Learn to worship God as the God who does wonders, who wishes to prove in you that He can do something supernatural and divine.” ~Andrew Murray
“Who do we know that has any money?” My young wife dropped her head and slid into the green vinyl dinette chair, tearing a clump of yellowed foam from a rip in the side.
“No one, I guess.”
“Then what are we going to do? Move back into an apartment?”
I glanced away from her tears, dragging my eyes around the duplex we were renting from a friend. It had started to feel like home.
“Are you sure we can’t squeeze more from our budget?” Her warm, brown eyes repeated the look I’d seen many times in the last month.
“Well, we could take the food stamps; we do qualify. Maybe we should change our minds and sign up. It would save us the amount we need to pay for the rent increase.”
She looked around the duplex as if for the last time. “No. They’re meant for the poor – and we’re not starving. There’s got to be another way.”
I closed the sliding glass door behind me and watched her as she lowered her head. The thin glass separated our prayers.
Prayer is not a check request asking for things from God. It is a deposit slip – a way of depositing God’s character into our bankrupt souls.” ~Dutch Sheets
Faded caramel deck paint peeled beneath my shoes as I stepped toward the large Styrofoam computer packaging container Linda had pulled from the neighborhood recycling bin. She’d turned it into a sandbox for our two year old son, Justin, and his baby brother, Christopher. I sat with Justin on the worn edge of the box.
“Daddy, watch this!” Justin lifted a small plastic block revealing a perfect square of sand. “Daddy, this is the house where Mary and Jophus put baby Jesus.” The whites of his eyes glistened in the deepening dusk. “Daddy, can I have some more kupetch on my French fries?” Justin loved the deck and the sandbox. He’d play for hours in his make-believe world of sand castles and Hot Wheels. As I watched him play, the thought of moving back into a smaller apartment fell, hopelessly, like grains of sand between my fingers.
The next weeks faded into the gray clouds of fall as the raise in rent approached. The salary scale at the small Christian college where I taught had frozen with the dwindling enrollment. No answer there. The youth pastor position at the small country church we’d decided to serve at could only provide enough to cover the gas expenses. No answer there. The secretarial position my wife had left to stay at home with our sons provided no option for work at home. No answer there. Narnia’s “always winter, but never Christmas” punctuated my prayers.
“Guess who called this morning after you left for work? Doreen.”
“Your friend from high school? How’s she doing?” I noticed a small tear as Linda turned toward the kitchen.
“She’s fine.”
I laid a stack of College Writing papers on the country blue recliner Linda had reupholstered the year before and put my arms around her. Her shoulders shook as she spoke.
“She said we shouldn’t be renting, that it’s smarter to buy a house. She and Kenny just bought one in Seattle.”
“Honey, she doesn’t know our situation. I’m sure she wouldn’t have said anything if she’d known we were struggling.”
I stared over her shoulder at the butcher-block counter top. “We can’t get a loan, we can’t buy a house, we can’t afford the rent, we can’t” – I slumped into a dinette chair hoping she didn’t see in my eyes the fears that plagued my thoughts. There was nothing else to do but finally force myself to make the decision to move into an apartment or leave the ministry.
Linda picked up a Sippy cup Justin had left in the kitchen. “What do you want for dinner?” Her words trailed off into an almost silent evening.
Any concern too small to be turned into a prayer is too small to be made into a burden.” ~Corrie Ten Boom
The pulsating phone shattered the Saturday morning stillness. I rolled over and lifted the receiver.
“Hi, is this Marty? This is Marilyn Duff, Doreen’s mom. Can we talk for a moment?” I sat up and stuffed a pillow behind my head.
“Sure.”
“I was wondering if you could do me a favor? I invest in real estate here in Seattle and I’ve done quite well, so I was thinking about expanding down the I-5 corridor into Salem.”
“OK.”
“Well, I was wondering if you could find two or three starter homes for me. I could use the additional investments. I’d remodel them and sell them for a profit.”
“OK. I’m sure I could talk to an agent and mail you some pictures and descriptions. Is that what you’re looking for?”
“That would be perfect. Are you sure it wouldn’t be too much to ask?” I slid lower into the bed.
“No, we’d be glad to help.”
“OK. Thanks. I’ll call you back in a couple of weeks.” As I set the phone in its cradle, I couldn’t help but wonder why Doreen’s mom would call two days after Doreen. I’d never met either of them and Linda hadn’t seen Marilyn in several years.
“Who was it?” Linda’s barely open eyes focused slowly.
“Doreen’s mom wants us to send her pictures of a few houses in Salem. She invests in real estate now.”
“Real estate? Why did she call us?”
“Something about the I-5 corridor and rising house prices. Did Doreen say anything about this?”
“No, but that’s kind of weird, isn’t it?”
I sat straight up and threw the covers back. “Linda, what if she wants us to help with the remodels and what if she lets us rent from her or live in the homes until they sell or what if. . .” Linda sat up, too.
All I know is that when I pray, coincidences happen; and when I don’t pray, they don’t happen.” ~Dan Hayes
The next week, I mailed three sets of pictures and descriptions for the fixer uppers. And we prayed. Not just our three-meals-a-day prayers, but during nearly every break in our routines. Three days later Marilyn called. As she rehearsed the normal greetings, my mind raced. Just the sound of her voice filled my head with hope. “Please, let us fix these up for her,” I prayed as she finished her hello. I glanced across the Berber carpet at Linda who was reading to Chris and Justin. Her head was bowed.
“Well, I would like to discuss something with you, if now’s a good time.”
“Now’s a great time, Mrs. Duff, we’re just playing with the boys.”
“Oh, OK. Well, the reason I wanted to talk with you, Marty, is that I don’t want to offend you in any way. I know you’re both serving the Lord and well, like I said earlier, I’ve made some money here in Seattle flipping houses, and well, lately, I’ve been helping young couples in the ministry get into their first homes. So, when Doreen told me you were still renting, I checked up on your salary at the college. I hope that’s OK.”
“Sure, anyone can get a copy of the pay scale. I’m not sure I understand why though.” I stretched the phone cord over the table and sat at the dinette. “Please, Lord, if we could only help her remodel these homes and have a place for Justin and Chris to play.”
“Well, looking at your salary and the loan amount you’d be able to qualify for, I’m figuring you’ll need at least fourteen thousand dollars to get into one of the homes you sent descriptions of.”
“Fourteen thousand? We already tried to qualify for various home loans, Mrs. Duff, we can’t, we just…”
“Oh, I know, Doreen told me the same day I was praying about finding another young couple to help out. It’s not a loan, Marty, I want to give you the money.”
“Give us the money?” Thick thoughts of renting and remodeling blocked her words.
“Well, if that’s alright with you, that is.”
“Um, with me? Fourteen thousand dollars?” Linda sat Chris on the carpet and stood.
“Mrs. Duff, I don’t know what to say? This is more than we could even hope for.” Linda stepped beside me, her eyes pulled at my words.
“I don’t know what to say. Thank you. What’s the next step?” I stood and put my arm around Linda’s waist and whispered, “She wants to help us buy one of the homes.”
Linda and I sat at the same table that night, pouring over the same budget. The worn pages where we’d written figures and erased them over and over were the same. Only this time we penciled in fourteen thousand dollars on a line that before had been empty. The line item read, “Our Home.”
The day we signed papers, we wrote a thank you letter to Mrs. Duff. As we opened the door to the mail box a letter sat waiting. Linda reached for it. “It’s from Marilyn.” She tore the end off the envelope.
“Dear Marty and Linda, I can’t tell you how happy it made me to be able to help a young couple continue in the ministry. I’ve enclosed a check as a house warming gift. . .”
“A house warming gift? She just helped us buy the house. Why would she send a house warming gift?”
“I don’t know.” Linda smiled warmly, “but do you think we can do anything with a thousand dollars?”
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