One dark night, years before my husband Larry and I made the leap of faith to become full-time RVers, I had a revelation while driving on a winding, unlit road. Anxious and tense, I was straining to see which way the road was going to bend. Finally, I decided to focus my vision just in front of my vehicle and on the solid white line along the shoulder. To my immediate relief, I found I could see exactly what I needed in time to negotiate any twists and turns in the road. I realized in that moment that this was exactly how I am supposed to live life!

Like all full-timers, as we prepared to embark on our new life we were asked myriad questions. Many of them revolved around how long we would RV, what would happen if we got ill, where we would live when we decided to hang up our keys. Though we acknowledged they were real issues, we couldn’t see that far down the road (nor did we want to), so we gave dismissive answers. We’ll RV for as long as it’s good. We’ll deal with illness when the time comes. We’ll get an apartment when we stop traveling.

As I learned on that dark night, we cannot negotiate a turn until we are upon it, so we chose not to expend our energy trying to look ahead. Our focus was on living every moment of our RV experience to the fullest. Our goal was to follow the road wherever it led, with no preconceived notions or guarantees of what lay ahead. And for three years we had an incredible ride! Each curve in the road took us in a new direction filled with surprises and life-affirming lessons.

For eight months, as we learned the ropes of our new lifestyle, we gradually came to grips with the full import of our freedom. We guzzled everything in our path, often pinching ourselves to be sure it was real. “We did it! We escaped!” we would often squeal with delight.

Then, almost as if by appointment, our journey took a turn in the direction of one of the primary reasons for our becoming RVers—service. While spending time visiting and volunteering at the international headquarters of Habitat for Humanity in Americus, Georgia, we were invited to participate in a blitz build (building a number of houses in one week) in St. John’s, Newfoundland. That exhilarating experience was the opening chapter of an intense eighteen-month period of volunteer work.

Besides two more Habitat blitz builds, we spent two months in Birmingham, Alabama, in the spring of 1998 doing clean-up and recovery work after the devastating tornado there; distributed food, clothing and household goods after a tornado wiped out the little town of Spencer, South Dakota; and repaired range fences, giving help and hope to farmers and ranchers hard hit by the previous winter’s blizzards. The following spring we returned to Birmingham to build homes for tornado survivors with Habitat.

Our heads and hearts brimming with images and thoughts, the next twist in the road took us on another unanticipated course—we both began writing. In addition to a number of articles, I felt compelled to chronicle our experiences in a book that highlighted the goodness and caring we had observed in so many people, as well as the strength of the human spirit under duress. Vehicles of Hope: Serving Others on the Road to Satisfaction gives voice to the stories of nearly 40 people. It will be published by 1st Books Library in the spring of 2003. Larry turned his attention to penning the novel he had always secretly dreamed of writing.

In the fall of 1999, on the way to a winter camp spot where I would continue writing, we returned to Americus to visit Koinonia Partners, the communal farm that is considered the birthplace of Habitat for Humanity. There, the idea of partnership housing was first conceived and implemented. Our intention was to stay a week or two to help renovate the buildings that had fallen into disrepair. But as we learned more about the history and conviction of the place that seeks to be a “demonstration plot for the kingdom of God,” we felt an unfamiliar tug at our hearts to stay and help get it back on its feet.

Our one-week stay stretched to three months, and then Larry was offered a position to help guide the revitalization of Koinonia. We found ourselves at one of those crossroads I had not wanted to imagine. Yet, if we were to stay true to our desire to remain open and receptive to life as it came to us, we knew we had to entertain the notion. We were surprised by how easy it was to say “yes.”

For a year, we lived on the grounds in our trailer while I continued writing and Larry directed his energy to his job. Though we were happy when Habitat RVers stopped by to help and a little wistful when they pulled away, we felt certain we were there for a purpose. We knew we could hitch up any time, if we really wanted to.

Life has a way of continually prodding us, I’m learning. We were in store for yet another surprise—the opportunity to purchase one of the inexpensive, original Koinonia homes situated on a piece of wooded property—with a perfect spot for our trailer. This was by far the most difficult decision for me, because it represented permanence. However, I firmly believe that things happen for a reason and, once again, it felt right. Several months after moving in, Larry experienced health challenges that grounded him for a year.

I have had a lot of time to reflect on the road that brought us to this place. We have learned much about trusting, letting go of attachments, taking and learning from each encounter and moving on to the next “appointment.” Consequently, we have been richly blessed. As we downsize our trailer in anticipation of more limited travel, I know one thing for certain: freedom is a matter of the heart, not of domicile. In our hearts, we will always be full-timers!