“Let’s move to Oregon,” I said to my husband, Mike. The words hung in the air between us. I couldn’t believe I was committing to a six-hundred-mile relocation from our home in Northern California to a different state.
“Are you sure about that?” Mike asked, shaking his head in disbelief. “We’ve lived in this neighborhood for over twenty years.”
I’d been off work for several weeks recovering from surgery. The leave of absence gave me a lot of time to think, pray, and journal.
“Now that Mom’s gone, we don’t have anyone to tie us down. Why don’t we move near our grandkids?”
Mike and I had been the primary caregivers for my mom until her death at ninety-four. After eight years, we had no one to consider except ourselves.
“Let’s pray about it for a bit,” Mike suggested. So we did.
After a week, we hadn’t gotten a firm yes or no from the Lord. Mike made the decision. “Let’s do it! We’ll move as if there’s a green light from God, and if we sense a red light, we won’t go.”
Thus began a whirlwind of activity. We had to do some major renovations to our townhome to ready it for sale. I had to look for a job in Oregon, while returning to work in Sacramento. I contacted a realtor in the town where we planned to move. She sent photos of houses for sale. We applied for preapproval for a mortgage.
Fast forward – we found a house we loved and made an offer. After three days of nail-biting anxiety, our offer was accepted. We were in contract! Green light all the way.
Then things changed. We were no longer approved for the mortgage. The underwriter determined since I planned to quit my job prior to moving, I had no way to prove income to support the new loan. I asked if an offer letter from a potential Oregon employer would suffice. A week later the answer came. No.
While I applied for jobs in Oregon, we frantically looked for options. If I applied for early Social Security, would that be enough? What if we could find someone to loan us enough money to buy the house for cash? What if…
Our realtor told us we had to have an answer by 5:00 pm on a Thursday evening before escrow was due to close the following week. I sent an email to her and the mortgage rep, letting them know we’d tried everything. We were letting the house go. I’d had a dream the night before with us living in the house. I figured it was my mind, wishing things were different.
That evening, we sat side by side on the couch, talking about disappointments and how God works.
“I don’t know why, but I still feel like that is supposed to be our house,” I told Mike. “I can’t see us moving into an apartment and having to house hunt again.” I’d found a pet-friendly apartment and planned to send the application the next morning.
“Hold off sending it,” Mike said. “Give it through the weekend and let’s see what else turns up.”
Around 8:00 that Thursday evening, I received a text from the realtor. “Don’t do anything. We may have a solution.”
Our hopes rose. What could this new solution be?
First thing the next morning, I called the realtor. “What’s going on?”
“The seller’s realtor may have a solution for you. She’ll call you later today after she confirms some details.”
I badgered her until she told me this:
“The seller’s agent knows a man who’s a veteran. He likes helping other veterans. He is willing to buy the house for cash and rent it to you for three months until you can get a job and qualify for the mortgage loan.”
I could hardly speak for the tears choking me. I knew this was our house! And God knew it too.
My faith has been strengthened through this process. My love for God’s faithfulness and care has increased. He is intimately involved with every detail, big and small.
And He loves giving gifts to His children.