Home Is Where My Sleeping Bag Is

My life is weird--really weird.  Especially when I compare my life now to the life I was living a few months ago.  I think back to July when I was teaching at Cal State Fullerton and can scarcely believe the contrast to my current lifestyle.  Last summer, I would get up every morning and put on nice clothes and dressy shoes and grab my bag and car keys.  I would leave my clean and spacious apartment, well-rested and showered.  I would open my little Honda Civic and drive a few miles down smoothly paved roads to a beautiful university.  I would click my nice shoes down the tiled floor leading to my classroom, teach for a few hours, then head back to my homey apartment.  I would check my email without a worry that my internet might not connect or cut out.  I would pass the evenings as I pleased, having everything I could ever need or want right at my fingertips.  And at night I would curl into my queen-sized bed in my room all by myself, feeling warm and cozy in my safe little home.

The word “home” is now an irrelevant term in my life.  A Guatemalan asked me for my address the other day, and I simply looked at her in confusion, unsure of what to say.  My life has turned into a rhythm of traveling, packing and unpacking.  Some days I wake up and have to remind myself what country I’m in.  Home is no longer a set place, but simply wherever my sleeping bag happens to be at the moment.  The days of privacy and a cozy room to myself are long gone.  I sleep in a variety of cots, tents, etc., but most nights, six girls and I sleep in a pop-up camper together, a portable “room” that we attach to our SUV.  The camper squishes down for travel but can be cranked up into a large tent-like structure.  My usual sleeping spot is probably designed for one person but is shared by two.  Rose, my bed-buddy, and I have about an inch and a half between us.  Our “bed” isn’t quite long enough for us, so our toes rub against the edge.  If I venture out of my camper at night, I often find myself surrounded by random animals.  In the two-minute process of brushing my teeth outside, I encounter wild horses, stray dogs, crazy roosters, tarantulas, and swarms of mosquitoes.  And just a random side note:  I’m pretty sure the bugs in Central America bred with dinosaurs at some point to create this horrific mutant bug species.  My entire team looks like we’ve had the chicken pox for a month.

A good toilet, shower, and internet access have become luxuries.  Simple things and basic hygiene have become complicated processes.  My latest bathroom adventure from Belize paints a pretty good picture of my new and strange life:

One morning, while camping at an RV park, I woke up early and needed to use the bathroom.  The campsite had no toilets, so the team had agreed to share our dinky RV toilet; but it was too early to wake up the people sleeping inside the RV.  I had no problem with going to the bathroom outside, but we were in a wide open field.  The only way to hide myself was to go deep into a woodsy area full of snakes.  Ugh, I thought to myself.  Why do I always get myself into these kinds of situations?

I tucked a roll of toilet paper under my arm, stumbling around in my pajamas, and wandered away from the tents and campers, trying to find a place to hide.  My choices were a wide open field or the middle of snake territory.  I tried to step towards the snake bushes and immediately started getting eaten alive by mutant bugs.  Forget it, I told myself, I’m just going right here in the field.  I don’t know what else to do.  Just as I started to squat down, a pick-up truck full of Belizean men drove by and started honking and screaming at me.  PLAN ABORTED.  Dang it, I thought.  I seriously have no choice but to go into the snake bushes, or else I’m going to be the most inappropriate missionary ever.  I started walking into the bushes and was once again interrupted.  A man who worked at a restaurant across the street saw me and began to wave frantically and motion me to come towards him.

Seriously?  I wondered.  How has this become my life?  What does a girl have to do to go to the bathroom in peace around here??

“Don’t go in there!  Nooo!” the man yelled as he continued to motion me towards him. 

Frustrated, I walked towards the man across the street to listen to what he was saying.  “There are snakes in those bushes,” he warned me.  “Never go inside there!  Come and use the bathroom in the restaurant.”

I thanked him for his concern and crossed the street towards the restaurant, gratefully accepting his toilet offer.  Afterwards, I walked down the street back towards our campsite, still in my pajamas, hair a mess, toilet paper roll tucked under my arms.

Some days are just like this.  The once simple things have become ever so complicated.  Life as a nomad is a bit messy and strange, but it’s my life nonetheless.   Sometimes it feels weird not having a home or bed to sleep in or toilet to use.  It’s strange not knowing what country I’ll be in next week.  It’s weird that I don’t know what to say when people ask me where I live or where I’m from.  It’s strange that I don’t have a place to keep my stuff or a consistent bed to sleep in.  And I don’t particularly enjoy looking like a crazy homeless lady walking down the streets of Belize in my pajamas with nothing in my arms but toilet paper.  There are many days when I miss having a home and a life with even a pinch of consistency to it. 

BUT I also must admit that the things I once took for granted are now things I thank God for every day.  So maybe that’s not so bad after all.  When I have a toilet or read an email from home or get enough phone reception to hear my family’s voice, I am grateful.  When I take a shower, I’m thankful, and when I take a hot shower, I’m in heaven.  When I get a good night’s sleep or don’t wake up itchy or get a moment of privacy, I feel blessed.  And truth is, when I stand atop ancient Mayan ruins in Guatemala, or lay hands on sick people in Mexico who get healed, or spend a week hanging out with a former drug addict in Belize who has completely changed his life around…the sleepiness, itchiness, crowdedness, and homelessness all seem to fade away.  And in those moments, I remember that home isn’t really a building or a toilet or a bed.  Home is wherever I am at the moment.  Today home is Guatemala; in a few days it will be El Salvador.  Home is where my sleeping bag is.  Home is wherever God takes me, and I’m okay with wherever that may be. J