Back to the plough
Shortly after my last post, I gave up training for a job which could have earned us the extra money we so desperately needed. What, am I mad? Yes.Probably.
Four hours a day training meant I hadn't time to keep up the garden, milk the goats, take care of the house or support the children fully. That's reason number three. Neil wasn't at all convinced the whole scheme was a good idea, and wanted me to focus more on getting the family business up and running. Reason two.
Reason one? Praying about it all week, and feeling totally not led and totally in the dark - I was very concerned about the nature of the work. Working inbound calls on home shopping doesn't sound too bad at first - after all, they 're calling you, right? They want to make the purchase.
True. However, the target audience is neither the wealthiest nor yet the most savvy. And the compulsory pushing of extra items drives up the bill quite quickly. And then comes the killer - cut the payments, extend the term, and accept the high interest credit deal. As someone who has suffered, long and hard, and is still suffering, from falling into just such a trap - Oh boy, it didn't feel good. But we have bills to pay, right? And needs must ... I'm not going to finish that sentence, but you know how it ends.
On Thursday, I opened my Bible to the readings on my calendar. And there, in Isaiah 48 only on that day in big sparkly letters standing out from the rest of the page were the words:
GET OUT OF BABYLON.
If you're of the not christian persuasion, you may want to skip this bit, but fellow believers I'm sure you've had the days when a phrase or verse takes on that sparkly neon characterstic, and you sit down rather hard and think. OH.
Just in case I hadn't quite got it, the day's other Rev 18 did a quick rundown for me on the whole Babylon thing.
So. After some consultation, on Friday, I stopped. And forfeited a certain amount of money invested, and some time, and the chance of a bonus for completing the course, and a way to make money not from the farm.
Now I'm a bit cast down. After a day or two of euphoria, the reality set in - the only chance I've had in over a decade to add to the family budget, and I've just given up on it. It's the harsh part of living half the life - my children aren't homeschooled any more, and I can't use that as the reason for my being. I have to contribute. Somehow.
The impetus I'd felt to get the gardens under way, and get the grant applications in and the courses organised suddenly deserted me. I spent yesterday cleaning upstairs. When I was tied to a desk for four hours a day, the chance to get into the gardens and work was precious, and I was working on admin late into the night. Take away the restrictions, and suddenly I can't work.
Sometimes that's how it is. But this morning, reading Bethany Vaughan's great post about despair in the garden, I have pulled myself up again. I've been letting the weeds in- not just out there in the veg plot, but in here, around my heart. Rooting them out is hard, back breaking work, but the benefits are great.
The work will be therapeutic. In my heart, I know the real battle is to choose to be content. To look at all the incredible blessings we have, to go out among them, and to choose to accept and glory in them.
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