I’ve been really bad at documenting our first month in our new home, our motorhome. It’s honestly been a blur. I am a big processor, but I’ve barely been able to process this, either in thought or word, feeling or photo.

But I think–it’s starting to sink in. This is life and this is different. Many days, hard.

I was scrolling through pictures randomly on my phone the other night (bad idea) and I came across photos of me and the girls sitting outside our barn at our last yard sale and the tears just started flowing. Before you could say “motor-home” I was full on crying into a pillow.

How did this happen? What did we do? We thought this was a good idea. It’s not feeling so good right now. 

I miss our home. I miss our room. I miss the girls’ room. I miss dinners at our big farm table and reading my Bible in the wee hours of the morning in the chair in my room, instead of  a cold camping chair, or snuggled in my bed trying not to make a sound or bonk my head on the cabinets inches above me.

I miss a house in general. You don’t have to wear flip-flops when you shower or find quarters to wash and dry your clothes. And you have rooms, multiple rooms to stretch out in, to let the kids read and work and play in.

Yeah, I miss some things these days.

But as I have been lamenting the hard parts of RV-life to my husband and friends lately, the thought has occurred to me and it is this.

Sometime too soon we will be owners of a house again and life will be “normal.”

Now, it is very un-normal. We are homeschooling; something we haven’t done before. We are living in a motorhome; something we haven’t done before. We’ve launched a book, started a ministry and are bouncing around like college students with five kids—all things we haven’t done before.

But we are on an adventure, and on the brink, I think, of something really cool: traveling the United States of America in a motorhome. Something I’ve always dreamed of doing.

And… 

It won’t always be this way. 

Right now that feels like a good thing. But I know ONE day, I am going to look back on this and think, “We did that?! Oh yes we did. How did we EVER do that? And wasn’t that amazing and remember that’s when we met so and so and remember that time when…”

It’s a blip on the screen of the movie of our life—which in turn is a blip on the screen of eternity.

And that makes this matter a whole lot and not very much all at the same strange time.

Because this season  is a gift. A really big gift. Being present in it is one too. And while we have never been this way before, we will also never go this way again.

Anyway, I’m not sure if your hearing me on this because it is difficult for my brain to understand, let alone explain.

So, here we are. We’ve spent 36 nights straight in our RV and tonight is our last.

Well, for a minute. 

We’ll stay in our friends place for a week (thank you Jesus and friends!!) and then spend a few more nights in the RV before heading to a duplex in Tahoe until the end of the year. 

THEN at last, come January, we will pack back up in old faithful (we really need to give her a name) and get on the road to the rest of America.

But as we lay our heads on our pillows tonight, I’m realizing the first leg of our journey is over. It’s one we had anticipated for a while. Our first stay. Our first “adventure.” Our first “home” on the road–the little RV park down the street from our old house where we would come to get ice cream on hot summer days. 

So it’s about time to let go of the chaos I can’t control. The dirty feet, the incessant flies and bees at dinner, the six inches of counter space, the shower shoes, and rolling the laundry wagon back and forth–and start savoring the journey. Because while it kinda feels like this is our “new normal,” I know it won’t be for long. 

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