The Floor

I slept on the floor last night.

For ten months I have wanted nothing more than to sleep in my own bed.  While pilgrimaging across the country (yes-I know I just made that word up) I slept on pullout mattresses, undersized couches and on top of a twin mattress with a 6-foot-2 man. It was awful… just plain awful.  Yet, last night, once I finally returned home to my super sweet, oversized, 1986 waterbed I slept on the floor.   

In truth I only slept there as an experiment. 

On Monday I am moving to Nashville.  I will begin work at Rocketown 24 hours later.  I see it as a blessing.  I am ready to call it home.

I was supposed to move into an apartment on June 1^st.  It was a really great place: cheap, spacious and an unbelievable location.  Two weeks ago, however, the management company called and said it wouldn’t be available until August 6^th.  I was left scrambling. 

My friend Kyle said I could stay at his casa.  He lives there with some buddies.  I will sleep in the music room without a bed.

I slept on the floor last night to see if I could handle it for 10 weeks.   

In many ways Eric and my pilgrimage ended 10 days ago.  We finished volunteering, my car has been returned and we are out of money.  But as I visualize the eight hour drive ahead of me and know that I have no bed to call my own, I can’t help but feel like the journey lingers on.

Thank you for your support these last ten months.  Your love, assistance and encouragement has meant more than you will ever know. 

May the journey never end,
Kent  

Sweat + Home

As beads of sweat began to emerge on my forehead I almost laughed out loud. I was in my grandparent’s backyard working with a shovel and rake to fill in a trench they had dug for their new heating and cooling system. The humor was that Kent and I had been home less than 24 hours and here I was in the backyard hard at work on yet another family project.

If you’re joining our story a little late, projects of this sort are a very typical and regular occurrence in my family. I shouldn’t have been surprised at all, yet I was taken with just how quickly and easily I found myself a part of the rhythm that had marked so much of my early life.

Somehow after a long journey of uncertainty returning to the familiar was a welcomed change of pace, a reprieve if you will. I have to say it is nice to not wonder about the next meal or where I will sleep for a night.

Our “official” pilgrimage may have come to a close but I know that my journey of life and faith goes on. In fact Kent and I will both continue to use this space to post ideas and reflections from our travels and to share what God is currently calling us to.

While we were on the road I seemed to have an experience with God daily. God was present in those that we lived with, served with and everyone that we encountered. Coming home I think I’ve had to work a bit harder to witness this. It seems so easy to see God in the unfamiliar. Each kind word and gesture in the right direction seemed a blessing from above. Now at home the familiar is easy to take for granted.

There is probably something sacred about working with my father and moving earth. I couldn’t see it at the time but I’m sure there is.  I find irony in journeying cross country to find myself and God – only to return home and lose sight of that. I know that there is still a lot of processing and reflecting that needs to take place. Yet in the midst of that I need to remind myself to slow down and see the poignant work of God in the everyday moments of my familiar life.

I hope that this week affords you the opportunity to see God in the everyday, even in shoveling dirt. Amen and Amen.

Peace, Eric :p