Rainbow Over The Mesa
Susan P. BlevinsI had been looking for a house to purchase in Northern Virginia, where my husband and I were living in a high-rise at the time, and also along the outer shore of Maryland, but many dreams and portents led me to to look instead for a house in Northern New Mexico, and when the signs are clear, and directions precise, obedience feels like the only course of action to follow.
Accordingly, I drove to New Mexico and stayed with a friend, spending my days looking at house after house after house with my patient and long-suffering realtor. Late one afternoon I was out on the mesa alone, looking at what must have been about the seventieth house. After I had viewed it, and seen that it was not what I was looking for, my disappointment and frustration welled up, and I cried out in despair,
“God in heaven, I’m here in obedience to the signs You have sent me, but I am growing desperate because I cannot find the right house in the right location for the right price. If You want me to continue looking for a house here, You will have to send me a sign.”
Fortunately, no one was around to witness this exasperated, but sincere, cri de coeur. No sooner were the words out of my mouth, than out of a clear blue sky, a brilliant rainbow arced down from heaven to where I stood. I was transfixed and fell to my knees, babbling my amazed gratitude. This was a major sign that my cry had been heard, and I resolved to keep looking for my house, however long it might take. After such a powerful promise, I could not risk disobedience, nor did I want to. I felt overwhelmed and awed by the enormity of what had just happened
I decided to go into prayerful retreat the following weekend and offer the situation up to God, with humility, and acceptance, Thy will be done. The houses I had been looking at were getting more and more expensive, way out of my price range, probably because I was picky and I have expensive taste. Among my many demands, I really wanted a house with a fireplace in my bedroom. After a weekend of meditation on the matter, I called my realtor on the Monday and told her to show me only houses in a drastically lower range. She gulped when I told her this but told me she’d come and pick me up in a couple of days and we’d look at what was out there in that range.
She turned up to collect me on Wednesday, in the early afternoon, holding up yards of MLS listings in the new category.
“But,” she said, “There’s a house that’s just come on the market that you might like. I thought we’d go and look at that one first.”
We drove off, to the south of town and very soon we were driving down a weed-infested drive bordered by a rickety fence of sun-bleached latillas. As soon as we parked in front of the old, single-story adobe, I knew with absolute certainty that this was my house. By four o’clock that same afternoon, we had signed the initial purchase agreement. Effortless. Meant to be. My prayer was answered.
Not only was the house well within my lower price range, but there was a kiva fireplace in my bedroom, my most earnest desire fulfilled.
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