chronicle of a downward spiral

well folks, we've reached the end of the road. the last of our horded resources. i hope as annie johnson flint's poem says, the Father's full giving has only begun, because we are pretty well sunk.

a dear friend asked, is it really that bad?

well, when you can only find day jobs and some contracts for short periods of time, nothing only goes so far. it has gone pretty far, in my opinion.

i think of one of my favorite movies, out of africa.

karen blixen (who wrote of herself under the penname isak dinesen) was sitting watching her coffee factory go up like a sweet smelling sacrifice. walking arm in arm with a dear friend, Dee, she says, God gave me my best crop, then took it back.

what will you do? dee asks.

after my rummage sale, leave. the baronness is broke dee.

did you have insurance?

insurance is for pessimists. would you like some tea? we're just out of coffee.


at the end of the rummage sale, sitting in her empty house, listening to mozart and smoking a cigarette, she inhales deeply, as denys finch hatton walks in, her estranged lover.

have you had dinner?

yes.

a servant in white gloves walks over and pours a drink, karen pulls the gloves off his hands and he smiles.

this was not a very good idea, she says.

looking around at her empty house, through wafts of rising smoke, she says, we should have had it this way all along.

oh, i don't know. i was beginning to like your stuff. minimalist denys replies.

you know what i do when it gets real bad?

what?

i try to make it worse. would you like to help me?

yes.

i remember barkley (a deceased mutual friend), and the camp by the river (you'll have to see the movie!), ... and when i think i can't stand it any longer, i go one minute more. then i know i can stand anything. would you like to dance with me?


moral of this story: there is nothing can be done to change the way things happen. nothing i can do to alter my fate in these circumstances. all i can do is hope in God. i told renee last night, when i get scared, i say, i am scared God, but i choose to trust You. renee says she tries not to think about what might happen. i say, i know baby. i know. but think of all the adventures we'll have and all the new people we'll meet.

some part of me hopes again. if we lose this place, maybe i can finally return to school and get some married housing and finish my degrees. maybe. maybe we can roam the country for a while as curriculum salespeople for homeschool fares. that would be wonderful. selling everything and living as minimalists. what a dream indeed.

it simply requires the willingness to let go of what i know. what is familiar. what rings out to me as security. it requires me to trust in the Bible to be infallible and that Romans 8:28 is actually true. some good will come of this. i know it will. if i only, just believe.