It’s morning. The day after the roadside storm that ended with our truck in the shop and us in an unexpected place of surrender.
Before my eyes adjust to the light streaming through my bedside window, I hear the birds. They are happy, flamboyant, carefree. Their jovial song serves as a strong reminder:
“Look at the birds of the air: They do not sow or reap or gather into barns—and yet your Heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his lifespan?…Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. Matthew 6:26-27, 2”
The truth is stronger than morning coffee. Thus my day begins with this simple prayer, “Lord, instead of worry, today I choose to trust in You. Remind me of that choice should I waver.”
Like dandelion seeds blown in the wind, our first year living full-time in an RV has swept past us with fervor. In some ways it feels as though we have only just begun, while other factors (such as the fact that I can now literally, just barely, look up to my oldest son) confirm the passage of time.
Many of you have said that you would like to come along with us. This got me thinking about what it takes to thrive in our nomadic lifestyle. In that spirit of adventure I’d like to present this list of possible disqualifiers.
Pretending to be a tooth fairy, losing sleep on feverish nights, reciting nursery rhymes; these come with the mommy package.
I expected them. I embraced them.
Choosing an urn small enough to fit within my fist, drifting away in a haze of grief, reciting Philippians 4:6 through labor like a mantra knowing that the child opening my eyes to a new world of painful reality would never open his eyes to meet mine; this also came with my mommy package.
This I did not expect. I embraced it like I might embrace a crown of thorns.
Museums used to be boring, now they captivate me. I am not sure who has done the most changing: me or the museums. This apparent good news does come at a cost: I’ve become the perpetual caboose. I wander behind the rest of the family at half-speed, my little black notebook in hand: reading, studying, learning.