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Sunday, June 13, 2010
The 1998 Fleetwood Discovery NAME CONTEST...
Monday, June 7, 2010
SOLD!
Well friends, she's 36 feet in length, runs on diesel fuel, and she's pink!
At 4:53 pm on this day, the 7th of June, 2010, we shook hands with Roger and sealed the deal. We are now the proud owners of our next home on wheels... A 1998 Fleetwood Discovery... Approximately 215 square feet of living space.
We haven't named her yet... All suggestions are welcome. Email them to us at:
nomadsbychoice@gmail.com
P.S. More pictures of "unnamed RV" to come...
At 4:53 pm on this day, the 7th of June, 2010, we shook hands with Roger and sealed the deal. We are now the proud owners of our next home on wheels... A 1998 Fleetwood Discovery... Approximately 215 square feet of living space.
We haven't named her yet... All suggestions are welcome. Email them to us at:
nomadsbychoice@gmail.com
P.S. More pictures of "unnamed RV" to come...
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Cement
Have you ever carried a bag of cement? It’s heavy, dead weight. It stifles your ability to walk. You move, but it’s more of a stiff and slumberous trudge, like Frankenstein’s’ monster.
Try as you might, you cannot carry such a thing and ignore the fact. The weight is real and cumbersome.
As we approach the date of departure -- which increasingly feels more 'real' everyday -- where words and imagination become indisputably palpable, it gets heavy like that bag of cement.
Although we pretend not to be, we are tense about finances, walking around with a bit of a clenched jaw. We are unsure of how this whole thing will play out. We are nervous about what a family full of allergies will eat. And still there is that lingering doubt, like maybe this whole thing is some sort of extremist response to a mid-life crisis…
And it feels like cement.
“59 more days” rolls of the tongue like “tomorrow” rolled off yesterday. Are we ready for this? Is this really happening?
As my wife comes downstairs from putting the kids to bed, she puts her arm around me and smiles. She tells me something Pica said and we laugh…
I am suddenly reminded of the moment we’re in. I’m reminded that tomorrow is promised to nobody. I’m reminded of how much I love my wife and kids. And just now the load gets lighter. The bag tears at the bottom.
We’re in this together. And the fear that sometimes pushes us around is just interference. After all, if God is for us, who can be against us? Maybe we're more prepared than we think...
Try as you might, you cannot carry such a thing and ignore the fact. The weight is real and cumbersome.
As we approach the date of departure -- which increasingly feels more 'real' everyday -- where words and imagination become indisputably palpable, it gets heavy like that bag of cement.
Although we pretend not to be, we are tense about finances, walking around with a bit of a clenched jaw. We are unsure of how this whole thing will play out. We are nervous about what a family full of allergies will eat. And still there is that lingering doubt, like maybe this whole thing is some sort of extremist response to a mid-life crisis…
And it feels like cement.
“59 more days” rolls of the tongue like “tomorrow” rolled off yesterday. Are we ready for this? Is this really happening?
As my wife comes downstairs from putting the kids to bed, she puts her arm around me and smiles. She tells me something Pica said and we laugh…
I am suddenly reminded of the moment we’re in. I’m reminded that tomorrow is promised to nobody. I’m reminded of how much I love my wife and kids. And just now the load gets lighter. The bag tears at the bottom.
We’re in this together. And the fear that sometimes pushes us around is just interference. After all, if God is for us, who can be against us? Maybe we're more prepared than we think...
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