We both grew frustrated and restless, but an opportunity opened up for us to partner in urban ministry with our church in Phoenix. We met with our pastor and talked about moving down to a low-income area our church has been investing in. The hope is that through holistic outreach and partnership with our neighbors, a church plant could be established years down the road.
We found a house in the ideal location, just next to the housing projects. It was a small house, pink stucco walls, two bedrooms and not much to look at. A lot of work would definitely need to be done for it to even be habitable. I was excited for the possibilities, but I was upset because I had always hoped for 1920s architecture and a large front porch. The lack of beauty and slabs of concrete so many call home were all too real. I mourned for my dream house. But despite it all, I was committed to moving forward because here I was, faced with a fork int he road. On my left was more, the all-American dream of white picket fences, a safe neighborhood and good schools for our kids someday. On the right was better, Jesus' gospel of love and mercy that beckons me to take up my cross and follow him. It was no contest. Better beats more, every time.
A few weeks ago we finally got out act together to look at the house. We had driven by it many times but here was our chance to look inside and see the scale of work ahead of us.
I sat in disbelief at the sight.
"Well, there goes our house," Joel said.
There were a lot of clothing and trash in the area. We're guessing that the fire was caused by something cooking meth inside the building.
We walked away from the house that morning feeling some disappointment because we're so ready to shift gears in our life, but we trust fully that we can find hope even in the ashes. We're not exactly sure what we're going to do next, but we just know that we are still committed to moving into the neighborhood. God's plan isn't always what we expect it to be, but it is always better.
