It was a really cold winter in early 2012. My family lived in a non-insulated old house, with a couple of gas heaters and wooden floors in the middle of a two-way channel through the heart of Houston, known as "Shepherd/Durham." My street was a single block, and it cut straight through from a sleepy side of the Heights (a turning neighborhood) to the more antique Main Street old business area. My kids knew the trash man well, it was their favorite thing to do -- rush out every Tuesday and wave and follow the mechanical arm as it lifted the big bins of stinky trash into its belly. The trash man loved that my kids loved him and always waved back.
We could easily walk to the local store, the local thrift center, the bank, or any number of small parks in the area. It was a dream haven for someone like me, a Mom with no car of her own and two small kids to entertain. We were on WIC, getting benefits that I often had to take the bus to reach appointments for. Sometimes I didn't look the part, a self-confident young woman with no worries of dressing well. I had learned a long time ago how to shop well at thrift stores.
Still, I yearned for more. I hoped that we would not always have to rent. Big homes seemed so expensive and so far off our radar of possibility. We were lucky not to be in an apartment anymore. Lucky that our landlord charged so little for such a lovely single family home in the Heights. Lucky that my family didn't look down on us and tried to help us any way they could, on both sides of the family tree.
My heart still cried. The economic downturn of the recent election had bottomed out our savings and my husband and I were at a loss as to how to move forward. For two decades this man had only worked at two different jobs. He had a tiny amount in a 401k and had bravely decided to try and start a family.
My desire to start a family was also huge -- and he wanted me to stay home, even though our bills outweighed our income so often. We kept saying, "We'll figure something out." And meanwhile bills kept stacking up against us. Why, God? I wondered. Why is this so hard? I knew it was right to just press on, and stay home with our children. Working would be even more expensive, what with a car note, more insurance, child care and more to try and cover.
I was 30 years old, my husband was 41. We had no clue what to do.
So I prayed that cold morning, bundling up my little treasures in a few more layers of baby clothes and blankets, keeping them off the floor and near the heater as much as possible, thankful for the heater. I prayed and said, "God we need an idea. We need a direction. We don't know what to do. Can you PLEASE talk to my husband, and give him an idea?" I think my prayer time lasted only a few moments. I read my Bible and journaled. I knew that if my husband could punch through with an idea, that I could follow. He wanted to provide and I wanted to support him in that.
About thirty minutes later, the phone rang. "Honey," said my husband, breathless from working outside in this bitter cold. The connection was loud and clear, which was unusual for his job outside in the noise of the oil field. "I have an idea."
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