What I left behind, and why.

Hello from Redwood National Forest! Yesterday we hitched up the tent trailer, and headed out on our annual road trip down to California-Arizona-Utah. This year we got brave (and frugal) and decided that instead of renting a house we’d bring our tent trailer instead. Yup — nineteen days and 3,040 miles in a tent trailer. In the not-Summer. With temps ranging from 40s to 90s. The jury’s definitely still out on whether this is a good idea. But hey, it’s an adventure!

We spent all day Saturday packing, and it’s quite entertaining considering the things each of us chooses to carry. We’re a quirky bunch. But that’s another post for another day.

For me, packing this time was very different for me in one significant way: I brought no books. None. Other than the Bible, there isn’t a single volume along with me here.

This might not seem like a huge deal to you, but it is to me. I’m a book lover. I could read all day. And usually, vacation (especially road trips) is when I devour the stack of books I’ve been longingly looking at for moths.

Books are my life-soundtrack. I remember certain trips because of the stories I read during them. I can still remember wiping away tears as I read Same Kind of Different As Me on the flight to Hawaii. I remember laughing so hard the other passengers were staring at me as I tore through Anne Lamott’s  Bird by Bird. I remember The Glass Castle on the beach, and Half the Sky in Maui and Animal, Vegetable, Miracle in the bench-seat of my dad’s truck. So many laughs and tears and the stories, pages, words, they have shaped so many seasons, especially on vacation.

But recently, I’ve sensed the Father urging me to push aside the stack of books. For one, it seems they are coming at me at an alarming rate.  I just feel like there are so many books it can feel like a never-ending onslaught of book recommendations and “you HAVE to read” and “can’t wait to get my hands on” and I just. Cannot. Keep. Up.

Please hear my heart. I have loved these recommendations. I’m grateful for every moment spent savoring these words. But on our last camping trip of the summer, I was reading yet another great book, and it was relating the author’s journey of feeling frenzied, busy, overworking and neglecting her family. She was working on slowing down and enjoying the moment.

On the one hand, I couldn’t really relate that much. We’re actually not very busy. I sleep 8-9 hours a night. The kids and I stay home every weekday. I don’t feel hectic or stressed. I don’t feel driven or pushed to do more or be more. I have in years past, but not today. However, I loved the author’s honesty and transparency, and appreciated her story. So, of course, I wanted to finish the book.

But then. Here we sat, on this hidden-away beach the kids and I had found, along a beautiful lake, all by ourselves, where we picnicked and threw rocks and splashed in the water.

And they were playing happily so I pulled out my book. But immediately, it all seemed wrong. Here I was, enjoying the moment, but then I turned away in order to finish a book written to help people enjoy the moment.

Umm…?

Why not just … do it.

Then, as it were, scales seemed to fall.

I do this.

I’m a compulsive reader. 😉 I don’t feel driven or pushed in any area of my life, except that I want to read more and more, I want to know more, I want to learn more, I want to discover more so I can grow more. And you know, that’s not all bad.

But why not just … do it.

Do what I already know to do. I don’t need another voice telling me something I already know. I don’t need to read the latest book on prayer as much as I just need … to pray.

Maybe I don’t need another thing. Maybe I just need fewer things.

Fewer words. Fewer pages. Just for now.

Because maybe I need to read the moment. Maybe I need to read their faces. I need to read His writing on the wall and the sound of birds and the way the colors change from Portland to Phoenix and back. Maybe I need to pour out more words from my heart instead of stuffing so many in.

So for now, He’s telling me to read the moment, enjoy it, soak it up, live it, then write it. Reading is so much safer.

It’s so much easier to ingest someone else’s story than to live–and tell–your own. 

But writing, for me, requires courage. It requires me to do something more than just regurgitate someone else’s thoughts. I have to feel this day and their faces and read into each moment. I have to engage and then articulate.

I have to offer something of myself out for all to see.

And risk that even though there are already too many words out in this world (*smile*) it’s still worth while to add a few of my own.

So, for this trip, I left books behind. We’ll be embarking on some varied adventures–everything from National Parks to a Bethel conference to a Half-Ironman triathlon. And of course, plenty of mishaps and memorable moments in between. So I’ll be sharing bits and pieces along the way. I hope some can be a blessing or encouragement to you, in some way.

{With so many words out there, thanks for reading these.}