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.