Called To Wander

10/09/2024

Living in the Black Hills of South Dakota is truly special. When we first passed through the area in the fall of 2018, we marveled at its hyper-scenic beauty. In the six months prior, we had traveled some 20,000 miles, meandering through two dozen US states and exploring the best each had to offer on our way toward the Alaskan Arctic Ocean.

We had seen mountains before – spectacular mountains like the Colorado Rockies, the Grand Tetons and even the elusive Mt. Denali, which towers above all others in Alaska.

We had seen wildlife before – black and brown bears, eagles and the famous leaping salmon in Alaska, moose, elk and bison in Wyoming, roadrunners in Texas and New Mexico and all sorts of wildlife in between.

We had driven twisty-turny roads in Colorado, Utah, and Idaho, and we gasped many times at every view beyond the next bend on some of the most beautiful roads in America.

But somehow, in this small part of an oft-forgotten state, incredible landscapes can be explored by driving the narrow, twisty roads where wildlife is abundant. It is truly a special place.

Despite our doubts about returning so late this season, this third season has taught us something we already knew, but for which we appreciate a gentle reminder.

Most mornings, I walk the dogs down a stretch of dirt road called Lame Johnny. It begins behind the horse barn and carries on several miles through a horse camp and then into the hills and prairies, where most of the area’s wildlife can be found.

We discovered this road on the second day of our first season, having trudged the day before through horse trails offering more challenges than enjoyment, such as dodging piles of horse p**p and returning home with ticks crawling around our skin.

Lame Johnny leads away from our camp and through an area with a few historic cabins before it peaks at the top of a hill overlooking a valley—my valley, as I have claimed it. From there, the road drops quickly over a quarter mile before crossing French Creek along an old wooden bridge and turning sharply back into the valley.

The next mile or so is my favorite of any stretch along the many miles of dirt roads that crisscross the Black Hills.

Far enough away from any signs of civilization, it is here where my mind releases my thoughts, prayers and praise and some of the freshest air in America fills my brain with the oxygen it needs to function more clearly. Typically, Huckleberry, our youngest Blue Heeler, has already run several miles back and forth through the forest, blanketed in fallen ponderosa pine trees and patches of tall grass that attract an occasional bison or deer.

When he runs, some wildlife typically stirs up as well. During my morning walks in this stretch of the forest, I’ve seen bighorn sheep, deer, coyotes, bison, and even elk among the field mice, chipmunks and squirrels.

When I tell Lindsay about what I’ve seen on any particular day, she usually gets excited and wants to grab her camera gear to take photos. She loves taking photos of the wildlife out here – it is easily her favorite thing about living in the Black Hills.

But in the few times she has retraced my steps, the wildlife has long since moved on, and all that is left is the tall grass and gentle roar of the wind through the ponderosa pines...

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https://calledtowander.com/september-10-2024/

03/09/2024

When Lindsay and I were struggling with which decision to make at the beginning of June, it occurred to us that the Black Hills of South Dakota are an incredibly special place. Historically, they were (are) considered sacred by Native American tribes and we’ve learned there is still an undercurrent of activity to try and restore them as such.

If you spend any time out here, you will quickly understand why they are so special. Sure, they lack the majesty of 14,000-foot peaks of the Colorado Rockies. And they do not host ancient glaciers year-round in their towering crevices like the Grand Tetons or those found throughout the northern Rockies.

But the hills, as they are called, offer spectacular views most enjoyed by hiking or, more popularly, by driving any of the many roads that cross through this corner of South Dakota like a venous system consisting of paved and hard-packed dirt roads.

Lindsay and I love driving these roads, whether on errands to and from Rapid City (as shared in my last dispatch), on days off of work, or in the in-between times of early morning or late evening, when wildlife sightings are most common and native species of fish are most likely to bite.

We drive these roads because they bring us a sense of freedom, an escape from whatever we feel bound to at the moment. Whether it’s a stressful situation at work, big decisions on the horizon or dealing with loss as Lindsay experienced our first summer when her father passed away unexpectedly, these hills are sacred to us and to most people who take the time to visit and to get lost on a backroad here or there or everywhere.

As driving is naturally part of our lifestyle—dare I call it part of our profession—we never mind the hours we spend meandering around the Black Hills. In fact, the other morning, we hiked our favorite trail to the top of Little Devil’s Tower. The morning felt so spectacular, and the hike so inspiring—we extended our 20-minute drive home into two more hours of driving the roads we have come to know by heart.

This is why I jokingly refer to our decision to return to South Dakota this summer as a “2,000-mile commute to work.” With work propositions dried up in Jacksonville in June and jobs waiting for us here in Custer State Park, it made little sense to leave Florida late in the tourist season to make whatever hay was left to make before the leaves started turning and the snow started falling.

It didn’t entirely make sense. And if you’ve been following along on our journey, you know that we had our doubts about whether we made the right decision. From near breakdowns to catastrophic hail storms, reaching the Black Hills this year offered unparalleled resistance to any previous years we lived and worked here.

But, technically, we were driving 2,000 miles for a job - qualifying this as the longest commute to work I’ve ever made!

Now, with the season snapping to close like a rubber band as quickly as it expanded before us, we have been looking ahead at the route we wanted to take to Baja, Mexico, the once certainty that has been divinely established in our lives in recent years (and one we have incredible news to share with you one day, shortly!).

But life on the road for the past 6+ years has taught us one thing about the plans we make: we must adhere to the advice that James, the half-brother of Jesus, gives in his book in Chapter 4, verses 13-15.

All plans now begin and end with the phrase “God-willing.” We usually know where we would like to go. And we have an idea of how we’d like to get there. In this case, a lovely path for us leads through Thermopolis, Wyoming, and meanders back into Colorado, weaving back through Utah and Arizona before crossing into California briefly on our way into Baja.

We have friends that we’ve made in many places along this route—a theme of our route-planning is actually to connect with these friends as we pass through in any general direction—and some of our favorite activities and destinations are clearly marked in our hearts and minds as pins on the map of this itinerary.

Yet even in our efforts to defer to God’s plans in our own humble planning, we seem to fall short.

This season is no exception....

READ THE FULL POST HERE: https://calledtowander.com/september-3-2024/

27/08/2024

Our latest update is here! If you haven't already done so, please consider signing up for our weekly newsletter (link included in the newsletter post).

We're having a challenging time expressing our personal (brand) views in the face of "big tech," so we will focus more on sharing our lives offline via our newsletter than on social media.

No, this is not a political statement. Well, it is if you've checked the news lately...

(I think our personal points of view are always going to conflict with what "Big Tech" thinks and promotes)
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Lindsay and I were driving back from a medical appointment the other day when Pink Floyd’s “Money” passed through our playlist. We typically skip this song and other Pink Floyd songs as they tend to evoke a part of my past that I rarely relate to these days.

But as the base guitar laid down the catchy beat and the cash register chimed the unique intro, I looked over at Lindsay and we both agreed with a smile and nod to let the song play this time.

Our appointment was in Rapid City, approximately one hour north of where we live beneath the Ponderosa Pines in Custer State Park. There are two or three different routes between the two. We usually take the fastest route north because we don’t enjoy our visits to Rapid City much and like to get whatever errands require us to leave our home in the woods.

But for the past three years, we have always taken the same route south, which takes us off the 70 mph highway, cuts through an old ghost town and then leads into the heart of the Black Hills through the famous Needles Highway.

Regardless of the weather, we always roll the windows down and drive the twisty, turny roads as though they are an extension of our bodies hovering two feet off the ground as we glide in our metal and glass encasement at 35-40 miles per hour through the countryside.

There are a few properties we always love seeing on this drive. They start by the road and stretch back into the hills, a lush green passageway toward a large chunk of rock or two that defines the region. Along this stretch of road, we allow ourselves to dream of “one days” and “some days” when we’d love to afford just a portion of one of these valleys.

It has made me say more than once that I want to own a mountain one day. Maybe not a full mountain. But a swath of countryside ripe with hay and some large boulder would be the bulwark of a tiny home we may build with our own hands someday.

As the song played, we reflected separately on what this drive means and how much we have changed over the years. When we speak, it is out of an overfill of awe at this view or that, like when you turn right and come over a hill with just enough visibility to see the backside of Mount Rushmore or the nearby Cathedral Spires.

We don’t have enough money to buy property anywhere right now. This isn’t a political statement about the state of the economy. It’s just the simplest fact that seems to define us repeatedly since we have taken to the road.

I have looked back on my conversations, videos, newsletters, and posts over the years and realized that the topic of money, or lack thereof, has probably come up more often than anything else as I have tried to explain our lifestyle and the calling we have to wander.

Jesus said more about money than anything else, too. But He said it from the opposite perspective, challenging us to think more about Love than money or anything else for that matter.

Yet money makes the world go round. It can’t buy you love, but it can you a boat… and a truck to pull it…

(Yes, I threw three separate social references in one sentence, even combining the Beatles and a one-hit-wonder country song!)

I have recently decided that I want more than anything in life to be the kind of human being that Jesus was when He walked the earth. Whether you believe He was who He said He was and the profound and infinite impact this has on life and death is up to you.

But from every word He spoke or historical words written about Him, we could all say that Jesus was about the most remarkable human being that ever walked the face of the earth. Some Jewish tradition holds Jesus in high esteem for His knowledge and wisdom (though refuting His claim to be God). Muslim tradition holds Jesus to be a great prophet (but not their greatest prophet, let alone God).

What thought, ideology or theology could thread itself through three of the most influential religions in the world aside from this – that Jesus said and did some pretty remarkable things for humanity? These religions don’t agree on much. But they accept that Jesus was (is) a remarkable human being.

As I have shared in previous dispatches, Lindsay and I can’t relate our lives and experiences to you without doing so through the lens of our Christian faith. You don’t have to see things the way we do, but we just can’t explain life without looking through this lens.

So the way I see it, if Jesus spoke against money, or the love of money, more than any other topic, I should listen and learn....

PLEASE READ THE FULL UPDATE ON OUR WEBSITE

What Pink Floyd, A Hurricane and A Stretch of Backroads Taught Us About Giving (August 27, 2024)

04/08/2024

I don’t like praying for myself. But I love praying for others. The other day, two people on opposite sides of a situation asked me to pray for them separately and without knowing that the other one had approached me also.

It struck me in this moment that I was asked to pray two contrary prayers, for both could not be right in what they were asking, yet each was sincere in their request and in their hope that God would deliver them from their situation.

I knew enough of the situation to know that both had wronged each other. Both had turned their backs on God when they didn’t think they needed Him. And I suspected their requests were somewhat selfish, which is why I have a hard time praying for myself, knowing my intentions are not always pure.

What then should I do? Sit out prayer altogether, when God commanded us to knock, seek and ask? Counsel the one, or the other, when I am unaware of the facts that make one right over the other?

Whose role is it to judge which is fit to receive prayer? Not mine.

So I prayed quite simply,

“Father in Heaven, sacred and holy is Your Name
Your kingdom come, Your will be done
Here now as it is in Heaven.
Give us all what you know we need
And forgive us all what we have done wrong
Just as we forgive those who sin against us and each other
Lead us into no temptation and deliver us from all evil,
yours is the Kingdom, power and glory, for all time.”

What God does with the situation is beyond me. It is beyond both of the people who are on opposite sides of one another in this matter.

His will be done, here now as in Heaven.

Thats the best I have to offer.

And I pray that each one who asked for prayer accepts what God delivers, when God delivers it and trusts that God is working behind the scenes to redeem what is lost and restore what was taken.

It was the hardest prayer, perhaps, I’ve ever prayed because I realized in the midst of it, of every time I’ve said these words to God I have never said it like this before, for the reasons Jesus taught us to pray.

I was asked to pray an impossible prayer.

I was asked to pray for America.

02/08/2024

If our check engine dash light show in Memphis and the devastating hail storm in Nebraska didn’t make us doubt whether we made the right decision to return to work in Custer State Park, the fact that I was an extra body on the serving staff and we all weren’t making any money my first week of work had me worried.

We left Florida amid uncertainty. With no job propositions there, the reasonable decision was to head west like the trailblazing settlers. Only we’d been here before and we knew what it should be like.

It wasn’t like that at all. And by my third day I asked Lindsay if she thought we made a mistake and if there was anywhere else in America she thought we should go.

On my 6th shift, a table of guests surprised me by asking what they could pray for. Catching me off guard, I told them “financial blessings” and explained how we were losing money by being here.

But I committed to working for a different manager, one who I could tell was incompetent and uncaring, who did my old job (from the past 2 years) far worse than I imagined.

Yet I had promised to God to be humble and to not worry over our finances. I was in a season of submission.

The following morning I learned that the Assistant General Manager had left in the middle of the night and I was called back up to my old position, one that suits me well and gives me the chance to lead my staff in a way I feel called to lead.

I’m not saying that God is a genie in a bottle. But He is faithful to those who seek Him and He does provide for all of our needs.

I know with certainty that we are where we are supposed to be. I thank God for his timing.

(Me cheesing is for effect)

20/07/2024

It’s not all work and no play in the Black Hills of South Dakota. Today we purchased our fishing licenses and found a little trout hole in French Creek a mile or so from camp.

Were used to fishing for real fish - the 18” and longer kind that would eat these trout for snacks!

But when in Rome, they say.

Spinning rods and all, we spent a gorgeous evening in my holy canyon as Lindsay managed to catch a small non-trout and I successfully avoided hooking a snapping turtle.

We’ll figuring out fishing in these hills before we leave this year. Stay tuned!

14/07/2024

In the Old Testament, when God showed up and did something miraculous for His people, they responded by building a rock memorial so that all who passed or those who returned to such a place would remember what was done there.

Sometime last summer, I felt the urge to build such an "Ebenezer" to remember my God, who performed the miracle of providing for our needs from one day to the next, transforming me in my trust of Him, who I had come to know as Jehovah Jireh, "the Lord, my provider."

In all of the trials we have endured together, both on and off the road, we have never been stranded or in need beyond what God provided either directly or through the community of friends and family He formed to support us in our wander.

Even when we encountered one setback after another last fall, spending every single dollar of the $15,000 we managed to save for Lindsay's "Fishing All Fifty" journey with her father's ashes, God provided for us in advance.

We do not have much. This is why we live and travel in a 25-year old motorhome and we stop each year to work.

But what we have, we cherish and we steward as if it were the last thing God would entrust us to have.

This pile of stones remained, some 8 months after I left it, and I continue to add to it day after day when I stop and take my stoop upon a rock that overlooks the beautiful valley below. This is a special place, a holy place, where God continues to lead me into the adventure that is to trust Him more and more.

Each day is a miracle, which I memorialize with one new stone per day. If ever you need rest or peace or just a quiet place to entertain your heart or mind with the beauty of Creation, this place is as much yours as it is mine.

Send a message and I'll share it with you. For God has achieved such great and miraculous works in my life, I shall not hide them under a bushel.

12/07/2024

I have often envied the pillars of Jewish and Christian faiths who heard God's booming voice and responded accordingly. Noah, Abraham, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, and many more experienced a clear call from God to go and do something—a thing so important that in doing it, they changed the history of the world.

Choosing to return to the Black Hills of South Dakota was a risk for us. And every mile we drove further away from Florida and closer to South Dakota carried a tension between the excitement of returning to a place we hoped we were called to and doubting whether we should ever have left Florida.

We know that God is with us wherever we decide to go. We just hoped that we made the best decision in our pursuit of Abundant Life on the Road.

But as we drove the familiar road into our campsite, things began to feel normal again. During our first morning walk through the ponderosa pines, a large bison bull crossed in front of us, stopped to acknowledge us and carried on his way.

Later that day, we went for a sunset drive, reacquainting ourselves with the dirt roads, prairies and pine forests that have been home to us for the past two summer seasons. The herd was waiting for us.

Sometimes, it is the beauty in a place - or a person - that draws you because God is in the beauty that you see.

We have since found our peace in returning here. Despite heavy workloads and a driving ambition to build our business, we no longer doubt our decision to drive 2,000 miles across the country to a place we know and love.

We look forward to experiencing God more and more through new experiences in a place He has called us to live for another season. We count our blessings, and desire the same for you, wherever such a place may be for you where God speaks to you through the beauty of His creation.

10/07/2024

During our extended visit with family and friends in Jacksonville, Florida, we took advantage of being able to attend our home church, River City Church, every Sunday morning. So much of our history, including our meeting and marriage, took place because of this church and the wonderful community that developed there over the years.

A consequence of our decision to leave Jacksonville to return to South Dakota was that we had to say farewell to that community and would have to return to watching the church service online instead of attending in person.

While we've watched nearly every Sunday service on the road over the years, there is something about having a local church home. This is one of the toughest things about living full-time on the road.

As we faced a few challenges, such as a massive and unexpected hail storm that damaged both our motorhome and our towed Honda CRV, we began to doubt our decision to leave Florida before arriving back in the Black Hills of South Dakota.

However, it was a sweet reminder that God is with us (you!) wherever we wander. This year, unlike either of the previous years we lived here, a Christian group offers Sunday service beneath the Ponderosa Pines just a short walk from our camper!

Although this is not our church home, we feel a certain joy in knowing that God went before us to prepare a temporary church home for us while we are living and working in Custer State Park!

This has been just one of many confirmations that we made the right decision to leave our family and friends behind in Florida to continue to pursue our call to wander!

09/07/2024

After surviving the hail storm, we finished the final few hours of our drive to Custer State Park in the beautiful Black Hills of South Dakota!

Although we decided to return late in the summer, our amazing boss reserved the same spot we have had since our first year of working here two years ago! Our tires fit perfectly back in the tracks where we parked for the last two years!

We don't really have a "home" anymore, as we have lived in our motorhome full-time for the past 6.5 years. But this quiet place beneath the Ponderosa Pines is as much a summer home for us as any!

We look forward to returning to work - though this year will be quite different from the others!

We're looking forward to sharing our adventures and work endeavors with you over the coming months! Let us know if you happen to pass through; we'd love to meet you!

02/07/2024

There’s not much to say about Nebraska that hasn’t already been said. That is, it’s flat and full of cornfields.

But we found a magical place where the cottonwood trees shed their seed, which floats like dandelion in the breeze, and fireflies illuminate the night in unpredictable fits of chemical reactions.

I’ve seen both of these things before. But never at the same time and place. And never in such abundance. Everywhere you look, the fields are covered in bright green bursts of light and soft white cotton-like swaths.

And then the rain. Nothing in the world compares to the sound of rain on a roof just three feet above your head. It’s as if you can hear each individual drop thud against the roof…

Until the rain turns into a massive hail storm!!

We fell asleep thinking the rain was cute, since there was a zero percent chance of rain that night. Every weatherman on earth should be tarred and feathered and run out of whatever town they so-call “forecast” in.

For half an hour our RV and CRV were pelted by ping-pong sized hail. I watched the radar for signs of tornadoes. Fortunately none were around. But the hail!

At one point Lindsay screamed - which is what we had to do to communicate through the constant beating on our roof - she said she thought she felt water coming in.

We’d been through this before, sort of, in Wyoming in 2019 when a massive hailstorm demolished all of the roof vents and covers and hail came smashing into our truck camper. Fortunately we were staying with friends and we rode out the storm inside.

It we knew what hail meant, and the longer it fell the greater the chances for catastrophic damage to both the RV and the CRV.

I decided I had to see how big the hail was, so I put on clothes and stepped outside holding a towel over my head to try and break the fall of any hail that would potentially crack me in the skull.

That’s when I realized our issue was not the hail. It was the flooding that was occurring around us in our campsite. Just stepping out of the camper I dropped into 8 inches of water. And it was flowing past so fast I knew it would not be long before our CRV was submerged, still attached to the back of our motorhome as this was supposed to be a quick overnight stop before finishing the drive to South Dakota in the morning.

I quickly cycled the transmission, which takes 3 minutes, as the water continued to rise. This had to be done to not harm the CRV when I pulled out of our campsite in search of higher ground. But I only made it about a minute before I realized in two more minutes there would be water coming in through the floorboards.

Soaking wet and still dodging hail, I climbed into the drivers seat of the RV and pulled forward out of the flood. It was 2 am. I had no idea what to do. I just knew we needed to leave the campground until we could see where we might be able to return to finish sleeping through the night.

I knew the CRV was damaged from the hail. But I told Lindsay it wasn’t because I knew she wouldn’t sleep worrying over how much damage was done.

We don’t have a lot. And we work hard for what we do have. So we take care of everything we have as stewards of what God has blessed us with. If not with little, how would we steward much?

It was a bad night, probably the worst of any night we’ve had on the road. Lindsay checked the local news and Facebook groups the next morning to find this was a freak storm that literally popped up out of nowhere just outside of town and spent itself in the ten miles it took to demolish the town we were in and the adjacent town, which ended up with even larger hail.

The funny thing is that we debated stopping earlier or driving a little further. If we had done either, we would have avoided this mess.

But now, I suppose, we have a story to go along with the damage we’re waiting to show the insurance adjuster, as evidence of our last time in ever going across the border into Nebraska. We’ll probably add Kansas, Iowa and likely Oklahoma to that list just for good measure (sorry if you are from any of these, we’re just not fans of random summer hail assaults!).

But we do have to return one day for Lindsay to catch a fish with her father’s ashes. The Fishing All Fifty journey is postponed, not canceled. Like the cold Nebraska hail, we’ll keep beating and beating until we get our breakthrough…

29/06/2024

There’s an America I love, hidden beneath layers of political filth and grime, protected from the media and folks who like to talk about the her as if they’re the only ones in it.

I don’t think you realize how big America is until you drive down a holler in central Missouri. Go for a walk in the morning or evening and find the America you love.

It’s friendly waves or the handshake of a man named Bill, who served his country many years before it became mine too. He’ll stop you and shake your hand, firm as he can for his age, and grin at you in such a way you want to stop and spend the day with him, or longer, learning how he came to live here.

He’ll tell you how he started out in Nebraska, a middle child who moved with his family as his father worked one farm to the next. He moved 15 times in 13 years through grade school and was the only one in his family to graduate high school.

In his America, serving his country was important. So despite his mother’s wishes, he enlisted in the Army not wanting to wait for his draft date to get drawn.

“Put in writing what you want”, the recruiter told him. “And I’ll make sure you get it. “

So he did, writing that he wanted to learn to work on engines. No problem there. The army had plenty of engines. And even more were on their way as the early sixties ripened and word of a place called “Vietnam” started reaching people’s ears, even in those farmlands of Nebraska.

In my America, Bill is here to shake my hand as the sun sets over one of the many Missouri lakes because he put his head down and worked hard, both in and out of the Army.

He moved home, married and had kids. And while Nebraska would always be home, this holler had appeal and captured his fascination some twenty years ago. He’s been here ever since. The only thing that would make him leave, he said, was if his wife passed away before him. She’d be buried here. But he’d return to Nebraska to be buried among his family members not far from some farm that claimed the last of his father’s sweat and tears.

In my America you could walk through your neighborhood and meet many more people like Bill, who for no reason apart from friendliness and a genuine interest to know how your day was going, would take the time to shake your hand and say hello.

I didn’t plan to find myself in a place like this. But that’s the joy in traveling as we do, mostly uncertain each day of where we’ll stay, but sure that the more we travel the more we come to see America the way it is.