I was still living in the home that once held our family of five. Rooms were now completely empty, the living room bare and our bedroom was…well…void.
B and his kids had left.
I would collapse at the smallest emotional trigger, a “train-wreck” as some people commonly refer to it. I shed tears daily, sometimes hourly. The failure of my marriage felt catastrophic.
Spiritual questions loomed in my mind. Could I hear the Lord? Where was he in all of this? Wasn’t he here…somewhere? It didn’t feel like it. And if he was, I certainly couldn’t hear him.
I’d been taking steps one-at-a-time for a couple months, but on one particular day, I was told I had to find a new place to live too. I was crushed. Taking the first steps were hard, but having to leave our home, this home we’d bought together, lived in together, made memories in together…the permanence of this step was overwhelming.
I could barely think straight. In fact, all I really knew was that I needed to be in a rental. That was it.
I began the agonizing house hunt. It proved to be problematic.
I wasn’t a teacher anymore. I didn’t have the typical biweekly or monthly income. I had just become a new realtor six months prior. Without a tax return or consistent pay stubs, no landlords were willing to accept us.
None of them.
I stopped being choosy, and began to look at everything, writing every landlord I could, asking if they would make an exception to the rule for “proof of income”.
At one point, I saw a home online and felt an unusual, marked draw to go see it. Odd. It was a Tuesday. I scheduled a showing and as I began to walk each hall of that unoccupied rental, that marked draw grew. I lingered in each quiet room, thinking and praying some too.
I’d found it. This had to be it, the “in between” home for Wes and me. I left, feeling assured that this was the right place for us. I felt the Lord’s draw to it.
I applied immediately.
And they immediately said “no” for the same reason all the other homes did. No proof of income.
I was tired of hearing it. And I felt stupid. Who was I to think I could actually hear God about a house?
The next day, Wednesday, I moved on to the next home. It was nice and close to former neighbors, a big plus for Wes and me. The owner happened to drop by while I was viewing it. I had a long chat with her. A few minutes after we left the home, she texted to let me know she would accept my application! I was excited…for about thirty seconds, until I had the most unpleasant unrest. All afternoon. All evening. It would not leave.
That same Wednesday night I talked to Wes and told him that I didn’t have a peace about that home and that we were going to keep looking.
I remember laying in bed talking to the Lord, “What is happening here, God? We need a place to go. I have to have a home for the two of us to move into. No one is taking us. Why do I have such an uneasiness about this one home?…This is the only one that has accepted us. This doesn’t make any sense.”
The angst was strong enough that I wrote the landlord that same night before bed. I thanked her immensely, but also told her that it didn’t feel like it was the right home for us.
I went to sleep confused.
I woke up Thursday morning again on the house hunt. About mid-morning, I checked my email and found an anointed note in my inbox. “Hi. We’ve changed our minds. We’ve decided to accept you to the home, if you’re still interested?”
This was the home. The one with the draw, the spiritual tap, the divine fingerprint.
There was no explanation of why they “all of the sudden” accepted us. I still had no pay stubs. I still had no tax returns. I still had zero proof of income.
And yet, we had a “yes”. And we had a peace to go with it.
I was still a walking cluster of emotion, packing up each box, tears still drenching the cardboard by day and my pillow each night, still not wanting to leave our beautiful home, not wanting any part of this finality.
But Wes and I moved in a few days later, and while this step was blisteringly ugly, we unpacked each box while clinging to the knowledge that this new home came with a heavenly pulse.
While our home was being torn in two, He was hearing us. When we weren’t sure where to go, He was guiding us. When we thought we couldn’t hear Him, He was speaking in the middle of it all.
Blessed be the name of the Lord.