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“An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered. An inconvenience is only an adventure wrongly considered” – GK Chesterton.

“A ship in harbor is safe – but that is not what ships are for.”  John A. Shedd, Salt from My Attic

There is something about this adventure that is exposing parts of me I never even knew existed. There is something about removing life’s small conveniences that has stripped me of my power to subdue the darker parts of myself, while simultaneously revealing to me all the potential this life has to offer.

Why this? Why now? Frustrations with my children reach higher levels than before, yet five minutes later I find myself filled with such compassion for them, and love, and tenderness, that I’m not sure what to do about it. One moment I find myself wondering how I will make it through another 14 weeks on the road – the next moment I cannot comprehend living in one place for an extended period of time, ever again.

Don’t worry – I’m not losing my mind. I don’t think so, anyway. But I am losing something. Perhaps by heading out on an adventure such as this, freeing myself from so many of the normal constraints, a truer sort of me is coming out. That’s what it feels like anyway. Remember that part in Voyage of the Dawn Treader where Aslan confronts Eustace (who has been turned into a dragon after sleeping on dragon treasure) and gently but painfully removes his skin? Here it is

Then the lion said – but I don’t know if it spoke – You will have to let me undress you. I was afraid of his claws, I can tell you, but I was pretty nearly desperate now. So I just lay flat down on my back to let him do it.

The very first tear he made was so deep and I thought it had gone right into my heart. And when he began pulling the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt. The only thing that made me able to bear it was just the pleasure of feeling the stuff peel off. You know – if you’ve ever picked the scab of a sore place. It hurts like billy-oh but it is such fun to see it coming away.

I’m willing now, perhaps more so than at any other point in my life, to have my calloused skin torn off. This trip has positioned me for just such a hide removal. And even though it hurts, I’m excited to see what kind of person will emerge.

What events in your life have torn off your outer hide? What were the positive things that emerged from the pain?

Writers often appear to be loners. I spend countless hours in front of my computer screen, trying to craft images and tell stories, most of the time by myself. But I also rely more and more on the help of others to bring my projects to fruition. Here are just a few folks I want to thank:

Jason McCarty, from Simple Blog Designs, gave my blog a makeover this past weekend. I’m really happy with the new look. If you’re looking for someone who can redesign your blog for a reasonable price, check out his website (which includes samples of his work) HERE.

Chad Thomas Johnston is one of the most creative people I know: writer, musician, graphic arts extraordinaire. He put together what I think is a great cover for my upcoming e-book, Building a Life Out of Words. I can’t wait to tell you more about this book in the coming weeks, but for now all I can say is that it should be available by the end of March. If you are looking for someone to design a quality, creative book cover for you, check out his page HERE. This is the cover he made for me, putting together most of the elements by hand. You can read about how he made it HERE:

Andi and her dad Woody made us feel like family during our stop in Bremo Bluff. If you get a chance, read Maile’s Thank You note to them over at her blog, and then check out the wonderful and important book project that Andi is working on.

So many of you have made the first two weeks of our trip possible: Pastor Gerry let us park in his church parking lot in Gettysburg, PA; the Fedicks let us get stuck in their ditch in Waterford, VA; the Kurtz’s opened up the gym of their kids’ private school in Harrisonburg, VA, so that our kids could run around and be crazy for a few hours; Maile’s brother Matt arranged for us to park Willie at the Y in Boiling Springs, NC; Maile’s mom found a spot for us to park Willie at the local fire station in Gastonia, NC (undoubtedly she bribed them with chocolate chip cookies). Then there were the Landis’s, the Pingry’s, and the Jackmore’s who hosted us and fed us and let us use their showers.

Later this week we head further south. For now, we’re all catching our breath and enjoying unlimited showers and unquestioned bathroom breaks (“Seriously? You have to go again? What?! Number two?!”).

Thanks for sticking with us during the first one-eighth of our journey! We appreciate all of you who are helping make arrangements or simply following along.

When I was a kid, I made a small boat out of scrap wood, twigs, and any kind of nails I could find. It resembled a floating bird’s nest more than any kind of seafaring vessel.

Then I sat down at the kitchen table in our small farmhouse and I wrote a note about God, why he was generally a very nice person and someone you could trust. I doubt the note made much sense. But my theology then was probably far more accurate than it is today, now that my views have been clouded by pain and injustice, hypocrisy and inexplicable tragedy.

There was something easy and straightforward about God then, so much so that I could sum it all up in a one-page letter which I eventually taped to the bird’s-nest vessel I had created. I walked to the creek, gingerly carrying that purveyor of truth. I leaned out over the bank, just beyond the small dam the neighbor boy and I had built with rocks and chunks of earth, and I released the boat into the water.

I sat on the bank and watched it bob up and down on the glaring waves. I flipped over a rock or two, hoping to find a crayfish, but then I remembered I hadn’t brought anything in which to put them.

* * * * *

I think we’re all like that when we talk about God. We have our own little messages that we wrap around our own imperfect vessels and then we tape them to keep out the water. We rarely look upstream to see what messages are being sent to us; no, we sit on the bank and watch our own well-sealed words drift and pitch with the waves and the current.

And while God could have been found in the letter that young boy wrote, he also could have been found in the trees leaning over the creek or the clouds drifting in the mirror alongside the boat. He could have been found in the fishing hole or the open field. He could have been found in the care the young boy took to build the boat, or the random way the waves directed the small craft around the bend.

There are the written, deliberate messages. But there is also so much more.

The bus pulled lazily along the bottom edge of the valley, leaving behind the estate and the slave graveyard and two people who suddenly felt very much like family: Andi and her father Woody.

Just the night before, Abra and Sammy had run across the room and leaped up into Woody’s arms, he had built a fire so that they could roast marshmallows, and on that very morning, as we had slept, he had placed a connected hose beside the bus so that I could fill up the fresh water tank. Then, as we prepared the bus for departure, he had taken the kids, one by one, on a tractor ride, during which it was impossible to decide who enjoyed themselves more: Woody or the children.

But that was behind us. To the left of the stone drive: thick woods and a steep hill, an introduction to the rolling land of Bremo Bluff. To the right, and the south, lay an often-traveled train track, then a wide expanse of marshy flatness, then a tree-covered incline. The bus protested as we pulled out on to Route 15, but soon enough we were rolling.

* * * * *

When the time gets right
I’m gonna pick you up
And take you far away
From trouble my love
Under a big old sky
Out in a field of green
There’s gotta be something
Left for us to believe
– Tom Petty, “King’s Highway”

* * * * *

The hills grew shallower towards Appomattox, or at least they seemed to, as if someone had pulled on both sides of an unruly sheet. The fields were a golden tan, looked like harvest seven months early, but the naked trees gave them away. Nearly 147 years ago, General Robert E. Lee signed surrender documents in that county after realizing his forces were hopelessly outnumbered.

If I didn’t know its history, would I still think those hills exuded a somber hue, the taste of a proud resignation? I sensed little defeat there – rather, it felt like the epicenter of some new kind of unity.

* * * * *

There are stars
In the Southern sky
Southward as you go
There is moonlight
And moss in the trees
Down the Seven Bridges Road
– The Eagles, “Seven Bridges Road”

* * * * *

North Carolina welcomed us with heavy winds, a spitting rain, and a sudden drop in temperature. The kids grew antsy as we reached, and then exceeded, our longest drive to date, around 300 miles. And Maile and I spent a long time talking about our future after this trip, where our lives are headed, where we might end up.

* * * * *

There’s a dream I keep having
Where my mama comes to me
And kneels down over by the window
And says a prayer for me
I got my own way of prayin’
But everyone’s begun
With a southern accent
Where I come from
– Tom Petty, “Southern Accent”

1 – I am not emotionally flexible. When unexpected things happen, I’m not good at taking a deep breath, letting go of my plans, and embracing the new reality. This is something I’m working on.

2 – I should wear protective headgear. I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve hit my head on the outside fold-up doors, or the low-hanging television, or the cupboard above the sink after brushing my teeth.

3 – There are few things that make me feel as happy as emptying the bus’s waste tank. Leave a comment below regarding that, all you psychiatrists and counselor-types.

4 – I’m not a very good dad when I’m stressed out. This adds to the importance of me figuring out #1.

5 – Poopy diapers smell much worse in a bus than in a normal-sized house. Continue reading “Top Ten Lessons I Learned During Our First Week on the Bus”