I Do All My Own Stunts

October 2, 2007, 11:30 am; posted by
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Best of Job, May 2006.

I haven’t slept in a bed in 365 days.

I made this decision rather spuriously one night, when I found myself unemployed, uninsured, heart-broken, soaked, adrift and seething towards God, trying to sleep in the back of a Budget truck, in the parking lot of my former employer. Next to the truck sat my Jeep — steam still rising from beneath its hood, as the newly blown radiator continued to vent and cool.

My internal radiator had blown as well and my engine was fast overheating. I was projecting. I wasn’t angry at God, but the trigonometry of my misery felt so intense, calculated and other-worldly that I felt He could be tricked into taking blame (or credit) for the equation.

When I eventually calmed (and apologized), I told Him about my plan. I felt a great silence in the truck bed, like God was giving me a chance to retract it. A silent guffaw, that only entrenched me further in my decision.

I was gonna fast that fast that lasts. I was electing right there to swear to Him that I wouldn’t sleep in a bed for an entire year. A real humdinger of a plan, sure, but you know what it’s like to get caught up in the moment, delirious with a sense of purpose. It would be a fast of comfort, routine and normalcy, a real sacrifice.

I slept on couches, pull-outs, the ground and my Jeep. I bought a hammock and strung it from my roll-bar to any available tree. I learned to fold myself into roots and rocks. I learned to enjoy rain on my nose.

Stars, my friends, cannot be counted, no matter your resolve.

They cannot.

I had to plan nights ahead to avoid any unforeseen hospitality. I told friends I “had things to do.” In my room at the lakehouse, I piled my belongings on my bed and told my folks I would get to them eventually, but just sleep on the couch for now…and never got to them.

I graciously accepted the bed the Filipinos gave me, then at night opted for the ground. In Albuquerque, I slept in the tub; in Houston, the chair. I swore by Northface and swore at mosquitos.

And I prayed. I was fasting, and my sore neck and back and fatigued brain were awake at 3 am many nights — with no recourse but the recreation of prayer.

I burned out my Indiglo. I invested in bug spray. I found the best rest came from hot pavement in the middle of a sunny afternoon. I loved to be the passenger in a car, reclined, the wind pouring over me.

In truth, at first, I was exhausted — finding my rest only in the solace of a promise kept and the trust in some benefit from the One I had made it to. I tell you all this because I feel it’s key, and might explain my philosophy on life and society. I hope it doesn’t smack of “gimmick.” Truth be told, it’s a cautionary tale. I’m not proud of this, and the “Serta Solution” will not be a devotional coming to a bookstore near you.

But I want you to know —

I have learned the fine art that is a promise. The fine art that is contempt for routine.
I have learned how precious days are when you anxiously count them down.
I have learned that the Lord is not slack in His promises and we should not be either, no matter the circumstances.
I learned these lessons last summer, but the real joy was in maintaining my promise, no matter how silly, or even psychotic, it was.

The Lord, methinks, honors such things. Pride and ego, He does not.

Being certain of having a place to rest your head at night is one of the most fundamental rules of society. But I think I’ve discovered that if you can rest your head anywhere, you fundamentally rule society.

Trust me… I know, having done this, that it is nothing profound. At best, between you and me, it is anecdotal. But between me and my Creator, I have upheld a promise — however fantastic and foolish it may have been — and I stand (or lay) now confident in any other promise I might be willing to make…or He might be willing to request of me.

 

But yes. It was asinine.


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