The Bigger Picture

Sam and I took Grampa up to the Monterey Bay area to see Stepdaughter #3 at her boarding school. It sits right on the ocean and is a wonderfully scenic place.
As we drove into the valley on the edge of the ocean, we could only see fields of long ridges of plastic covered mounds full of strawberry plants. It was the most scenic thing: fields of these beautiful green plants full of ripe berries, and low lying fog clouds joining earth with sky.
We walked on the beach Saturday afternoon, Grampa holding Stepdaughter's hand to keep from falling. She was absolutely wonderful to him: so tender and attentive to his needs. At one point, while he was making a point to Sam in his Ricky Ricardo accent, Stepdaughter turned toward me and mouthed, "He's so cute!"
But in addition to the heartwarming experience of being together as a family, what really spoke to me was the beauty of that part of the world. Northern California, especially out on the Coast, is gorgeous. It is misty in the mornings and beautiful flowers grow everywhere. The trees are so green and nice, and the soil is loamy, dark, and fertile. There are four seasons there that are distinctly different from one another, unlike in the South where we live. As we drove through fields of frizzy topped, silvery-green artichokes, I felt an old familiar longing.
Years ago, I had two friends whom I visited outside of Napa where they lived. One was in school back in the early 80s and the other taught up there in the 90s. I always looked forward to going up there because it had such a different culture and the people were different from the people down here. They seemed more earnest and intent on being who they were, having little concern about how Hollywood thought they should look or act. There is a decided back-to-nature feeling about areas up that way. You see a lot more people wearing natural fabrics, wearing Birkenstocks, and eschewing makeup. But more than the people being different and more accessible, it has always been the countryside that has made me feel at home. For several years I tried every way I could think of to scout out a good job for myself up there. But I was interested in going back to school and nothing really panned out. I even indicated interest in a family ministry position at a big church on a college campus. No, I didn't get it and that was a real blow. As I would drive out of Napa Valley, past an old, huge Sycamore tree in the median, I would pray that God would somehow allow me to live up there. I really hated southern California and wanted to get out of here in the worst way.
I reflected on this from my backseat vantage point in the car on our drive through farmer's fields on Saturday. Funny, but although I still feel longing for that part of the world, I have to admit that there is no place where I feel a better fit, greater sense of purpose, or fulfillment in God's leading than right here in smoggy, overpopulated, hot, gang-infested, earthquake-ridden Southern California. And it struck me: a person can be in the worst place on earth and feel satisfaction and gratefulness that they are right where God wants them to be--and that can be enough.
Sunday afternoon we drove back into our town. It was 95 degrees and miserable outside. The hills outside our window look like (as my mother says) "they need a good long drink." You have to water everything to get any green, or else it's all dead looking. But I am happy here because there is a bigger picture and plan that makes sense of the fact that I don't get to live in a prettier place. It's at least not Blythe, Needles, or Yuma! And I haven't been asked by God to go to the Sahara or North Pole or some other uninhabitable place.
His will is amazing--as is His sustaining grace. I have not tired of thanking God for bringing me to this place.