I was doing the dishes when the strangest urge hit me. The wildest urge, considering where I was in my life—54 years old, recently divorced, raising two teenage foster daughters on a fixed income. I’d had health problems a few years back that forced me to stop working and go on disability, as much as I hated to.<\/p>\n
I looked around my cramped apartment: The kitchen so tiny that my girls and I couldn’t all be in there at the same time. The early American garage sale furniture. The dull as, well, dishwater shade of beige on the walls that I couldn’t change because I was just a renter, and I could barely make the rent.<\/p>\n
I was tired of having my dreams squashed. Especially one dream I’d cherished ever since I was a little girl. I wanted a house, a place I could paint and decorate just the way I liked, a place I could really call my own.<\/p>\n
I rinsed the dishes and sighed. I knew I had a lot to be grateful for. I was starting to put my finances back together after the divorce. My foster daughters were resilient and seemed to be adjusting to being in a single-parent home. Our apartment was small but it was a roof over our heads.<\/p>\n
Still, I couldn’t help feeling I’d made a mess of my life. I closed my eyes and hung my head. Suddenly I felt something strange. An urge to pray came over me, and it wasn’t in a way I’d ever prayed before. This was as if some presence outside of me was gently moving my lips and telling me what to say.<\/p>\n
“Lord, I want a house of my own,” I murmured. “A nice house, big enough for me and my daughters, with three bedrooms and two bathrooms and a large kitchen so we can fix meals together. And a separate living room and family room so the girls can have a place to hang out with their friends.<\/p>\n
"And a yard for the dog. And no stairs, since stairs are hard for me. And hardwood floors and a heat pump. And could it please be in the girls’ school district? A place like this is way more than I can afford, Lord, but you know how much I want this. I put it in your hands. Amen.”<\/p>\n
My eyes flew open. I didn’t know whether to laugh at myself or cry. What had I just prayed? Had I really dared to give this ridiculous list of requirements, this wild dream of mine, to God? I put away the dishes and tried to put away thoughts of nice new houses too.<\/p>\n
Yet every time I stepped outside something got me going again. Down the street newly built condos were for sale. “No Down Payment!” the sign boasted. I took a look. These condos were tiny, even smaller than my apartment! Who was I kidding?<\/p>\n
“Why don’t you try a mobile home?” a friend suggested. I hate to admit it but I thought a mobile home just didn’t fit my dream. I looked over the budget I’d made for myself after the divorce. My friend was right. A mobile home was what I could afford.<\/p>\n
Even then maybe not. My only financial wiggle room was my monthly tithe to church. And I was not about to stop tithing.<\/p>\n
I opened the newspaper. I looked in the classifieds under mobile homes. Whoa! New mobile homes were expensive. Plus you have to rent space and pay to move them. I was so poor I couldn’t even afford a mobile home!<\/p>\n
Next column over I saw a section for used mobile homes. I looked closer. The prices were much lower. Maybe there was something under thirty thousand dollars. A mortgage payment for that amount would equal my current monthly rent. I spotted two places in that price range.<\/p>\n
I called the numbers. Before I knew it, I had two appointments.<\/p>\n
All right, Lord, I’ll give it a shot.<\/em><\/p>\n The next day I drove outside town along a narrow, rutted road. I pulled up to what looked like a shack surrounded by junked cars. The ad said the house had three bedrooms. Really?<\/p>\n A woman opened the door. Whoa. The air smelled like mold—and worse. The place was falling apart. The carpet was black with stains. I tried not to show my feelings. The third bedroom turned out to be a wall torn out of the trailer’s side with an extra room tacked on.<\/p>\n I told the owner the house wasn’t quite right for me and hurried back to my car. I couldn’t face the thought of my next appointment. Obviously this was all I could afford—a dump. I thought about calling to cancel. But the woman at that other house had sounded so eager. I just hoped her place smelled better than this one.<\/p>\n At least the road there was nicer. Lots of wildflowers. I pulled up to a well-kept property with a lovely single-story house perched on a hillside. I looked around for the trailer. It must be out back.<\/p>\n A woman emerged from the house. “Hi, I’m Kathy,” she said. “Come on in.” She showed me into a spacious room with hardwood floors. Two teenage boys sprawled on the sofa playing a video game.<\/p>\n “This is the living room,” said Kathy. “We just put in the floors but it really needs a new paint job. We figured the new owners would want to pick their own colors. The kitchen’s through here.”<\/p>\n “Wait,” I said. “This <\/em>is the mobile home?”<\/p>\n Kathy smiled. “You like it? My husband and I have remodeled several times. But now we want to build a permanent home. So we need to sell this one. Come on. Let me show you around.”<\/p>\n I followed Kathy in a daze. She led me through three big, bright bedrooms. Two bathrooms. A laundry room. A nook for a home office. She showed me where the heat pump was.<\/p>\n The kitchen had ivory floor tiles, green counters, gleaming white cabinets, a cooking island and brand-new appliances. I could just picture my girls and me fixing dinner together.<\/p>\n “Here’s the family room,” Kathy said. “Perfect for teenagers. Do you have kids?”<\/p>\n I told her about my foster daughters.<\/p>\n “Wow,” said Kathy. “That’s great of you to take kids in like that. Mark and I have talked about it. Maybe we should do it now that our boys are older. You like the house?” She opened a huge linen closet.<\/p>\n “I love it!” I said. This was one of the nicest homes I’d ever seen—mobile or otherwise. “I just—I can’t believe the price is so low.”<\/p>\n “Well, you know, used mobile homes depreciate a lot,” Kathy said. “And like I said, Mark and I really want to get started building. So we’d like to sell.”<\/p>\n Kathy walked me out to my car. I told her I’d be back in touch when I secured a loan. We clasped hands. It was like we were already friends.<\/p>\n I called the bank as soon as I got home. “A used mobile home?” said the bank officer. “I’m sorry, we don’t issue loans for those.”<\/p>\n I called another bank. And another. They all said the same thing. I called Kathy and asked for more time. I called more banks. Mortgage companies. Three days later I had to admit defeat. I called Kathy back. “I’m sorry,” I said, practically in tears. “I can’t get a loan anywhere. I’m afraid I won’t be able to buy your house.”<\/p>\n “Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Kathy. “You seemed to like it so much. And it sounded perfect for your daughters. Well, best of luck.”<\/p>\n I hung up and cried. So much for that dream of mine.<\/p>\n