A Temporary Home

After I got my new job, I was excited at the thought of getting back on my feet and moving into my own apartment. I was staying with a friend when I was hired and had quite a commute to get back and forth to work.

 

I had to leave the apartment by 5 am, walk 40 minutes to the bus stop, take 2 busses and travel 2.5 hours every morning, not to mention the commute back every night. I would return to my friends' apartment around 7:45pm. I would rush to shower, eat and be in bed by 8:30 pm preparing to wake up at 4am and be out the door by 5am the next day.

 

The commute was very time consuming and didn't allow time for any extra corricular activities. I no longer had time for exercise or meditation, for ministry or to spend time with my family and/or friends. All I had time for was commuting and working. I'm not complaining, I'm very thankful I got the new job. I'm just saying....

 

After about a month of the treacherous commute, I was finally able to move a little closer to work. I didn't exactly move into an apartment, though. Instead, I was led to move into a hotel.

 

The move to the hotel cut down my commute by 2 hours. There is a bus stop near the front of the hotel and the bus picks up every morning at around 7:10am. The bus stop near my work is about a block away from my building and I am usually off the bus by 7:25am and at my desk by about 7:30am, unless I stop at the neighborhood deli for breakfast.

 

The move to the hotel has allowed me more time to rest and do other things like write, read, participate in ministry and spend more time with God.

 

The hotel is one of those extended-stay types and the room comes equipped with a mini kitchen, a bathroom and a bed. There is a television, a small closet area and a table perfect for eating and writing.

 

I dare not call the hotel home. It is cramped with my belongings and there's so little storage space that I have bags and boxes stacked in corners and hidden under the bed. I'm living out of suitcases and gym bags and all of my clothes are wrinkled beyond recognition. The hotel is expensive, cramped, and the walls are thin. The kitchen is small, it doesnt have an oven, and the toilet runs.

 

As I complain about everything the hotel is not, I can't help but notice every thing that it is. It's dry and safe. I have a place to get out of the rain and lay my head at night. It's cool, comfortable, and useful. I sleep well at night and I'm able to cook healthy and delicious meals for myself.

 

And as far as it being expensive... well, I recall just a few months ago when I didn't have the money to buy anything at all. I'm thankful. Staying in the hotel may not be home, but it was what I needed, when I needed it. Now, I'm prepared to move forward into my new place. A place to call my own.