I guess I didn’t take it seriously when the other “Wazungus” (white people) in town warned us of the lack of housing. “There are more people needing housing than there are houses available. Your family may have to live at the language school.”
No big deal, I thought. For almost three years of our travels we have lived in and out of hotel rooms, missions apartments, basements, etc. I thought I was pretty resilient.
As I stood in the doorway of our future home I couldn’t speak. I knew if I tried to utter a word I would cry. I just followed; nodding my head as the precious Tanzanian man, Israel, proudly showed us the living quarters. Concrete floors, two tiny bedrooms only big enough to hold beds, a 10 ft by 10ft living area, and windows with cracks and holes large enough for any insect or snake to enter, no kitchen, the bathroom big enough for a small sink, tiny shower which is backed up against the stained toilet.
“I have three children," trying my best to utter in my limited Swahili “nina kuwa na tatu watoto.” There is no room for three children.” The tiny room offered space for twin size bunk beds and about 2 ft along one side to walk. “My baby will not fit." Isreal replies, “That is no problem, mama. The baby can sleep in your room.” Simple solution, huh? I wanted to act on every ounce of earthly instinct and say I can’t do this! There are 1 thousand reasons that anyone could give not to move their family there.
Later that day we arrive at a duplex in town, that is currently rented, but has possible openings. Two decent sized bedrooms, a kitchen, a clean bathroom, perfectly sealed windows, a pool and another similar unit for Shantelle! I immediately said to Aaron and Shantelle, “Every prayer letter from here on out will be asking people to pray that this duplex opens up for us to rent.” Sounds reasonable, right? Until the next day when I visited the Neema House. The Neema House is a church and Feeding center (started by the faithfulness of Mitch and Beth Calmes and Manna Worldwide) right in the middle of an Islamic Slum. There I met beautiful Christian women; washing dishes, humming hymns to the Lord, hugging and laughing. Praising the Lord with pure and relentless joy. In this broken, dirty slum they were more joyful and dependent upon the Lord than I have ever come close to. These women are living the definition of “poverty”, but somehow I felt like the impoverished one.
I have such little faith, more often than not my joy is contingent upon circumstances. I have experienced such slight and gloomy glimpses of what life is all about. In my clean, pottery barn and ikea-laden, American home with a fully stocked kitchen…I am so far from that beautiful and wonderful reliance on Christ. I’m impoverished in spirit. I place faith in and reliance on comfort and on things. Rich with possessions, yet completely deficient in faith.
So, my NEW prayer is this:
Lord, you may bless us with the duplex or an equally comfortable home OR you may choose to bless our family by experiencing some uncomfortable grace at the language school housing. I pray that YOUR will be done and that you will accomplish in us what we would never choose in order to bring GLORY to YOUR name. Lord, do what you see best in order that my family sees only YOU as our comfort and our “safe place”. Thank you for allowing me to serve you, inadequate and often faithless.

I Timothy 6:17-19
17As for the rich in this present age, charge them not to be haughty, nor to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches, but on God, who richly provides us with everything to enjoy. 18They are to do good, to be rich in good works, to be generous and ready to share, 19thus storing up treasure for themselves as a good foundation for the future, so that they may take hold of that which is truly life.

For as long as I can remember, my Grandma Clara, “Nona” prayed for her youngest sister Linda. Nona’s prayer journals were filled with Linda’s name, faithfully asking God’s grace to be on the life of her sister. My grandma died of cancer in 2008 without Linda ever accepting Christ.

Last Monday I fearfully walked myself into the Critical Care Unit of a Hospital in St. Petersburg, Florida. Before going any further with this story, I want to back up and explain how I got there.

This past May our teammate Michal Paul Leek got a last minute phone call to speak at a church in Florida. He asked Aaron if we could fill in since we were already in town. The girls were sick, so Aaron went to this church alone. Two months later we received a call from the same church asking us to come back for their missions month…September 25th. We happened to already have bookings in Florida during that time, so we accepted. God is His incredible grace booked this church the day before I would find myself in a critical care unit…15 minutes away.

“She’s going in for emergency surgery in an hour. It’s good you are here. We aren’t sure how long she has.” The nurse says as she leaves the room. I didn’t answer, my eyes locked on a woman that so strikingly resembled my grandma that I was in a loss for words…in a loss for breath. Linda. Her feeble, 90-pound, cancer-filled body, with more tubes and pumps than plausible, lying before me, alone. I prayed silently. I reached my hand to hers and said, “Aunt Linda, it is Stephanie, Clara’s granddaughter.” Her cold hand squeezes mine and she gathers all her strength to nod with such urgency that tears filled my eyes. She could hear me. She knew who I was. “I know you can’t speak, but I’m here, I’m staying. You aren’t alone.” She squeezes my hand tighter and nods again as I ask her “Can I pray with you?” I spent the next hour trading off in prayer and reading Scripture. I prayed for comfort, peace, healing, and I read and prayed through the gospel. I told Linda about memories I had of her and my grandma. I shared how I have heard her name spoken by her sister in prayer more times than I can count. “Oh, how she loved her baby sister.” This precious hour flew by and was spent mostly in tears.

“Linda, you are going in for surgery. I know you are scared.” I whispered. What happened in that next moment I will never fail to remember. With more strength than it seemed she could give, she nodded her head and grasped my hand when I asked her, “Linda, did you pray with me to accept Christ as your Savior?” Yes! In His beautiful and marvelous grace, three years after my grandma entered the gates of heaven, OUR gracious Heavenly Father answered her earthly prayers for Linda’s salvation.

We serve a God who hears our prayers and who answers our prayers…often in ways and in timing that we would never expect. Linda and I both got to share a glimpse of that miraculous grace and mercy of our Lord that day. Maybe Nona even got a glimpse of that moment as well. :)

-Linda remains in the Critical Care Unit. We are getting daily updates.

Hebrews 4:14-16
14 Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. 15 For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. 16 Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.