Since before Richard and I got married, I have been praying that God would provide us private housing, a place for our family to grow closer together and a place to host friends and family, anyone who would like to come to India to visit us { hint, hint ;) }. Though much of our married life we have been separated by continents, most of the time we have had together has been either in Richard’s parents house (according to custom for the oldest son) or in a room in the HOC Orphanage.
Both places have been a blessing, but they have also been less than private and left us with little alone time for our family. I definitely see the value in living with Richard’s parents, but an abundance of mosquitoes and a lack of running water, consistent electricity, and adequate bathroom facilities left me frustrated and grateful that we could live at the orphanage, even though we were on-call 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Over this past year, I will admit, I have been feeling rather hopeless about the situation and full of anxiety about our return to India—4 people in 150 square feet of livable space with little kitchen access is a less than ideal situation.
When I arrived in India with the girls this month, Richard greeted us at the airport (sorry, we don’t have any pictures of ‘the moment’). In the midst of the last 18+/- hour leg of our journey, Richard told me that we would be living in his parents’ village, and that they had a surprise for me. I assumed that it was going to be the bathroom addition with running water that had been vetoed earlier the year before; Richard allowed my assumption.
It was well past 9pm when we arrived at the house and very dark. We herded up the stairs, bleary eyed and yearning for bed. Richard was fiddling around at the top of the steps, when I realized that the door to the second floor terrace was different. It was a solid wood, double door with a large skeleton key lock, in place of a wobbly metal door that scraped the step when it opened.
Richard unlocked the door, took a few steps, and switched on the lights. Instead of walking onto the terrace that I was expecting, I walked into a room painted robin’s egg blue with off-white tile flooring. I looked around the room in shock, questioning whether or not I was still in the van, fallen asleep and dreaming.
Richard proceeded to usher me into the dwelling which only a year before had been the open-space rooftop my in-laws used to dry rice and chili peppers in the sun.
My astonishment had my jaw open to the floor. Here I was standing in an apartment that we could finally call home. A place that will allow us to be a family together, while still very close to Richard’s parents. An apartment—a kitchen, a bathroom, 4 rooms that we can stretch out in, and even some outdoor space—575 square feet of glorious space.
God has always known the desires of my heart because He put them there. And He truly is Jehovah Jireh; providing in the most unexpected ways, blessing me and our family even more than I could have imagined.
Thank you, Lord, for our new home!
(video tour to follow)
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