I just returned from a week in Nashville and Atlanta attending a conference for Christians who are businessmen. I’m all about conferences, but the accommodations sometimes trouble me, as they did this time.
The conference was held in a beautiful retreat center nestled in the hills of Georgia, an hour or so from Atlanta. I shared a bunkhouse with about twenty other guys, and the first night I discovered one of my roommates had swallowed a locomotive-a freight train to be exact. You might think I’m speaking metaphorically, but until you dissect his gut to prove to me otherwise, I believe there was a train engine inside of him.
I sleep especially lightly; I try to explain it to people by telling them “I can hear a mouse pee on cotton.” We turned in for the evening around 11:15pm and another fellow roommate felt the need to read by book light until midnight or so. The reading wasn’t bad; it was just that I kept wondering where on earth he found a book light as bright as the high beams of Cadillac Escalade.
Just as my friend was finishing up reading for the evening and had clicked the high beams off, my locomotive friend began what seemed to be a straining train engine climbing up Pikes Peak. Even with my heavy duty wax ear plugs the sound was unbearable. I got just about an hour sleep that night.
When the white light of morning cracked the eastern sky as it came over the hills we were nestled in I prayed that God would strengthen me for the day. I don’t do well with sleep depravation; the night before had well exceeded depravation.
I felt great throughout the day considering I’d slept a whole hour. Additionally, my mind raced with a plan for how I might escape another night of an oncoming train. I knew I couldn’t stay in the same bunkhouse, so I explored the possibility of changing bunkhouses; then I thought “there are twenty guys in each of the other bunkhouses too.”
Somewhere around the middle of the afternoon I came upon a plan that I thought would give me relief for the evening; I’d bunk in the back seat of my rented Hyundai Sonata. Once we’d finished our evening session I made my way back to the bunkhouse, grabbed my pillow, blanket and top sheet and headed for my car. I moved my car out of direct overhead lighting and tucked it off to one side of the parking lot.
I shoved my gear into the back seat, tossed a few items up into the rear window to block out as much light as I could and settled in for a reasonable nights sleep. I figured if I even got 3-4 hours I’d be in better shape than the night before.
There were a few things I learned in the back seat of a car that night; first, even a guy that’s five foot seven can’t stretch out fully; second, Georgia in middle May actually has pretty pleasant weather for camping in your car. I learned that it gets cooler as the night progresses and that the back seat of a car provides as about as much insulation as a tent does.
I learned that none of my bunkmates missed me that night. I learned that sleeping in a car while it rains could be considered a gift from God (I thought of how many times I’d love to fall asleep listening to the rain), I learned that my cell phone picks up text messages in the hills of Georgia as I’m trying to sleep.
I also learned that crickets chirp loudly at night, but it’s a beautiful noise. I learned that bull frogs aren’t nearly as bad overweight bunkmates. I learned that being alone in the back seat of a car at night can be as pleasurable as being with somebody else in the back seat of a car at night. And lastly, I learned that God answers prayers in the back seat of a car because I had a great nights sleep.
