture but society, humankind, life, morality...

We past through Osburn, that first day. We stopped to find a banking center and a post office. The kind clerks at each stop on Mullen Rd made me think, though briefly, that perhaps I could be quite happy to live there. Then Bozeman had a pleasant restaurant with friendly service and, looking around, seemed filled with pleasant very-Montana-ish people. I'm not quite sure what Montana-ish people are supposed to look like. But that restaurant was filled with my idea of them. People who seemed fit to live in any climate and do any sort of work required by that climate. Billings had pleasant enough people, very busy, but pleasant.

Then there was Gillette. I think all young men are trained to open doors for women in Wyoming. There was no end of gentlemanly treatment.

As we continued towards Sturgis the motorcycles increased. Entering into that town I noted the chaos and oppression that overwhelmed. Large men with large beards and large bikes rode around the town looking at scantly garbed women trying to gain men's attention. Bikini clad girls stood about washing bikes and showing off their bodies to the men who lusted and the town women who wished and decided to start a workout program the next day. On the streets lined vendors selling clothing which even the dancers of Cesarea Philippi would blush to wear. I came away feeling the need to be shoved back into reality. That is no reality, though the world might try to tell you, "face reality. such is the world today." No, those people seem to be living in a haze and should return to true reality. Once they return to reality they will realize that reality of what truly brings joy, contentment, life, and peace is not what they just experienced. What I saw there was like a nightmare.

On we traveled through the towns as the motorcycles became fewer and we could breathe again. Motorcycles are like hornets, buzzing around and around the car with a mind of their own. Yet at each small town, there they were: more bikers in their leather gear. In Murdo I stopped to get gas and try to find some lunch. Fried chicken and huge burgers were not the most appetizing ideas of a lunch for two women driving a Subaru from Washington. Maybe, perhaps, for the large men on bikes. They did seem to be enjoying the selection of foods offered to them. The man behind the counter was nice enough as I lifted onto my tiptoes to count the change to buy my grapes, cucumbers, and a banana.

In Jackson the young clerk was cheerful and the farmer who was filling gas in his large truck smiled and laughed at my attempt to follow hand gestures given me outside the car. He was pulling a large farm equipment of some sort with his giant pickup. People smiled a little more kindly here and motorcycles still abounded.

La Crosse...a strange little town it felt upon driving in. Half deserted, half inhabited. Like a ghost town that was resettled sometime later. Old buildings lined the streets lit up in some areas by bars and restaurants. People milled around going in and out of shops or standing on the sidewalk talking and laughing. Like a town trying to impersonate the entertainment district of a large city. A man in the hotel lobby said he was looking forward to 11:00 so he could go out for the night. "To where?" I thought.

My heart is still heavy. I've seen a lot of the US on this trip and the only part I'm proud of is the ladies at the banking center in Osburn, the postman at the post office of that same town on Mullen street, and the young man who purposefully opened the door for me in Gillete. What is this country? What would I show a foreigner who came to this country? How would I explain the different scenes? Are we proud to export this culture to so many places around the world? I do not know...

All I know is I can return to the reality of this:
"In this world, you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world."
In Jesus' words I can rest.