October 4-Moving Inland

"Our ugliness is rawboned, useful, natural and honest. Our beauty is accidental, untampered with, often breathtaking."

Betty MacDonald, "Onions In The Stew"

I was disappointed. Rental properties were limited and this was the only home with four bedrooms. My view of the water was gone. Instead I was nestled into the wildness of trees and bushes. Behind me were five acres of untamed woods. We prayed to stay on the island. The answer came through a very kind and humble landlord who felt he wanted children in his home. But, I was disappointed. I needed two bathrooms. I needed a dishwasher. I needed a family room. I needed a white-picket fence. 

Colored pencils by Gabriele 

Needs and wants get confused. Intermarried in these feelings are ego and pride. 

“A Native American wisdom story tells of an old Cherokee who is teaching his grandson about life. 'A fight is going on inside me,' he said to the boy. 'It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil—he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. The other is good—he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you—and inside every other person, too.' The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, 'Which wolf will win?' The old Cherokee simply replied, 'The one you feed." 
Kristen Neff



What did I receive from this house? I received location. Location, location,location is what real estate and developers value. I didn't fully appreciate my prime location. 
The benefits of living inland became more apparent as time went on. My business benefited from being accessible to town. When lacking a car, walking was possible. Schools were within walking distance. When electricity was lost we went back on the grid much sooner than out of town areas. I learned to be grateful. I still had to make fires, but they were cozy and we gathered around together talking. My dishwashers were plural, often unwilling. My white picket fence became a ginormous rhododendron tree, blood red, like the driveway to Manderley in the book "Rebecca" by Daphne Du Maurier.
  
We stayed. In fact we are still here today, twenty-nine years later. And that kind landlord is still our landlord. As I type this, I feel the warm wash of shame. Let me explain what I mean. I use the definition of shame by Brené Brown. Shame and guilt are different. Guilt involves wrong doing while shame is the wash of "not good enough" that swirls over us when we catch a glimpse of how others view us in a certain situation. I am a renter. We have never owned a home. Yes, we could have purchased a home and perhaps almost had it paid for by now. Yet, the opportunity was never right. That kind landlord kept our rent below the cost of a mortgage. I have not achieved the "American Dream". Instead we have poured our money, time and energy into our children. 

I don't intend to sound like we made a more noble choice than others. I honestly don't know if all our choices were ideal or easy for our family. But, I do know I consulted a loving Heavenly Father on each fork in the road. I would have followed another road had he prompted us. As I look around at my surroundings I feel we have been good stewards. We cared for this home because we loved here. We loved each other and we loved our island life. 

I am writing for 31 days this October about Island Life. Click here to see the other days of writing.