I am not homeless, so I can not ever really know what it means to be homeless until I actually am homeless. My "starter" home is larger than the multi-family homes shared by most of the world's population. It has electricity and heated, running water. And I have decorated it with many beautiful, yet pointless, thing (some of which I change seasonally). I can't begin to understand what it means to be homeless.

When Adam brought this book to our Bible study we flipped through the pages of the activities. One of the activities we turned to was "sleep on the floor for a week". Immediately, I spoke without thinking- which happens way too often. Before I even realized it, the words "I am not doing that one" came pouring out of my mouth. That was the moment I realized that is exactly "the one" I needed to do.

I need to tell you just how much I love my bed. My husband and I purchased it together shortly before getting married and moving into our home. Now that I think about it, it might be the first thing we bought for our house. It is so big- the extra dollars for the king-size was totally worth it. And it is so comfortable. It has a pillow-top and in the winter we sleep under a down comforter. It is the one material possession my husband and I long for when we have traveled out west. You know that commercial of the couple that returns home from vacation and falls face down into their bed and begins mumbling things into the mattress like "I love you. I am so sorry. I'll never leave you again." Yeah, I've done that before with this bed.

So deciding to sleep on the floor was not a decision that I made willingly, but one I felt convicted to make.

In the week leading up to sleeping on the floor I thought about it occasionally, but usually that was with a feeling of "wow look how sacrificial I am giving up my bed for a week" or "want this be a cool conversation starter" when I tell my co-workers what I am doing.

Then last night as bible study when we were trying to decide which activity we would be doing, I proudly announced "I will be sleeping on the floor". As soon as I said it, I regretted the words coming out of my mouth. A week at the beach seems like such a short time, but a week sleeping on the floor seems like an eternity. So I start to think things like, well if it is just terrible I'll go get in my bed. And "I am definitely sleeping near a heating vent." And "well since we have hard-wood floors it is okay to put down a couple layers for padding." And boy did I pad it. My "floor-bed" was made up of 2 sleeping bags, 3 blankets, 3 bed pillows, and a small couch pillow (in case I needed to put something under my hip in the middle of the night.) I don't think that is exactly what the average homeless guy/gal is sleeping on.

But how was it? Well it was not as bad as I was dreading. And I was really dreading it. I couldn't shake that memory of the last youth lock-in I had chaperoned where I tossed and turn and slept a total of 2 hours. I vowed to try sleeping on our "floor/bed" one night, and if that went really bad then I would take a benadryll the next night. But it has only been one night. Ask me again on the 6th night. And I do this knowing that on the 8th night I will be back in my own bed. Perhaps I will be more grateful, but in time I fear that will wear off. Not to mention the fact that at any point in time in this experiment, I can just walk into my bedroom and curl up in my own bed.

You see... I am not homeless, and I can not ever really know what it means to be homeless until I am homeless.