When I was young, I proclaimed I would live in a certain community until I died. But, eighteen years later, I was driving a 24-foot moving truck 300 miles to a new destination and a new life. No job, no house; just my family and our stuff. My entire adult life had been spent in the community, with no worries about salaries or car payments or insurance or even daily meals; I was "free to serve" and free of the mundane horrors of middle-class American existence. Now I was face-to-face with those horrors, and there was nobody there to take care of them but me. And I didn't have a clue what to do.