Contentment makes poor men rich.
The buttercrunch lettuce in the garden went to seed, so early this morning I tugged it up, snipped off some of the flowering shoots, and vased them. The creamy/plum blossoms greened up my bedroom, which gets the softest, buttery light in the morning.
Last summer in Colorado, Millie and I would take our morning walk up the river. Each time I'd quickly pluck a stone from the bitter-cold rushing water and slip it in my pocket. Once in the cabin, I piled them in a glass bowl - a daily reminder that each day is precious. Today I have those river-smoothed stones scattered across my bedroom mantle - still a daily reminder that each day is precious.
Ultimately, when the fireplace is added back to this room, I want all my stones cemented around the opening. Until then, I'm content with rearranging them on the mantle shelf.
Content. Hmm. You know, I have never been as broke as I am today. But I've never been as content, either. Turns out that being satisfied with what God gives really does make a poor girl rich....