Lynette Bishop Snell

A few weeks ago, when I hit rock bottom–again–I took an idea that had been softly rolling around in the back of my brain and shoved it forward to a prominent spot.  I had finally figured out my nirvana, my ideal, my perfect solution to all my problems:  sell everything I owned (car, house, everything inside both) and buy an RV.

And not just any RV.  I wanted a pink Shasta Flyer pulled by a white Jeep.  It would have to have a toilet and shower (I don’t do public showers very well–the amount of PPE or Personal Protective Equipment required would be prohibitive and counterproductive), a microwave, air conditioning, and updated electrical wiring.  There would be pink curtains, pink seat cushions, pink throw pillows, a retro quilt from my great aunt, Fiestaware everyday plates, and an adorable little awning on the front where I could string up lights.  It would look something like this:

Just looking at this delectable picture with its cupcake-ish appearance brings joy and delight to my soul.  Yes, I was going to run away from home and become a Glamper.  I could go anywhere, do anything, be anyone, and never stop moving.

Friends and family told me it was an, ahem, interesting idea, all the while looking at me with fear while backing away slowly towards the door.  My mother flat out told me it was a horrible idea, and stopped just short of saying I would be raped, pillaged and plundered by the first night out alone.  I didn’t care.  I just knew I had to get out of town.

There was just one looming problem.  I knew it, but I avoided facing it.  I knew that no matter how far I drove, no matter how many public showers I tried to avoid, no matter how many campgrounds and state parks I called “home,” I would still run smack dab into my problems. My heart would still be broken in Idaho.  My loneliness would not magically evaporate in  Maine. My tears would be just as plentiful in Alaska or California. I already knew what Florida was like, so I would never go back there!   In spite of all this knowledge, however, I just didn’t care.  I ignored all warning signs, advice, skepticism, and terror-filled scenarios (created by my mother and father).  And I marched stubbornly on with my plans.

Then I read this quote:  Running away from your problems is a race you will never win.

Drat.

I’m not good at racing anyway.  I’m slow, overweight, unathletic, and clumsy.  Racing just ain’t my thang.  Running away, however, is something I’m good at.

Suddenly, a soft voice worked its way through the cacophony of everything else swirling in my brain.  The voice said one thing:  Be Still.

So instead of running a losing race, and flailing about in cheap shower shoes on public shower floors, I made a conscious choice to sit this race out.   And see where God is taking me on this journey of insanity that is my life.

Besides, I want to win.