Strangers in this land.

We had hoped to hit the road at the start of this month, but our RV is still in the shop. All is well; my eyes can be a bit too big for my stomach when it comes to my appetite for adventure and travel, and the universe in all its wisdom has held me by the shoulders, forcing me to slow it down a bit. So we are squeezing every drop of enjoyment from these last days in our stationary home, soaking up the sun at the pool, sweating away stress in the gym, serving up all the food that’s left in our freezer and pantry, selling off our possessions to the highest bidder, spinning loads of laundry while the machines sit in our bathroom instead of a quarter-mile across a campground.

I have enough self-awareness to know that it probably seems like we’ve completely lost it. Last year, in a climate where everyone was playing the real estate market, we sold our home and our only source of equity, paid off debt, and moved into a temporary apartment. In the shadow of a recession, we walked away from our only source of income with no other job lined up and bought an RV. While inflation hangs in the air like a curse word, we’ve sold most of our possessions. In a world that’s getting lonelier by the minute, we left our church community clinging to our hope of finding something that looks a little more like the Gospel, pure and simple..

But then again, following God’s lead can look pretty foolish at times.

We’ve had a lot of people ask us where we’re heading, and honestly, I have absolutely no clue. We’ve changed our plans so many times I’ve lost count. We’ve interviewed for jobs in Oregon, Washington, Alaska, and Pennsylvania. Our current plan is to hang out somewhere in California while we wait on word from a job opportunity for Kelley in west Portland, but that plan keeps shifting with the wildfire map.

Never have I ever felt more like an alien on this planet than I do now. Today’s world is almost completely unrecognizable to me. When I look around at all of the things shouting out for our time, our attention, our affection—cryptocurrency, custom Nikes, Teslas, the latest tech, political parties, even influence and followings—it all seems so foreign to me now. While I once would have aspired to attain a beautiful house and beautiful things to fill it with, while I once would have associated success with more and not less—that just isn’t feeling quite right these days.

The more I read about the life of Jesus, the more I discover how transient his lifestyle here on Earth was. The more I realize just how much he encouraged people to lighten their loads rather than gather up more, to get their eyes off possessions and status and influence and onto the things of Heaven, and to walk through this life with a healthy dose of detachment to the temporal. He knew that most often, worldly possessions and success only served as a distraction to keep us majoring on the minors and focused on self. He had nothing of this world to distract him from the people He was called to reach for the life beyond this one. People are eternal; everything else is just made of sand.

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” Matthew 6:19-20

As I dismantle this life we built in Portland and sell it off piece by piece, strangely it doesn’t bother me in the slightest. Over the past several years, I’ve been learning the difficult discipline of holding the things of this world with an open hand. It’s a lesson that’s painful in the prying, cramping from fingers wrapped tightly around the things the world tells me are most important. The letting go isn’t comfortable, but then, magnificent, eternal things rarely come to the doorstep of our comfort zone. No, we must step out for them, even if we can’t see what we’re stepping out onto. We can’t see where our footing will come from, but we trust it will come nonetheless, and if it doesn’t…well, we know we just can’t stay on this ledge forever, tucked away in our comforts, wrapped warmly in our status.

“If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.” C.S. Lewis

This world is not our home, which may explain why nowhere feels like home to me at the moment. When we moved to Portland, it was because the Lord laid this land on our hearts after a period of feeling like we were wanderers in the wilderness, so maybe a new land is just over the horizon. Or maybe, what He wants from me now is to find my home in Him, right where it was created to be. Maybe I will continue to feel like the wandering alien until He returns to take me to my eternal home.

So I’m here, open hands and light burden. Resolving to plant my feet firmly in His Word instead of my circumstances, embracing discomfort for the sake of something even better, something more sanctifying, something that’s eternal.

I spent too much time today

on things that don't mean much

The world around me groans under its tyranny of touch

Every wasted thought

and every battle left unfought

All are testimony to my need of you

I'm a stranger in this land

Won't you take me by the hand

I can hear that distant band

But I'm still a stranger in this land

Some days at the strangest times

I feel a sense of loss

A bite or two of stolen fruit

and we all suffer from the cost

But every longing for my home

Even when I'm not alone

Stands as testimony of the coming day

All I've got to do

is to believe on You

Then every struggle seems worthwhile

I can see the promise of Your smile

Stranger in this Land, Waterdeep

Embracing less to experience more.

We don’t always make life changes, but when we do, it’s “go big or go home.”

Which is exactly what we did. In July, we moved from our already cozy 1,000-square-foot ranch home with the big fenced backyard to a 972-square-foot apartment flat with a balcony. We’ve had some interesting reactions to this, so I thought I’d take a moment to explain our decision.

I started feeling the urge to get our home ready to sell when COVID-19 sent everyone into quarantine. We were some of the newer employees at our organization, so I wanted to be prepared in the event we were laid off and needed to sell our home. But the more we worked on our home, I kept having the thought, Well, what if we sold our home anyway?

The market was the best it had been or probably would be, so we felt confident we would receive the most for our home that we’d probably be able to get without putting a lot of serious work into it. Built in 1960, our home had some major impending repairs, if we stayed for much longer: the electrical, plumbing, original hardwood floors, and roof would all need replacing, and we didn’t have, nor would we want to spend, that kind of money on this particular house. Financially, it was a smart decision to sell, and with that sell, we were able to pay off credit card debt, auto loans, my student loan and medical bills, and create a generous emergency fund. The breathing room and peace of mind this has given us is simply priceless.

I also learned during quarantine that we lived two doors down from a drug house. During the day, we had a steady stream of “customers” parking stolen cars in front of our home and walking down to that house, and it was unsettling being home by myself with three kids. While we lived in a generally safe and quiet neighborhood, it really only takes one bad apple to spoil the bunch. We were constantly on high alert, and the residents of that home were becoming increasingly volatile. So we felt it was time to move on.

One of our family values is spending time adventuring together, but we spent so much of our time and money maintaining a home that it cut into our quality time as a family. Days off were filled with yard work and chores. Extra money that could be saved for travel was often spent on repairs or upgrades to the house. Downsizing to an apartment has afforded us the extra budget and time for the things we really enjoy. Evenings and weekends can be spent outdoors or exploring our beautiful state rather than on home maintenance.

For years, the house was the goal, as it is for many Americans. We’ve always heard that renting is just throwing away money, and that we should invest in real estate at the first opportunity. But renting offers a chance to invest in a life based on our values—debt-free, family-focused, people-serving, adventure-seeking—that owning a home just couldn’t offer (at least not with home prices in Portland). Besides, there’s a pool here.

The day we moved into our new space, I watched our daughter pirouette across the empty living room floor of our home as we said goodbye, and I thought about how much I would miss the house. The midcentury modern ranch layout with craftsman touches sprinkled in. Sitting under the twinkle lights on the back porch with my handsome man and a glass of wine after putting the kids to bed. Laying on a blanket in the backyard with my girl watching the planes fly overhead (oh yeah, we lived in a flight path). Fire pits with s’mores and backyard campouts. Sitting outside after schoolwork was over, racing to finish our popsicles before they dripped down our palms. Observing the baby bunny that lived under our shed lose its downy fluff and grow into its long legs through spring and summer. Playing volleyball and running through the sprinkler and chatting over the fence with our elderly neighbor—the one with the green thumb and the 8-foot corn stalks in his backyard. Processing deep theological truths over coffee in the living room with ladies in my small groups.

It was a place of refuge for our family over the past two years, and we made it our own. It was a place of exponential personal growth for each of us. But even with the emotions that inevitably bubble up after moving on, there is peace in taking a huge step to live more simply and attain financial freedom.

It’s odd that, now that we’ve been in the apartment for a month, we don’t really even think about our old house. Even without our big backyard, extra fridge in the garage, and home gym, we are enjoying our new space. Even with one less bedroom, we gained one more bathroom, some great amenities, and no maintenance. (Did I mention the pool?)

Less yard work, more weekend adventures. Less stuff, more creativity. Less chores, more hikes. Less repairs, more long-term savings. Less space, more togetherness.

Always and forever embracing less in order to experience so much more.

Welcome to my place.

It kind of thrills me to be uncomfortable. I actually begin to feel uneasy when things appear to be coming easily. Maybe the discomfort is what keeps me hungry for more of the things of God in my life, and when I feel like I’m coasting, I am less aware of my need for more of Jesus, and I stop pursuing Him daily.

I think that’s what it’s like with a lot of relationships, right? When we begin a relationship, we put in a lot of energy and effort into pursuing the other person so that we cultivate a strong foundation. But then after the vows are exchanged, and we feel secure in that relationship, we start to ease up a bit. Over time, that easing up can look a lot like complacency, and complacency is a breeding ground for stagnation, which can lead to certain death—death of momentum, of dreams, of intimacy…

You get what I’m saying. Anyhoo, this seeking to move beyond my comfort zone is what catapulted our family into a life of simplicity, essentialism, and intentionality. It’s forced us to come into realignment with our values and return to majoring in the majors and minoring in the minors. We embraced the discomfort we felt when our schedules and home were stuffed full and decided to take action and simplify our lifestyle. As a result, it’s brought a level of peace and a depth of maturity that we just couldn’t have attained any other way. 

I’ve met a lot of you out there who’ve become uncomfortable with your comfort. You’ve done nicely keeping up with the Joneses, but the accomplishments and abundance haven’t satified you like you thought it would. Those of you who are dizzy from running the hamster wheel in a steady pace but just can’t figure out a dismount strategy. Those of you who have it all, along with a splitting headache and an emptiness in your gut. This website is for you. Every word I write here is with you in mind.

Our simple lifestyle is probably what I get asked THE MOST questions about. Most people are intrigued, some are resistant, but a lot of people long for at least a piece of the peace that we’ve experienced, and so I aim to share our journey—the catalysts, the struggles, the blessing of margin, and everything in between—in hopes of inspiring you and introducing you to the possibility of a new way of life, one in which you can have peace in heart and home, time for rest and renewal, memories with the ones you love, and just the overall sense of purpose that comes from a life lived with and on purpose.

I don’t get it all right, all the time. I’m still learning and have in no way arrived at a life of minimalism or über discipline. But every day is a day in which I intentionally take a step in the right direction, and I’d love for you to walk alongside me!