That's been one of the most difficult things about the past few years. It doesn't matter where I've gotten to, what I've gained in emotional or material items. Everything goes away, and I have to settle for the lowest possible everything--the cheapest food, the most miles between oil changes on my car, the free clinic instead of my own GP. The list goes on for miles.
But it occurred to me today that I'm looking at this wrong. If it's true that God loves us for who we are, for just existing, because He made us and said, "This is good," then it doesn't matter whether I am the most loving person in L.A., or the most creative. It doesn't matter whether I write fanfic or a new TV show or a blog post or nothing at all.
Survival itself, all the fiddly little things I've had to do and come up with and twist around to make things half-way work, is of value. The fact that I am surviving pleases God and makes Him proud of me. Because I am, He loves me; and because I continue to be, using my guts and my wits and my desperation, He loves me, dare I say it, even more.
(Don't get theological on me for that last sentence, please. I know exactly what I said; it's what I feel right now.)