I’ve spent the past year being homeless and along the way rediscovered myself. Twelve months ago I never expected to have an abundant life. Not abundant in financial riches but a life filled with richness.

The original intent was to let go of the things that stand between us and true fulfillment in our lives. The stuff that takes us away from walking humbly with God. The stuff that distracts us from loving God and loving our neighbors.

Along the way I encountered a group of homeless; people living right under our nose but we seldom see them. This story became theirs. I am now blessed with many new friends, a deep abiding faith, happiness, a sense of fulfillment, a job that I love and a life of purpose. I invite you to join me on a yearlong journey of letting go. I hope my story transcends the dots and the spaces between the words on this page and into your life; an abundant life. Just let go, slow down and listen; that’s when God comes down.

The rest stop
After a week of living on the Mississippi River tonight I am heading to a rest stop area just inside the Minnesota border from Wisconsin to try sleeping in my car. As I pull up through the first row of cars and turn into the second row, which has parking on both sides. There are six cars parked in front of the restrooms, but only two in this back parking area. There are signs that the maximum stay at the rest stop is six hours. Am I going to be charged with vagrancy for sleeping in my car? I look like a vagrant with my belongings spilled over into every crevice of my vehicle.

As I try to get some rest, the light shining from the street lamp is virtually impossible to block out. Finding a comfortable way to sleep in a car is difficult at best. I am tossing and turning without much success drifting in and out of sleep. After two hours of trying to sleep in the backseat, stretching out in front, putting my feet up on the dashboard, nothing seems to help. Sleep is coming fitfully tonight; I miss my tent.

Minnesota summer brings two things that can make nighttime miserable; humidity and mosquitos. Solving the mosquito problem is easy. Just keep the windows rolled up, but that makes the humidity cling to the inside of the car like a strait jacket at a mental institution. By morning I am not only a candidate for a chiropractic adjustment but am dripping wet from sweat.
At least I am mosquito bite free. The knot in my back feels like someone had a large rock and has been hitting me with it all night. A slight throbbing between my ears verifies that I am a mess of twisted bones.

It is five a.m. as I crawl out of my car, I am stunned at the array of cars around me. “Oh my God, I say to myself; I am certainly not unique.” I count twenty-one cars parked around me in the rest stop. They are better prepared than I am, with window deflectors or towels blocking out the ceaseless stream of light from the street lamps. The mobile homeless, I think to myself. They may not have a choice to live anywhere other than their cars. At least mine is a choice to be there and I have plenty of fall back options if this doesn’t work out.

Pulling out Twopan, my two burner stove, I start a pot of coffee. As the coffee is warming my mind is pondering how to meet some of these fellow travelers. Wouldn’t it be fun inviting people for coffee, pancakes and eggs as a way to meet some of my new neighbors, I think to myself. Since I don’t have enough food this morning I walked around the cars taking down license plate numbers and the type of car. Maybe at a later date I could see how many are regular visitors. Just then a four door Chevy Malibu pulls up next to me and a man steps out.

“Why you taking down license plate’s man,” he asks?
“Sorry,” I said, as I introduce myself. “I’m Bob. I just thought it would be fun the next time I’m here to invite others for a breakfast,” as I pointed to my tiny spread on the picnic table. A four cup coffee pot doesn’t look like a person that is going to host a breakfast. I turn back to the man and hold out my hand, asking, “What is your name.”
“I’m Hector, you must be loco. I don’t want you taking down my license.”
“Sorry,” I reply. “Can I get you some coffee,” I ask?
“No thanks, just don’t want you taking down our license,” he repeated.
We chat for a brief moment as he gives me the once over. Hector is a handsome looking man and cleanly dressed for this time of morning. Not a single strand of black hair looked out of place on him. I discover that Hector recently lost his job and as a result he and his wife, Maria have lost their apartment. He is looking for work.
No different than I, Hector is a bit paranoid of having someone kick us out of the safety of parking in a rest area. I understand his concern. Some cities have vagrancy laws that apply to people living in cars. While truckers often sleep in their rigs overnight I am not sure that sleeping in your car is a legal activity. I feel like the most naive person on the face of the earth, but this is all new to me.