I’ve been needing some new tennis shoes. I walk almost every morning and my old pair are way past being suitable for public. In fact, they’re about four years old. I won them in a contest through New Balance when … Continue reading →
I’ve been busy. Blessedly busy. Busier than I thought I’d be. Too busy to worry much about not being busy.
In the past month or so, I’ve been paid to: write a tutorial about backyard chicken coops and create a corresponding video (we’ve got chickens now, y’all!), same thing with a biodome greenhouse, write web content for a wedding favors website, and post on a forum dedicated to family camping. Tonight, I was contacted by a repeat client I’ve been working with since March with the opportunity to work with him on the largest project I’ve tackled yet. Thankfully, he accepted my bid and I’ve now got work lined up through the end of January. I’m in awe of how this opportunity has been laid in front of me, how my husband initiated and encouraged my desire to work at home, how God has blessed me with business.
This showed up on my Facebook feed today, anonymously, of course…
“Poor doesn’t mean dirty. Poor doesn’t mean stupid. Poor doesn’t mean depressed.”
By many people’s standards, Cody and I are poor. By many others’, we are rich beyond our wildest dreams. Poverty is a relative concept. These words made me think about stewardship, about doing the best we can with what we’ve got. When I encounter others, my goal is to prevent them from making an immediate judgement about our financial situation based upon their first impression of me. My countenance, attitude, intelligence, and demeanor should not be influenced by the number of digits in my savings account.
I’ve got a curled-up cat beside me, another making racket in the bedroom, and a silly puppy-dog bounding across the strip of yard I see out of the window to my right. My home is quiet, not even the fans are whirling away on this uncharacteristically cool afternoon. Some cider-smelling oil in a glowing burner is sending whirls of October into the air. My bed is made, my laundry folded, my dishes washed, my floors swept. Pork chops are thawed and ready to be slathered with my husband’s special request of honey and mustard, not honey-mustard. I’ve worked all day in peace, talking little, thinking much. Oh, what a marvelous place my home is.