For the past few weeks I’ve been living on a 45-foot tour bus promoting a movie. I’ve never experienced anything like it. There are ten of us living in a confined space, rolling across the country. It is a different city every day. I am the “tour manager,” which is a fancy way of saying that I work on getting us media, point the driver in the right direction, keep the bus stocked with food, and everyone else on schedule. It’s a lonely life, this traveling. Life out of a dufflebag is far from glamorous. We travel through the night and it’s rarely comfortable. I miss my family. I miss my house. I even miss my dog. Still, I accepted this challenge. It was my decision some time ago to not settle for the mundane. I traded in the cubicle for something else–whatever “else” turned out to be. Life, I decided, is a story to be lived, a taste too good not to sample.
I had hoped to find something to write about during this brief chapter in my story. I thought for sure that a situation or a person would emerge—that something would stand out. Where was the God moment? When would I be touched and inspired? With each new day, with each new city, I felt nothing. Each person, each conversation blurred into the last. Something great to write about? I could barely find a reason to get up in the morning. This wasn’t an adventure at all. This was a job and not a very good one.
Then, after an embarrassingly emotional conversation with my friend, Karyn, I realized that the reason nothing was coming to me—the reason I was uninspired was because I was so focused on how bad this was for me, that I left no room for anything else. I even had to admit that I completely stopped talking to God. It turns out, things go bad when you don’t include the man who put you where you are.
One of the cities we visited, we donated the money we raised to a special little girl who came to my attention. In January, Phoebe Fair was diagnosed with a rare and aggressive form of brain cancer. She faces a tough battle for the next year of her life at least. One night, Phoebe’s mother Amey was sleeping in the chair next to her hospital bed when she heard her daughter’s little voice, “Mommy I’m a mean girl,” she thought she heard her sweet daughter say. “No Phoebe, you’re a nice girl!” she replied. “No Mommy, I’m a MIRACLE!” Phoebe said. “I’m a MIRACLE.” Amey burst into tears. She was sure her 2-year old didn’t even know what that meant. She was also sure, it came from God.
Today, a mother is praying for her little girl’s recovery. Today, a little girl fights for her life. Today, someone faces something much more serious than an unpleasant and uncomfortable bus trip. I am ashamed that I so easily fell off track. I am grateful that my friend Karyn pointed me back in the right direction.
Today, I am blessed.
