Home, Temporarily — A personal testimony

One of my longest and most memorable seasons of waiting was for a house.

We had gone from Brazil to French Guiana as volunteer missionaries—my husband, myself, and our four-year-old daughter, and as far as I was concerned, God would direct everything, because He is the Almighty God and nothing is too difficult for Him. I was sure it would be easy to get the documentation, a house, and everything else. Only, it wasn’t.

When we arrived, we were guests for ten days, while we looked for a house to rent. Nothing. Nobody wanted to rent a house to people on a tourist visa. On the tenth day, my husband was on the payphone following up on a lead on a house (which didn’t work out), when a Brazilian in line for the phone said that he knew of a person who would definitely rent to us.

The house was in a good neighborhood. The owner had subdivided and rented each room at the price of a house. We thought it was exorbitant, but it was the only option. So we moved in.

Most of the people who lived there shared a bathroom and kitchen. Hygiene and cleanliness were not common in the shared spaces, so I often felt rich and thanked our God for that tiny room with a tiny bathroom that didn’t fit many things, but was only ours. Every night, after wiping the floor down, we lined it with cardboard and laid blankets on top, and laid down to sleep. During the day, everything was folded and that was the space that remained to walk around inside the house.

We soon found out that I was pregnant. Just imagine, one more little person to occupy that space! I thought to myself, “if the Lord allowed it, it’s because the documentation will be in place soon, and then we’ll be able to rent a real house.”

Days turned into months and months into years and nothing happened regarding our housing situation.

It wasn’t for a lack of houses, because very close to where we lived there was a beautiful, unoccupied two-story house, but the owner preferred to leave it empty rather than rent it to us. It seemed to me that all the empty houses waved to me and called my name, but nothing worked out.

To me, houses have always been wonderful things! Used to moving since I was a little girl, I thought it was the best thing ever to arrive at a new house, decide where things would be stored, tidy everything and feel at home, even in a place that was still strange.

As a pastor’s daughter, it was common for me to accompany my parents on their visits. I remember people commenting that I was very quiet, but little did they know that while they were talking, in my imagination I had already transformed their entire house, changing what I didn’t like, or simply bringing my furniture into their house. In my daydreams, I could go on fun trips or create wild stories, but houses were my passion!

So you can imagine how I was feeling in that little room.

Fifteen days before our son was born, we moved into the “new” room at the front. It was three feet bigger, with a tiny kitchen. We were even able to install a washing machine. It was a blessing!

I felt a little more at ease, but I was waiting for the day I would be in a spacious house; after all, this room wasn’t just our home, it was also a church, a French school, a nursery, a bakery, etc.

While I waited, I measured every inch, moving things around in an attempt to find more room. I cleaned the hallways and the front of the building, picking up the garbage—cans and bottles—that the other residents left lying around, in an effort to make the environment more pleasant. I fell into the bad habit of sleeping late because at night was the only time I could be “alone”. I would read magazines, have a home “spa”, or cry. Oh yes, how many times I cried in anguish, begging God to change our situation. The situation, at the time, didn’t change. But I would wake up feeling better, with restored strength and patience, and surprisingly happy! God is wonderful!

To this day, I’m not sure why things happened that way. I apparently waited in vain for four long years, but I feel that it all contributed to our good.

All my other homes since that little room have been wonderful, but the most precious wait is for that house “just over the hilltop, on that bright land where we’ll never grow old…” the perfect one, built by my Father especially for me.