4 out of our 8 months of travel I’ve found myself without a bed. This month being one of them. These months follow the same pattern; week 1 I’m always surprised thinking “This isn’t so bad, I’m sleeping fine on the floor” but by the time week 4 rolls around I’m stiff and sore and no longer feeling so chipper.
So, fast forward to last week when I woke up achy and quickly found myself hosting a pity party; feeling sorry for myself and day dreaming of my memory foam mattress back home.
That same morning I set off to the ghetto to say good bye to this munchkin named Delia, who I wouldn’t have the chance to visit again. I got to the ghetto around 11am and couldn’t find her anywhere outside. Another little girl saw me wandering and lead me up to Delia’s apartment meanwhile explaining that all the kids were asleep because the adults had partied late into the night and kept them up like they usually do.
We knocked on the door and after a long pause it swung open revealing an entry way (which was about 5 feet wide and 10 feet long) in it lay four sleeping adults; squeezed into this tiny hall on a wooden floor like sardines with nothing but old blankets…Delia came stumbling over their bodies her eyes all puffy and her hair in wild curls.
That’s the thing about this experience, there is no time for pity parties before reality strikes. How can I complain about a month on the floor after seeing this?
And just like that the pity party was quickly canceled, Delia was in my arms, and we were on our way outside to play volleyball.
All the while I was mentally thanking God for my ridiculously comfortable life.
-Megan
