Ever since my husband, Ricardo, lost his job and we lost our home, I’d said the same prayer every day. Lord, help us find an apartment. Lots of light, warm and homey, a new kitchen, a clean, fully tiled bathroom. Outdoor space, like a balcony, would be nice, but asking way too much. A decent place would do.
Ricardo didn’t believe in prayer. But he didn’t have any other answers. We were renting part of a rundown house in Rockford, Illinois, not ideal conditions to raise our eight-year-old son.
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It was dark and cramped, the floors cold and bare. The kitchen appliances were constantly breaking down and there was no storage for our things. The shared bathroom was filthy. But there was nothing else in the area that we could afford. Then I found mouse droppings and roaches. I’d had it.
Walking back from doing errands one day, dreading returning to our squalid little space, I cried, “Lord, we can’t live like this! Where is the apartment I’ve been praying for?”
Turn here and go up two blocks.
The voice popped into my head so suddenly, so strongly, I didn’t question the thought. I turned and walked. At the end of the second block, the voice spoke again. Turn right and go up three more blocks. I obeyed.
The house I came to was nothing special. But that urgent voice commanded me: Walk up to the door. Ask about the apartment.
What apartment? I didn’t see a “For Rent” sign. But I’d come this far. I knocked and a young woman answered.
“Do you know where I can find an apartment for rent?” I blurted.
Her eyes widened. “How did you know? We didn’t even list it yet.” From inside, her husband asked who was at the door. “Someone about the apartment,” she said. The man appeared, puzzled, but offered to show it to me.
Light cascaded through the windows and across the carpeted floor. Brand-new appliances gleamed in the kitchen. There were plenty of closets. The tile in the bathroom sparkled. “How much is the rent?” I asked, tentatively.
“How much can you afford?” the man asked. I told him. “That’ll do.”
Ricardo couldn’t believe it—“You found it how?” I told him about the voice, the commands, how the apartment had every detail I’d prayed for. With each thing I mentioned, the expression on his face shifted, from disbelief to a dawning belief—especially when I added, “Actually, it has more than I asked for. There’s even a balcony.”
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