Our footsteps echoed on the wooden planks as we left the riverbank and stepped out over the water. The old walking bridge had stretched across that expanse of dark river for as long as the townspeople could remember. Several generations had held hands and stood right there in the center of the bridge, watching the lazy flow of water gently meander under their feet and return to view on the other side.

When your feet have left one bank but haven’t quite reached the next, you can stop right there and find yourself in the middle of two worlds—caught in the between of heaven and earth. The above is reflected so perfectly in the water below that it can be difficult to tell which way is up.

Lately, I find myself often caught between two worlds. Our family recently sold our house and most of our belongings to commit to a season of full-time travel. My husband is working as a pediatric critical care travel nurse, and I’m homeschooling our three kids while we tag along. Every thirteen weeks, we find ourselves on the road again, heading to a new town.

To walk each path the Lord leads us down has been an incredible exercise in faith. I call it the “best worst thing” for my often-anxious heart—to learn to trust God in all the small details of this unusual way of living.

This has also been the most epic adventure of our lives. We’ve experienced life among the rocky coasts of New England, the rolling farmlands of North Carolina, and the breathtaking beauty of the Sierra Nevada mountain meadows and Lake Tahoe. We’ve grown to dearly love these little towns and big cities we’ve called “home” along the way.

But like all great adventures, this one does not come without sacrifice…

 

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