Tuesday, November 5, 2013

A Beautiful Surrender to Our For Now Home

Our Gypsy Caravan has arrived...

Those pictures above? That’s our Gypsy Caravan-tent trailer in our "For Now home", grounded in the Appalachian Mountains for the foreseeable future. If you missed that on my blog, THE HOUSE IN THE ROSES, you can find the details HERE.

It’s been pretty incredible, this transition. It’s come with a fair share of challenges, such as missing my girls—like I'm missing my air. But more and more my heart gets affirmed in the notion that this is what God wants us to be. And it feels so very right, too. Jogging through this lovely neighborhood yesterday morning and this morning; being showered as I was with a thousand leaves the colors of dusk and sunrise... the warmer climate, the amount of Nature in which my life is now surrounded with practically all year through.   This is truly amazing!  My eyes have cried in amazement, my heart is singing with a new song.  The fact that I can sit outside; run in the early morning; plant a flower pot, as I just did this morning—in November! This is truly amazing to me.  It is more than I can ask for...
I’ve learned something interesting from these changes in our lives though: We really have no idea what to expect anymore. I’ve completely let go of all expectation of what we’re doing, when we’re doing it, or how it’s going to work out, except one: I'm fully trusting our Heavenly Father to guide us where we get to go.

If you would like to follow me on my new journey, in our new "FOR NOW HOME" you can do so by clicking HERE.

See you there!

Monday, November 4, 2013


November 3, 2013 – PRIEST - KY
Oh the glorious glorious joy that comes with the sun! And all gloominess, and all the menacing dark clouds and the bitter wind and cold are finally behind us. It is hard to imagine a more lovelier, or a more glorious morning than this sun-filled clear morning of beginning of November.
I woke up this morning at our camp site with the sound of something soothing, and mellow; like a clicking of a gentle wind on the roof of our Gypsy Caravan. It wasn't the sound of rain, or the familiar anxious sound of bird's hops—a leaping kind of a dance on tin roof. It was something else... I opened up my eyes and listen... listen to the sound, but couldn't identified it.
Moments later I went outside... the sound! They were autumn leaves! And so I stood there; eyes fixated on such wonderful shower of leaves... heart swirling and dancing inside my chest.... leaves in all the color of autumn falling every so gentle, and magical from the canopy of trees under which our trailer rested through the night. I had never experienced that while camping, or hear the music of autumnal leaves before, because up North in our territory, campgrounds are usually closed for the winter season this time of year. But this is here. And this is lovely November, and the leaves on the trees are mellow and still drifting down on soft green ground. And it felt wonderful—the thought of being gifted with time; extra time to enjoy this wonderful world; free of the imprisonment of winter. How special!
NASHVILLE – TN: People are terrible drivers on these parts of the state. I mean they have statistics on fatalities right on road signs along the freeway. A lot. I mean, a lot of dead on these roads. We were commenting on this strangeness, when all of suddenly a car going on high speed crossed in front of us right at the moment when we were changing lines... thankfully, my husband was able to maneuver our truck, and everything was fine.
We didn't say much after that. Just a silent prayer of thanksgivings and adoration.
Thanks goodness... we're almost home.  

Sunday, November 3, 2013



Midway between Nashville and Paducah, our Gypsy Caravan found a wonderful oasis—out looking the tranquil waters of Lake Barkley. Glorious fall colors celebrated the evening and swathed the camp with a magical sense of being lifted up in the arms of some wonderful and restful dream... dusky light played with trees and danced atop unruffled waters which reflected all the calmness and glory of the colors of the vegetation surrounding it. It was drizzling when we got there, and the place felt so quiet—a certain nostalgic aura emanating from soft rain. But soon, the sky cleared off and it stop drizzling and all of a sudden I heard the most joyful and extraordinary sound ever—the laughter of children at play.
I went out looking for that laughter, and found it, and joined it—joint the children in their happy dance atop the huge trampoline—dreams in the air, hearts aglow; united in laughter and purity and true joy.
Wasn't Jesus ever so perfectly accurate and so profound in his words when he said "truly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it?” Truly amazing indeed!


Later, we cozied up in the lovely and perfect warmth of our Gypsy Caravan, got our books out, got my magazines and candles... warmed up my sleeping quarters with the warmest and softest winter llama blanket, got my brown fuzzy bear pillow; got my pink tool box-makeup case ready for the following morning and put on my comfy PJ's.  
I felt like a child in my happiness and foolishness and innocence.
We dined on burritos, cinnamon raising toasts and hot cocoa.
Wonderful lovely night watching episodes over episodes of "Jericho" in our iPod and writing my memoirs.

It was a wonderful and magical thing being lullaby to sleep by the wild songs of coyotes.


DAY 4 – NOVEMBER 2, 2013
Early morning. I'm not exactly sure where we are—Missouri? St. Louis? But that's not surprising. It is still very windy and cold. Gray is the color of the sky—lifeless and uninspiring, but all of a sudden, an unexpected ray of sun brakes in; resilient yellow light illuminates the dullness... like a sweet miracle. The morning has been showered with a new brightness. It is so strong, this light against the gloominess of the morning, that it assures me we're in the road of hope, and progress, and joy for sure. It's just a matter of time. And trust.
We came down onto a charming little rest area nested on the mouth of some river. All the magical colors of autumn seem to have fallen down over the park; like a spilled glass of paint all over it, or like a magical umbrella of goldenrods, crimson and toasted red wrapping it. We wanted to set up camp there and have some lunch, but the nippy weather turned me down. The warmth which my heart had been seeking for some time now has been evading us—or so it seems. We will have to keep driving further South.

We droved for about a mile looking for a place to eat; looking for that Chinese Buffet announced on the billboards by the road, but we couldn't find it. And with the few choices for eatery in this little town, we decided to leave.
On our way out of Metropolis, we passed some type of a park—an enchanted island of trees and shrubs and grasses the color of oranges and cinnamon sticks and toasted nuts... how lovely, and how despondent at the same time it looked to me; all wrapped up in soft autumnal shadows and gloomy light. The softness of the afternoon light; the dimness in which the park seemed to rested; all mingled up and confabulated to confer the appearance of peace and sadness of a cemetery... a resting place for the dead as well as the living.
Just when we were leaving this beautiful and poignant scene, something got my attention... In the midst of all that dullness-like veil of melancholy—a group of young man playing some sorts of sport... my eyes, and I guess my heart too, caught a fast glimpse of one of the young man... in his black and white sport suit; slim and dark-haired and so alive and carefree and beautiful among the rest; beautifully defying his surroundings; yet, conforming to it... to the lovely sad atmosphere of the park.
Strange, and powerful feelings, almost mystical, stirred in me, and I thought of my own youth, and of those long forgotten days when, no matter how gloomy, or dark the sky may had been, it was always so transparent and blue, and pure to me... and I felt that zest for life, and that irrefutable passion for just 'being' that, I guess, pertains only to the young, and for a fragment of time everything was lovely again, and youthful and wonderful—love on the tip of my lips. His image stayed with me for a long time.

We were starving by the time we left Metropolis. We decided to soothed our hunger with the big bag of rice crackers with nuts nested among the jumble-humble hodgepodge of things in the back seat... but where was it? We did find the bag after a while, but unfortunately we pulled it out among the many things kept in the back seat with the opening on the wrong side and made a huge mess everywhere. My husband grumbled something I didn't care to understand. I thought of that accident the day before involving that big truck back on Paducah, KY and the huge mess it made all over the road, and thought about the ludicrous disarray in our truck made by just a bag of crackers.  Why do people make such a fuss of so little?
We finally stopped at a Panera Bread Co. and warmed up our hunger to hazelnut coffee, chicken and wild rice soup and French bread. When I went to use their toilet I found out that it was out of toilet paper... I asked the lady waiting outside if she could please hand me some paper towel. Twice I asked for help without any avail. Was she deaf? Or did she not hear me? Or did she not noticed my hand waiving at her under the toilet door?  Was it my accent, perhaps? My Penelope Cruz accent, which always tricks me and reveals me somewhat unfamiliar, or different? And how small can some souls be? And why should that matter to me anyway? Beauty, is a light in the heart. I should keep mine alive. I should not let others put it off.  I was thankful for the lady who later came to my rescue.
Rain... rain came without a given notice, without a chance to let us get our raining boots out, or put on our raining coats—not even in our imagination. The sky turned dark and as ominous as an unforgiving sea... with soothing, lovely rain. I love rain. And so we droved on under soft gray rain... me laughing... laughing hard listening to my husband's stories and road deliriums... of how our truck and Gypsy Caravan felt heavier than when we first started our cross country trip back at the house in the roses... and that perhaps, maybe someone had hidden a cadaver in the Gypsy Caravan while we slept the night before, and so on... a certain indication that we need to hurry up and get home. The road is definitely starting to do some strange things to our minds.