All the comforts of full-time RVing

In the West Virginia woods, my boys discovered this amazing fort outside our campground. Many hours of fun were spent reinforcing the walls, building make-shift fires, and shooting the incoming bears.

I asked them, “How much would someone have to pay you to sleep here overnight?” 

I was looking at the mud and the bugs and calculating my going rate. It was easily somewhere in the thousands of dollars. 

Griffin gave me a funny look and said, “Pay me? I’d do it for free! I’d even pay you if you’d let me stay here.”

Grady wholeheartedly agreed with him. 

Naturally, they are motivated by adventure. 

I, however, am most definitely motivated by comfort.

As I get older, adventure requires more intentionality from me. Personally, I think all the responsibility that comes with having kids and adulting necessitates this. When I was in college I never looked at the clock to consider when it would be wise to go to bed.

You know why?

Because it didn’t matter.

For starters, sleep deprivation didn’t really exist in my late teens, early 20’s. I could survive on fun and socializing. So if someone wanted to make a late night drive to the Grand Canyon in order to see the sunrise, I hopped right in the car. I wasn’t thinking about how tired I would be driving home. I had all day to sleep. Camping trips at the lake without a tent, road trips to New York City to sleep on a stranger’s floor (seriously what was I thinking), all night study sessions where basically more coffee than knowledge was actually consumed… Oh those carefree, adventure-filled days.

Now though, decision making is different. Kids wake up early. Homeschooling takes planning and coherent brain function. Sleep deprivation will set me back days, if not weeks. Responsible sleep schedules are of vital importance. 

Really, life is just full of more responsibility now. And all the responsibility leaves less margin for spontaneity and adventure. And honestly, with that sparse free time, I really just prefer comfort. 

I mean, who doesn’t like comfort?

Our culture really makes it easy for us to follow decisions motivated by comfort. There’s not a whole lot of suffering going on in our survival here in America. Almost everything we need is practically at our finger tips. We don’t have to give a second thought to how we’ll get fresh water or find food. In fact, it can even be delivered to our front door. We have heaters and air conditioners. Washing machines and vehicles. Movie theaters and shopping malls. Netflix and Amazon. Smart phones and laptops. The list goes on. Things we are grateful for and things we take for granted. 

Which is why I’m so thankful God called us to this nomadic life of full-time RVing. Because in many ways, choosing a life on the road, living full-time in a 5th wheel, is abandoning much of the familiar and comfortable.

When six people live in less than 400 square feet, everything is a little more work. Removing items from the cabinets and shelves and closets is a real-life game of Tetris. All day long. It’s not easy to simply pull out a bowl. Making dinner involves taking apart puzzle pieces of ingredients and utensils and maneuvering around tiny spaces. I loved Tetris as a kid. As a grown up? Not so much.

Clutter piles up approximately 30 seconds after surfaces are cleaned. Every new campground is a new mystery to solve with navigating parking spaces and WiFi issues and mail delivery needs. (In Vermont the only place to receive Amazon packages was at a place called Artisan Vape and CBD. Entry allowed only for those 18 and older. Watching my little boys stand outside and stare at me through the glass window is quite an interesting memory.)

And you know why travel days are my least favorite days? They are so much work! So much of our house has to be prepared for moving. Everything loose has to be secured. Rooms have to be taken apart for slide-outs to come in. A kayak is brought inside and bungeed to my couch. Lunches have to be packed. School work has to be organized and ready for the trip. Then we cram into a truck and listen to a 4-year-old ask “How much longer?” over and over and over again. We get hungry. We get stressed driving through cities when directions aren’t clear and super anxious wondering if we take a wrong turn, will we end up facing a low clearance bridge? (It’s happened) (And when I say “we get stressed” I really just mean me. Anthony is cool as a cucumber and everyone else is either sleeping or completely bored. It’s like no one in my family appreciates my anxiety over all the possible disastrous scenarios facing them around every corner!)

Then we arrive at our newest destination and we have to set up which means we have to clean and remove a large plastic boat from our living room and reassemble our home, which is easier said than done because everything has to happen in certain stages (remember Tetris?) And inevitably someone walks across freshly cleaned floors with muddy shoes or snaps at a sibling or doesn’t do what someone else thinks they should be doing…

And every moving day I do indeed say to myself, “I’m so done with this.” And I tell Anthony I don’t like my kids and they tell each other they don’t like me and it’s all pretty ugly. 

There is nothing comfortable about moving day. It’s a lot of work. And it doesn’t bring out the best in us. Not even close. 

Basically, everyone is tired. And crabby. But most of us don’t realize we are tired and crabby. We just think the problem is that everyone else is annoying. Which just makes us all even more impatient. 

There is much about full-timing that isn’t comfortable, not just moving day. Traveling, readjusting, lack of the familiar. Finding new grocery stores, not having friends (or any break from one another). Visiting new churches, experiencing a lot of unknown. There aren’t even enough spots on the couch for us all to fit comfortably. 

There are times that being settled in a home surrounded by certainties is very appealing. It sure sounds much more comfortable. And I like comfortable. 

Not that it’s a bad thing, to choose comfort. 

It’s just that it’s the easy thing. And I don’t always want the easy thing. Not for myself and definitely not for my kids. 

We have a race to run. And my hope is that we always strive to shed what weighs us down. What makes us want to sit the race out, wait until another day. Those things that lull us into complacency. Take away the urgency of the battle before us. A little discomfort can be used to help us keep our eyes on that finish line.

And growth comes in the times of discomfort. 

Full-timing has stretched us. Yes, it’s full of great things and amazing experiences.

But it’s also hard. It’s been a lot of adjustment. A lot of living in tiny spaces with a whole lot of sin.

If I’m not careful, comfort can lead to laziness. To passivity. Ease. When things become predictable and secure, it’s much easier to tune out the Holy Spirit. When I don’t have to put forth a whole lot of effort in the daily, I tend to put a lot less effort into relying on God. 

I have experienced the greatest growth in my life when I have found myself the most uncomfortable. When I choose to allow what is irritating to refine me. 

So I’m trying to lean into the difficult. Embrace the unknown. Welcome moving day as an opportunity to reflect Christ to my kids amidst the hard. Learn to take deep breaths and be thankful in the mundane and necessary. If there ever was an opportunity for the Lord to refine patience and grace in me, it’s full-timing. 

And while I won’t be climbing into a sleeping bag in the muddy West Virginia woods anytime soon, I do want to be more intentional during the difficult. Allow discomfort to sand down those rough edges in me that don’t bring God much glory. 

And I hope I can model to my kids that comfort isn’t the goal on this earth. Because this earth isn’t the goal. And if living where it’s a little uncomfortable can help us keep our eyes on Heaven, then may we embrace what is before us and run our race with endurance.