What Now?

I woke up at 6 the next morning, my phone vibrating on the floor by the bed. My eyes were puffy from crying and my head was throbbing, but everything was better when I answered the phone and heard my mom.

“Hey, Baby. Are you ok?”

I struggled for a second; I didn’t know if I should tell her all of it or if I should smooth it over until I had a brighter ending. I decided to tell her. I tried to keep my voice even so that I wouldn’t scare her. When I finished telling her the story, I had to know something.

“Why did you call me right now, Mom?”

“Well, I just felt like something wasn’t right. I wanted to check on you. Apparently, I was right.” She paused for a second, then said, “I’m going to pray that you move to a new apartment. Today.”

“Mom, I don’t know how possible that will be…”

“I know. I’m going to pray that, nonetheless. In fact, I’m going to give the phone to your Daddy so he can pray about it with you right now.”

A couple hours later when I got up in earnest, my outlook on the day was a little brighter (it couldn’t get too much worse than it had been the night before, I guess). I was significantly comforted by the fact that my parents were praying about my situation and had, doubtless, already called others to ask them to pray about it, too.

My spirits rose even higher when Mrs. Linda told me at breakfast that Mike had already decided that we were going to look for a new apartment. My face must have shown my relief, because she said, “I thought that might make you feel better. I know you were being brave last night, but I knew you had to be terrified. We prayed about it for a while after you went to your room last night, and we felt that you need to move.”

I felt so relieved! However, at the same time, I felt guilty and very much like an inconvenience. With the daylight came feelings of doubt: was it really that scary? Did I make more out of it than there actually was? I knew that those were dumb thoughts, but they crept in anyway.

The three of us met with Oksana a little later so that she could take us to meet the realtor. I felt sheepish and silly; I don’t like having a fuss made about me. I didn’t want anyone outside of the circle to think that I was changing apartments because the apartment wasn’t good enough for me. Several of the church ladies had already been expressing concerns that it wouldn’t be adequate for me, and I most definitely didn’t want that rumor spreading around as fact. Mike had filled Oksana in on the situation, and she was properly concerned for me, fretting and fussing in an attempt to make me understand that life would, indeed, get better.

The realtor took us to the first apartment, and my jaw hit the floor. It was SO nice. Everything about it had a kind of elegance, compared to my Apartment of Disaster. The wallpaper was pretty, the curtains were solid colors that matched the rooms’ décor, and the bathroom was exquisite. No turquoise going on in there. My hope started to peak, and I felt a need to beat it down; I knew there were others to look at, and there was a good chance that I wouldn’t be living in the fantastic apartment I was currently standing in. Before we left, the landlord’s wife (who had been standing on the fringe of our group during the tour) looked at me, winked an I’ll-convince-him-to-sign-you-as-our-tenant kind of wink, and kissed a babushka Kiss of Approval in my direction. The hope started to surge again.

Option number 2 brought me back to reality: most apartments for rent are not the model of beauty that we’d just left. The whole place smelled of cabbage, the bathroom doors didn’t shut fully or lock, the family living there hadn’t packed a thing- making it harder for me to see what was actually there under all of their possessions. I told myself that I should go ahead and look at this one as “home.” It would probably be more in our price range, and it was smaller, which would definitely make more sense, seeing as how there is just one of me.

We didn’t discuss the apartments until we had parted company with Oksana and the realtor and settled in at a pizza restaurant for lunch.

“I think we should try to get the first apartment.”

My heart almost stopped when I heard Mike say that. I couldn’t believe it!

“The prices are the same, and if we take the first apartment then we won’t have to get a second apartment for the Hands-on girls.”

I knew that two girls would be joining me in January and working with me for 4 months. Mike continued, “You won’t mind them living in the same apartment with you, will you?”

“No, sir! Definitely not!” I would be infinitely more than happy to have roommates, especially if that meant the Fancy Apartment rather than the Cabbage Apartment. After this had been decided, I was more able to enjoy my pizza.

After lunch, Mike began the process of trying to make all the right contacts and track down all the paperwork. The more phones calls he made, the more discouraged I began to feel. It seemed like every person he talked to had nothing but bad news for him.

At one point, we were parked outside of the hoped-for apartment building, sitting in the car while Mike made call number 57, and totally unbidden, a song from many moons ago began playing in my head: “God will make a way/ when there seems to be no way/ He works in ways we cannot see/ He will make a way for me/ He will be my guide/ Hold me closely to His side/ With love and strength for each new day/ He will make a way/ God will make a way.”

I hadn’t thought of that song in ages, but as I sang it in my head, I felt inexplicably calmer. Suddenly, I knew I was going to be living in that apartment. I just knew it. For once in 48 hours, I didn’t feel like I was on the verge of tears.