What am I Worth?

In the past few weeks, I've been shown by employers I'm worth $20, $25, $32, and $37 an hour, either because they paid or offered me that wage. I've also been told by my peers that all of those figures are too low, that I should accept no less than $55, and deserve up to $70, an hour for my writing skills and the strong background I bring to them. Who's right?

Actually, my worth is not determined by the marketplace. Long before I was born, long before any employer considered my worth, God decided I was worth the life of his one and only Son. Even as I struggle to grasp the magnitude of that, I accept that the One who created me knows my true value.

Taking The Road Less Crowded

I drove to work yesterday instead of taking MAX. But, what is an easy 40-minute drive at 6 AM is a two-hour nightmare any afternoon, longer on Friday: I-5 jammed from Wilsonville to to the Interstate Bridge, Hwy 26 creeping from before Sylvan to I-405. I-84 slowed from Lloyd's Center out to I-205. As I listened to the traffic report on this gorgeous afternoon, I began to formulate an idea. Let's see, two plus hours home or less than two hours to the coast. No contest. Go West.

A few minutes this side of 5 PM, I was sitting at a table on Mo's patio at Tolovani with a cup of decaf coffee and a view of Haystack Rock. After a leisurely meal of grilled salmon topped off with Marion berry cobbler, I walked the beach.

Kids making sandcastles, adults sculpting a sand crocodile, dogs chasing balls and each other, couples snuggling, Frisbee players choosing up sides, low-riding bicyclers scurrying like crabs along the water's edge, kites soaring and diving in the wind, horseback riders threading their way through people and pets. Sure beats aggressive drivers trying to bully their way home in hopelessly snarled traffic.

With the sun overhead, the ocean at my feet, and a comfortable breeze at my side, I tried out the folding quad chair I'd gotten as a going-away present. I even tried out my new Phillip Margolin paperback. Ahhhhh... Calling a friend just made them envious.

I watched the ocean— and let it work its endless magic on me— until the sun dropped below the horizon, and then I headed home. I got to Hillsboro in time to see the air show’s fireworks' display and just ahead of the spectator traffic.

How long did it take me to get home Friday night? Much, much longer than two hours, but who's counting?