It sounds dramatic, doesn’t it? “I’ve been given an ultimatum.”
But really, it’s more of an invitation from our Trustees. The carpet in the parsonage has reached the end of its useful life. Recently we discovered beautiful hardwood floors hiding underneath. Instead of replacing the carpet, we’ve opted to refinish the floors.
There’s only one catch: it’s hard to live in a house when your bedrooms and bathrooms are off-limits for several days. So, the Trustees have issued their “ultimatum” that we have to go somewhere for a few weeks. They didn’t have to twist my arm at all.
As I stared at that worn carpet, I started thinking about what lies beneath. Sometimes what’s underneath our well-worn routines, our habits, our busyness, our worry and it turns out to be something far more beautiful than we imagined. But to see it, something must be pulled up, sanded down, and restored. Maybe that’s what God does in us. Sometimes grace begins with disruption.
For years, especially when our girls were small, Meghan and I worked long hours. She as a hospice social worker, me as a pastor. We often talked about how, when people tell the story of their lives, work rarely takes center stage. In those sacred end-of-life conversations we have with families, what rises to the surface are memories of holidays, laughter, road trips, moments of forgiveness or joy.
So, in 2019, we made a change. We rearranged our professional lives to create more space for memory-making, while the girls are still home. We wanted to see the national parks together. To show them Joshua trees and glaciers while they still exist so that one day they could tell their grandchildren children, “I remember what a glacier looked like. Your great-grandparents took us to see Joshua Trees.”
That’s how the great Hamilton family road-tripping tradition began. With our little pop-up camper, we’ve traveled thousands of miles and spent nights under desert stars, Yosemite’s granite wall, and in redwood canopies that look like Jurassic Park. There’s a holiness to those miles. The long talks, the quiet hours, the shared playlists, and the hummus eaten on the side of the road.
Sometimes I wonder how the Israelites made their journey without Google Maps.
Now, with the parsonage floors about to be renewed, we’re planning another adventure. The states still left on our list are Alaska, Hawaii, Washington, and Delaware. Maybe we’ll head north to Alaska and Washington. Maybe we’ll go east or wherever the Spirit (and maybe good airfare) leads. The point isn’t where. It’s that we go.
Before our first big trip, as we pulled out of the driveway, I turned to the girls and said, “We’re going on this trip so you’ll have stories to tell at our funeral. So take good notes.”
Maybe that’s the heart of this whole ultimatum. It’s an invitation to uncover what’s beautiful beneath the carpet of routine. To let God refinish something in us. To live in such a way that we have stories worth telling, the kind that don’t need to be written down because they’re engraved on our hearts.
The Apostle Paul once wrote, “We are God’s workmanship” (Ephesians 2:10). That word can also mean “handiwork,” like a craftsman restoring something precious. Maybe we’re all a little like those hardwood floors: scuffed, covered, and waiting for someone to draw out the beauty God always knew was there.
So, here’s to saying yes to the invitation. To disruption that makes room for grace. To the Spirit’s sanding and shining. To stories that will outlast the work itself. Sometimes the ultimatum is just this: Take the trip. Make memories. Let God refinish what’s underneath. I’ll keep you posted on what we decide.
Grace and Peace,
PS – If anyone has driven to Alaska and back, or just road tripped through Alaska, reach out. I have questions.