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We picked it up from our very generous friends, and started with what I can only describe as the kind of sentence you want to hear before a 1,600+ mile journey:

> “It’s a good, solid engine. Keep up on oil changes and you’ve got another half million miles in it.”

So technically, we’re just getting started. 😅

Then came the “however” portion of the conversation… followed by a list. A long list. The kind of list where you nod slowly and say, “Mm-hmm,” while mentally listing off expletives.

The most pressing item: new front tires. The tread looks great — but the sidewall cracking tells a different story. Apparently tires prefer not to explode on highways, so we’ll hopefully be replacing those before we head out.

There was also another little nugget of information that may add a day or two to our drive… but I’ll save that story for after we arrive safely. Some suspense keeps life interesting.

All things considered though? The bus runs well. I was able to load up our first round of belongings, which made everything feel very real.

Tomorrow morning will consist of unloading our unfortunate abundance of “why do we own this?” into a dumpster… followed by more loading of the bus. Downsizing is an emotional, and spiritual practice apparently.

It’s a strange mix of the feels right now. I just closed a 4+ year chapter working alongside some truly incredible people. It’s still settling in that I don’t work there anymore. That season is finished. This next one is officially beginning — equal parts exciting and humbling.

I’ve been in seasons where I’ve been able to give to friends in need. I’ve subscribed to artist friends’ Patreons. I know what it feels like to quietly support someone stepping into something new.

If you’ve been cheering us on and wondering how to help in a practical way, we do have a page set up here:

gofund.me/e6b2e6bb4

But more than anything, your encouragement, prayers, and steady presence here mean the world to us.

Onward. Half a million miles to go.. Likely not even close to that on the bus, but our new lifestyle will definitely wear through many pairs of shoes.

There’s something surreal about watching the pieces of your new life arrive in cardboard boxes.

We’ve officially entered the “order it now while we still have an address” phase. It feels strategic… and slightly chaotic. But mostly strategic. 😊

Our Starlink showed up first — still sitting in its box like a promise of wide open skies and signal bars in the middle of nowhere. We don’t need satellite internet here in rural Iowa just yet, so it waits patiently. But knowing we’ll be able to connect from wherever we land? That feels grounding.

Last week our solar-powered battery generator arrived. I’ve been putting it to work immediately — running my home office and computer setup, cycling it down and charging it back up to strengthen the lithium batteries. It feels good to use it intentionally now instead of waiting for “someday.” Every discharge and recharge feels like practice for the life ahead.

Saturday was a big one: our 23-foot bell tent arrived.

This tent will be home while we renovate the bus and begin building what comes next. It’s strange and beautiful to look at something and think, Our family will live inside that. There’s excitement in that thought… and a healthy dose of humility too.

And today, the final “must-have” arrived — our compost toilet and sink.

With that delivery, we officially have the core necessities covered. Shelter. Power. Sanitation. Internet. The baseline of modern life, just reimagined in a more intentional way.

It’s wild how different “needs” feel when you strip everything back. We’re not collecting comforts — we’re building infrastructure. Piece by piece. Box by box.

There’s still so much work ahead. The bus renovation. The land. The unknowns. But standing in a room surrounded by stacked deliveries, I don’t feel overwhelmed.

I feel like we’re preparing.

Thank you for being here as we gather the essentials and step closer to the edge of this next chapter. Your encouragement makes this transition feel less like a leap and more like a journey we’re walking together.

More soon.

In a way that feels both heavy and deeply affirming.

First, a small miracle worth celebrating: a friend’s 14-year-old son was able to diagnose and fix our KIA Sorento when multiple shops wouldn’t even consider touching it because… KIA. Watching curiosity, confidence, and problem-solving win where systems and policies wouldn’t was humbling and honestly hopeful. Sometimes the help you need doesn’t come from where you expect.

Downsizing, though—whew. That part has been hard. Anxiety and overwhelm creep in fast when you’re deciding what parts of your life fit into the next chapter and what has to be released. I’m learning that struggle doesn’t mean “wrong,” it just means human.

We’re also entering our final week of full-time employment, and that reality is incredibly bittersweet. I’ve loved my job, the people I work with, and the healthcare space I’ve been honored to market in. That hospital trusted me, shaped me, and gave me purpose for a season—and I’ll always be grateful for that chapter, and even cherish the human connections made.

On the practical side, momentum is real. We’ve received our Starlink and our 23’ bell tent, and our compost toilet arrives this week. Some things had to be ordered early simply because very soon… we won’t have a traditional address to ship to. It’s surreal watching the vision turn into physical objects.

What’s been especially wild is hearing people’s reactions to all of this.

Some are overwhelmingly supportive, excited, and genuinely curious to follow along. Others zoom straight to the worst-case scenarios—the what-ifs, the doubts, the warnings—almost as if discouragement is a reflex. I’ve realized that someone choosing a path outside the familiar “system” can make people deeply uncomfortable. Not because it’s wrong… but because it challenges the boundaries of their own box.

Yes, there are risks.
Yes, this could fail spectacularly.
Yes, I am concerned about our future.

And no—I’m not changing my mind. I’m not meticulously optimizing every object, every shelf, every hypothetical $20 item that might sell if I spent my time negotiating with strangers online. This season requires movement, not perfection.

What keeps echoing for me is this:
I’ve spent a lifetime being told to “follow your dreams” and “let God guide you.” But the moment I actually walk a path that feels like a higher calling, suddenly I’m doing it “wrong.” Suddenly I’m expected to conform to closed-minded interpretations, fear-based caution, and submissive ideologies that contradict the very teachings they claim to uphold.

There is so much more to life.

And maybe—according to scriptures edited, filtered, and politicized over centuries—heaven isn’t a destination at all. Maybe it’s something we cultivate here. A journey we choose to participate in now. Maybe there’s an afterlife… but first, we are meant to live this one fully, presently, courageously.

Thank you for being here. Truly.
Your presence matters more than you probably realize.

—Brady