In the 190+ days since I left home base in the states, I have called 33 places my bed for a night. That’s a new bed approximately every 5.9 days. That’s also what one might call “absurd.”
There was the mattress atop the rainbow carpet in Serbia, the pull-out the size of a twin plus six inches I shared with Grace in Macedonia, the 8 various places I slept in Bulgaria, the top bunk that I all but broke at YWAM in Zambia, my sleeping pad that popped its first night of use on the race, and the sleeping pad my alumni squad leader so graciously let me use when she left. There was my tent that was always filled with sand in Botswana, the fancy leather couch in Macedonia, the bottom bunk that probably had mouse poop in it that I tried to ignore in Namibia, and the king sized bed with a comforter I was unworthy of that I magically had all to myself for one night in a hostel. And let us never forget the airplane seats, airport floors, bus seats, and the two army green bunks on the sleeper trains straight from the 1940s.
There have been countable beds and countless lessons. Here are but three.
1. Comfort is overrated. Comfort keeps us where we are. Comfort steals the stories worth hearing. Comfort robs us of opportunities for laughter. Real, rich comfort in times of desperate need is holy and divine, but living in – getting stuck in – comfort is simply boring.
2. Each gift is a gift and ought to be received as such. Each undeserved, unexpected, nicer-than-I-imagined-I’d-get-on-the-Race, fancy bed was meant for me to enjoy and to receive rest and refreshment from, but often have I tried to turn them away, thinking myself undeserving or the luxury unnecessary. What a gift it is that I don’t determine what I am worthy of. How grateful I am that the gifts given to me are not subject to my own perspective of self, prone to be guided by pride one moment and feelings of inadequacy the next. How thankful I am that that rests with the one who was and is and is to come and no one else.
3. It’s far less about circumstances than we like to make it. I’ve had some of my worst nights in the nicest beds I’ve been in with the comfiest pillows. I’ve had some of my most filling nights of soul rest on hardwood floors laughing, sharing, and praying with dear friends. I’ve nursed homesickness and stomach sickness in the fancy and the simple, the immaculate and the messy alike. I’ve felt full and bursting with life in the nicest and I’ve felt full and bursting with life in the worst. I’ve learned what Paul learned and wrote about way before I existed – that whether in having a lot or in having a little, the secret to rejoicing in every circumstance lies far beyond myself, and in the one who’s comfort and gift giving and unfathomable love is always and unfailingly perfect.
