The other side of the coin:
I don’t have the things I want in life, but I do have the things I need.
(I am constantly surprised by the many ways in which needs are met – thankfully, very little has gone according to plan.)
I want to be settled in my poverty, not constantly flailing about as if I were drowning in it.
(While I never would have chosen this desert life, it is giving me the time to unwind the knots in my soul.)
I know that being poor is not a state of being, rather it’s a state of mind.
(The battle waged most heavily these last two years has been profoundly mental. Some days I win and some days I lose.)
Blessed are the poor in spirit.
(Even though this statement carries a ton of historical baggage for me, I have gained a deeper understanding of the dichotomy between desperation and hope embedded within it. There have been days where I've come to the end of myself. Days where there has been no foreseeable way forward. Days that have pressed me down so far that my thoughts and abilities became irrelevant. These days of poverty have been the most powerful and life-giving.)