I have been living on my own, without a man, for more than two years. I have a college education that follows my name, but after being a SAHM for so many years, it is virtually useless. With four children who need some level of daycare should I be in a more traditional 9-5 job, I have found that my only viable option to provide is to do it in a non-traditional role. I live in a very expensive area. I live in a more rural part of the suburbs and apartments aren't on every corner. We have many townhouses in this county, but those often cost as much, if not more, than the single family homes found in traditional neighborhoods.
This is the second home we've lived in since we had to leave the military base so quickly back in 2012.
I had no job and was shell shocked from the news I had been given, and no idea how to begin to take care of my kids on my own. As God often does, the path out and into new life began to illuminate one step at a time. I was offered a place to rent by someone I was connected to in my church community. It was about half of the more traditional rental homes (in size and cost) but it would house us. My family came and helped me wade through 12 years of marriage and family 'stuff' and pack, and purge, and store everything so that I could move my family forward. The military housing we had been in was 2000 sq feet with a three car garage, and we had managed to fill every corner of it. The new home was about 800 sq feet with no added storage, and the change felt daunting. Somehow, I managed to figure out what was necessary and what could wait, and we filled the cozy space with our sagging, broken hearts. That small space proved to be a healing island as we bumbled into a new life together. The tight space held us close, and I think we all drew comfort in the small rooms as we desperately needed to trust and depend on one another.
I babysat some through my time there and did odd jobs to start creating provision on my own. Seven short months after we settled into that space it was time to move on and we were blessed to be rescued by the family I had been babysitting for. We moved into their basement. It had a partial kitchen, and two much larger bedrooms than the ones we had been squeezed into before, and a gigantic yard to run in. It also was about 1100 sq feet, and it felt like we were moving up in the world. The five of us brought our noise, our angry hearts and our stuff into the home of another family. I helped babysit their son throughout the next year and when they moved out, we were able to move into the whole house. We were now stretched out into 5 bedrooms and 2500 sq feet. I finally exhaled. I had no earthly idea how I would be able to pay the rent that was more than any house I'd ever lived in. I was providing almost fully on my own as our child support is a small fraction of what the children need. I was willing to do anything I needed to do to provide and keep them out of day care. I mowed yards, cleaned houses, babysat, and worked as a photographer. I sold more things that I discovered we no longer needed and prayed hard that God would see us and remember us. Somehow, since last summer, I have been able to take care of my family. Some months brought checks in the mail from strangers or friends, some months brought unexpected work for me, some months were complete miracles, but here we are, going on 7 months since we took over the house and I am not behind on anything I am responsible for. But change is at my doorstep again. The homeowners own two homes and have a large business, and selling this house is the best option for their family. The buying/selling season for real estate is coming in mere weeks, and so we are to be out of this house by the end of February. I am struggling to find someone to rent to us because my income is so new. I don't have years of rental history or work history to prove to them that I'm not a risk. My good references could fill a book, but homeowners want a sure thing. A single mom with many part time jobs and four children does not look like a sure thing. It's the end of January, and I'm not sure yet where I will take my children.
These kinds of jagged places in life have a way of growing and challenging faith. I vacillate between feeling hopeful that I will again see miraculous provision, and utter despair when I absorb the feelings of inadequacy that hover over my heart looking for any entrance to bring decay to my faith. Friends and family champion me with 'God's got this Heather!' and 'I'm praying for you girl!' And while both of those statements bring some comfort and truth, the reality is that my faith in God and love of who He is doesn't promise me a life without struggle. There are millions of moms who love God who are living with children in places that would make me want to curl up and die. There are many mothers whose love of their children and love of God wasn't enough to buffer their children from incredible heartache and pain, and yet, I still say… God is good.
I don't have a beautiful miraculous ending to this story. March may find me in yet another basement of friends… filled with both relief at having a warm home, and anger that the life I thought I'd be living is so far from my reality that I can't even see it through the tears anymore. I have full faith that my life story is still being written, and that it is beautiful, but as with many rich, full stories, there are often chapters that pull at the heart, and take the breath away… I just happen to be living inside of those chapters. I'm ready to see what's on the next page.
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