the first door (13)

…. Anyone who had taken the time to listen to my opinion, since my arrival to Kansas City in October 2015, knew I was waiting for someone to give me a house. Without walking in a handout mentality, I had no doubt I was going to somehow receive a house that would be mine to own without a mortgage.

I had no city employee connection, no pre-existing knowledge of Landbank, had not read the news or follow up on the links in the email a real estate agent sent me. I did not consider the direction my house would come from, but I  knew it was coming.

From October 19, 2015 to February 14, 2016, I held my position of believing for the house without knowing what kind of door would open for that to happen. My family wanted me to move back to my home state, but I believed I was to stay in Kansas City. I came to the area with the intention of retiring into a specific church community that had a prayer and worship center open to the public 24 hours a day. After years of inner city and Native American missions, I could not imagine a better place to set roots for my healing and recovery.

Yes, not only had I decided I was going to be given a house, I decided that committing to a lease was not an option. This meant spending my winter nights in different homes, the Comfort Inn, and even my car when I wasn’t running short-term mission trips. Until my Godfamily graciously  opened their home to me in early February, there was great uncertainty to what each night would hold. I spent enough years living by faith that when Paul and Deborah shared the news of the dollar homes Landbank press release, I knew the door I had been waiting for had opened.

I began to visit the neighborhood at all hours. Most of the homes had all lights out by 10pm. I did not hear yelling or loud music from the street. I would drive down Primrose during the day and the cars that had been parked there the night before would be gone, presumably because the owners had driven them to work. The only people I would see sitting outside were those of retirement age. In the mornings children would be out waiting for the school bus.The same ones would be out playing in their yards or in the street on weekends and early evenings.

Tuesday, March 1st, around 10pm, I asked two younger brothers in Christ if they would look at the house and pray for me to have an increase of wisdom. Nee, a young man whose parents had immigrated from China, and Pete, a guy from Oregon who usually was up late at the prayer center, were happy to go on an adventure.

As I drove away from the area settled by the church community, their  lighthearted speech grew solemn. Both brothers had lived in Southern Kansas City for over five years, but never had a reason to venture into this territory that was less than 10 minutes from their homes. I pulled in front of the Primrose house and asked them, “What do you think?”

Nee grabbed his right shoulder and began rubbing as if in pain.  I asked what that meant. “Usually when I am praying for someone, the part of me that hurts is the place they need prayer.”

“My shoulder doesn’t hurt Nee,” I replied.

“Neither does mine,” said Pete. He had taken his safety belt off and was leaning forward from the back seat. We all peered out the windshield at the house. The mild daytime temperatures dropped into the low 40sF but I kept the heat on high long enough for us to sit comfortably with the car turned off.

The light from the moon revealed the ragged right side of the roof. The once regal porch seemed to be hiding in shame behind the veil of low-hanging poplar branches. Neglect could not hide the integrity of the structure.

Our eyes adjusted to the dark as they prayed over the house and me. I felt humbly loved and protected as they spoke blessings over me the way brothers should.

“Royal Sister, your heart is noble, you are truly a princess daughter of The King, to be called to this place.”

“Yeah, like Nee said, you are a princess, Royal Sister.”

“When I get this house, you must come to some of the parties I will be having,” I said, unsure if they would feel safe enough about their cars being parked outside while they relaxed inside.

They both agreed it would be a good idea after it was fixed up. As we drove back to the prayer center, I could not stop smiling. Even if the place was not mine, we spoke the first of many blessings that had been spoken over the house in a long time.

If this house was not the open door I needed to walk through, whoever got it would be blessed.

…. To be continued….










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