Blessed are the Poor (in spirit)

Most of you know that we moved from Bend in October to California, where Chris and I have our roots deeply in the heart of the Central Coast. We had been residing in Bend, Oregon for around 8 years until this recent transition. We live on a country road about 6 miles outside of a little village town and about 8 miles away from the ocean. If we climb the semi-steep road to the end of our road, which dead-ends at a ranch, we can see all the way down to the sea, and the sunsets are exquisite. It has rained quite a lot since we moved here, causing the rolling mountains surrounding us to be carpeted with the prettiest green everywhere, and soon the wildflowers will peek their heads out as well, making it like a fairytale land.
Though that makes it sound close to perfect, and we feel extremely blessed to be able to dwell in such a gorgeous, fruitful place, it does not come without it's challenges. California is super expensive and it is a miracle we are surviving financially. Chris ended up with a job down the street from our house about 4 miles, at a surgical center cleaning the medical instruments for meager pay. I stay at home still; though most days do not come without some form of guilt on my end to not be out helping to bring in some wages; homeschooling our three delightful, rambunctious children and cleaning the house that never gets clean due to all the country dust! ha.. We have one closet for a family of 5, and one bathroom which surprisingly works out decently most days. There is absolutely no room for clutter or extra objects at all, which really suits me fine. We live a very simplistic life, mainly happy and uneventful. It is interesting as you go along in life what becomes cherished in your heart. To me, as long as my marriage is thriving, my children fed, healthy and clothed, and food in our bellies, it is well with my soul. Even if those things weren't perfect, it would still be well with my soul though, because I have Jesus, and He fills me with peace and love and the beauty no other thing can, not even my dear family.
I am learning the art of dwelling in community, as an entire large family lives upstairs from us. We share meals often with each other, drive each other around, do things together, and are actually having a worship and prayer night coming up soon with some other families coming as well.
Chris is scheduled to play the banjo on the worship team this weekend, which is a first in many months, Should be interesting and perhaps even fun for him.
We are all learning how to die to ourselves. It is an ongoing and priceless process. I want nothing more than to glorify my Heavenly Father. All else falls to the wayside.
Outsiders may look at our setup and think we are poor. But I feel rich in so many ways. And that alone is proof that God is at work in me.....
I am so thankful for everything in my life. I feel like life is too short and I am getting older rapidly, but there is also beauty in the aging process, especially the wisdom we learn as we grow in experience. I long to find joy in today, and I feel I have been more and more. I see more art and beauty in my days. I sense God's direction stronger, and the things that used to bring anger and rage to me now falls off of me much quicker than ever before. My main incentive is to grasp life as it comes, not looking back in nostalgia or anxiously awaiting the future with what if's, but simply enjoying my daily bread. Being thankful deeply and sincerely for those things which are of the most importance: God, family, friends & relationships, nature, unity, keeping your eyes and ears open to the Spirit's perspective and leading, and knowing you are rich when "things" are scant. "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."

what is your worth?

Last night I was feeling tremendously sorry for myself once again, that the only 2 or 3 people who seem to read my blog are my mom and my mother-in-law and a couple others, and my husband who probably feels forced to read it due to guilt. I was feeling sorry for myself that I am nearing my 35th birthday and I have very few items of success to mark my life in any large way. (aside from my marriage which I am content in and my 3 beautiful children that I helped make, that is). I was weeping over the thought that the one thing I love to do, passionately, will be done in such inept and pathetic levels as this blog has done. I was feeling that my life was a stunted failure, a wasted attempt. It was the strangest and most consuming, real feeling that left me raw and speechless and alone.

Who is this girl? How do others see me? I am genuinely intrigued. Am I seen as I myself see me? I am a very harsh critic and in the mirror often what is reflected back to my perspective is an okay looking woman with deepening smile and frown lines, big teeth and an imperfect body. A mind that not many see or take the time to see. A wife of someone who gets a lot of attention because of his talents..and here I am in the shadows. 

I started to envision in my mind, a perfect line of planters in a window box. Each pot was filled heartily with soil, some rich and dark and others dry. All of them were getting ready to sprout something from the soil. Some sprung up with beautiful lavender, canary yellow, or bright red flowers, which took over the planter with vibrant color and beauty which caused delight to the eyes to see. I immediately wanted to be one of the planters which held these luscious flowers in them, because they were pretty and everyone wanted to look at them. They brought immediate, external pleasure, and it seemed to me that this would be the favored way to be.

Some of the planters sprung up with weeds and I knew I didn't want to be those ones. Others remained empty. I knew instinctively that though I desired to be one of the ones that held the flowers, I was one of the ones with nothing to show yet in it. It grieved me deeply, and I wanted to cry, until I started hearing consoling words in my mind. "There is much beneath the soil that cannot be seen yet." 

It is not much consolation, but it is something. Maybe nothing. Maybe someday. I know that one time I recall hearing the Lord tell me I was His swan. He said I was a late bloomer. I will hold on to that.

In the mean time I pray that I will find peace in the life of a quiet observer and supporter of my husband and my kids, and I will never, ever stop writing. It is what I know. It is what I love. And someday, I WILL write books and they will be published. Even if I am 90 when it happens.