Faith

She looked down at the photo in my phone and said, “I haven’t smiled like that in a long time.”

I knew what she meant, but I wanted to know more. “Why? You look so happy. You should smile more often.” 

“My birthdays are just another day for me. I haven’t celebrated or done anything special since I was a teenager. Thank you. This means a lot to me,” she fixed her eyes on the table as her voice broke.

She's shed enough tears over hard circumstances. Tears on her birthday seemed unnecessary, so I smiled and patted her back. “I’m glad you’re here. Have some cake.”

There are times when I wonder if our living in Grant Park means anything or makes a difference at all. We don’t seem like the right candidates on paper. Grant Park is a predominantly Hispanic neighborhood. We don’t even speak Spanish. As far as I can tell, Joel is one of a few Caucasians in a two-mile radius. What about Asians? I’ve yet to meet any. 

And yet, we’ve somehow met some neighbors who trust us, this odd couple that doesn’t quite belong and are just a little too eager to make friends. Last night, we celebrated a neighbor’s birthday with her kids and her sister. We actually met Calvina about a year ago at a neighborhood clean-up event. As a single mom of four kids, with a challenging past, she constantly struggles to make ends meet. She moved out to Phoenix to get away from negative influences and commit to sobriety, but conflict and family troubles back at home on the reservation pulled her back there several times.

She recently came back in our lives and has been over to our house for community group and attended church with us. Life is unpredictable for Calvina and her kids. I hope and pray that they’ll be in our lives for a while. 

For now, I hang on to these moments of joy that we can share. Sometimes it’s hard to believe that we’ve only been in the neighborhood for two years. For every moment of joy, there are five more moments of doubt. Doubts of whether Grant Park was the right move, whether we are cut out for this, whether anything is going to happen at all. 

I am so thankful that God is faithful and patient in the midst of our doubts. It’s ironic that the last post was about the house that burned to the ground. I remember writing that post and forcing myself to write the last paragraph about trusting in God. It was a small voice of clarity that told me to believe when things seemed impossible. Six months after that, a year after we began our search, we’d find our home.

Hope in Ashes

Several months ago Joel and I finally reached the conclusion that we're staying in Phoenix for good. The decision didn't come without a fight, since all along, our plan was to move back to Sacramento after Joel got his master's degree. We both applied for jobs and poked around a few real estate listings. Joel applied for his social work license in California. Months went by... nothing. Doors were just not opening for us.

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.