This is an excerpt from Watchin' God, Book One, Listed
Alphabetically. I was telling a service tech about this today, and wanted to make it easy for him to find it. Chris, I hope you can see more of the "Lord, could you find the hose for me, please!" that you saw today.
Daddy had a faded “For Sale” sign on the property where I'd built the
cabin. Shortly before my son and I left the state I heard of a guy who
was looking to buy property. I called daddy to see if he was still
interested in selling. He was, so I told the guy about it. I asked him
if he was interested in buying my cabin, also. He wasn't, so I tried
to sell it to be moved. No luck. I left it there, with a lot of stuff I
couldn't take on the plane. The buyer would just inherit a furnished
cabin. What else could I do?
About a week before we moved, I
called the legal representative who was working with my VA disability
case and was representing me at a hearing to determine my eligibility.
He had no information as to when my hearing would be. I told him I was
moving out of state, but would keep in touch, and would pray I had the
money to come back up for the hearing. I gave him Geoffrey's phone
number and address to contact me if he heard anything about the hearing
before I had an address of my own.
My son and I arrived in Tennessee on Thursday night. I rented a car
at the airport and looked for a motel in the vicinity as originally planned,
since it was getting late. The next morning we had an appointment to go
see about a boarding house downtown that I found online before we left
Maine. Since I was a romantic teenager I'd wanted to live in a boarding
house - just like the down-and-out heroines of those Grace Livingston
Hill romance novels I used to read. I guess I’m just a silly romantic
at heart, huh?
The boarding house didn't look very inviting
on the outside. There was trash in the yard and the place was a
ramshackle, rickety mess. Next door was a rescue mission. It seemed a good idea to talk to the staff and get their opinion on the boarding house.
Their opinion wasn't good. The director called a motel for me and arranged a discount rate for a week.
Thanks Lord! That gave me time to look for a better place to live and a job.
The next day I headed to Gunner. I didn't find the town very interesting,
but stuck to that location to putter around for a few days, looking for a
job, a place to live and a vehicle.
Remembering the trouble I
had in Washington finding a place to live without a job, I concentrated
on a job first. Kentucky Fried Chicken hired me as an assistant
manager. They were impressed that I had owned my own store for two
summers. That was on a Wednesday. I was to start on Monday.
Later that morning I found an apartment. The rent was more than my
son's Social Security check he got from his disabled father, but with the KFC
job we'd make it.
After a bit of searching and spending
$100 to have it inspected, I located a $1500 car the next day. Since my
debit card only allowed me to get $500 a day, I gave the salesman $100
and said I'd be back in three days with the rest.
That night,
Thursday, I got the feeling I should call the representative who was
handling my VA case to ask him if he knew anything more about the
hearing. There was no reason he would have since I hadn't heard
anything from him.
Well, don't you know that sometimes I
pay attention when God tells me something. The legal representative
said my hearing was scheduled for the following Tuesday! The letter was
sent to my former address, arriving probably the day after we left the
state. If I hadn't called, I would have missed the hearing!
I
had enough money in the bank to pay the rent on the new apartment for a
month , buy a round-trip ticket to go to the hearing and spend a few
days getting stuff from my old cabin that I couldn't bring with me when
we left. If I had been able to get the money for the car all in one
day, I wouldn't have been able to go back for the hearing! God's timing
is perfect.
But the job at Kentucky Fried Chicken wouldn't be there when I got back.
Well, Lord, You had me call to see about the hearing when there was no
reason to do so; You kept me from buying a car when I was going to need
the money to go back for the hearing; so I'm sure You will provide some
way for me to pay the rent. At least I have a month to find something.
When I arrived for the hearing back in Maine, the rating officer said
it was an open and shut case. The head injury was all over my military
records. No problem.
But the medical problem I was hoping to
have them rate was bipolar, caused by the head injury. That would take
me back four years in pay. When I originally filed, I knew nothing
about a head injury and had only added it to the case a year prior to
the hearing. If the case was rated on the head injury, the back pay
would only be a little more than a year.
Well, Lord, You know
what You're doing. You've always taken care of me, if I would trust
You. I'm sure You'll do what's best for me, so I'll trust You this
time, too.
When the hearing officer offered me 70% based on the
head injury, he said I would have to go back to the psychiatrist. They'd
let me know when the appointment was scheduled. I told him I'd just
moved out of state, and came back for the hearing. I wouldn't be able
to go to another appointment there.
“Okay. Did you like the psychiatrist you saw when you filed the claim four years ago?”
“I did.”
“Good. We'll just send the file back to him.”
Now, I was thinking that could be a good thing. That psychiatrist told
me four years ago if I could prove the bipolar started when I was in
the military he would give me 100% in a heartbeat.
I'd tried for
all those four years to find someone who could verify that. No one
could. My first husband sent three letters that I never received. My
friend only knew about the head injury, not its effects, though he did
write a letter for me.
Out of desperation, I asked a life-long
friend to write a letter. She had seen me just two weeks before the
head injury, and could verify that I hadn't even so much as mentioned
the man I agreed to marry a month later. She could also say what I was
like now as compared to before the injury. I didn't know if it would do
any good, because the VA raters prefer military friends and co-workers,
but I turned it in with the rest of the paperwork at the hearing.
I asked God to get me the 100% if He didn't mind. That way I wouldn't
have to work and would have time and enough money to do and go and give
whatever He wanted from me.
~*~
When I arrived back at
my new home in Tennessee I had no idea what we would do for food. We
had a little, but not much. At least the rent was paid for a month.
The Saturday I returned I found a little Baptist church three quarters
of a mile away from the apartment. There were a few guys working there,
so I talked to them about the church. It sounded like something we
might be interested in, so the next morning my son and I walked to
church.
Less than a block from the apartment was a United Methodist Church with homecoming that morning. “Homecoming” at any church in the
South means food, and we didn't have much, and hadn't eaten breakfast
and probably not supper the night before.
I suggested we could
save ourselves the walk and go to church there that morning. My son
looked at me like I'd lost all my marbles.
“MO-om! That's a
United Methodist Church! We are Independent Baptists.” (The things
kids pick up when you don't think they're listening!)
“Okay,” I
said with a deep sigh. “Let's go to the Baptist church,” as I kept
walking that three quarters of a mile in my high-heeled shoes.
Though I hadn't attended church much over the years, there are still
several doctrines I look for in a church. Between two services on
Sunday and the Wednesday night service, the preacher touched on them all
in passing. I was sure that was where God had in mind for us to attend
church. We both enjoyed the services.
~*~
A few weeks later there was an aggravating issue I needed to discuss with
the apartment manager. I started to leave the apartment to go talk to
her about it, but first a phone call and then a knock on the door kept
me from getting out the door. Finally, the third try, I managed to head
out to have that talk with the apartment manager.
I was about
halfway to the office when I saw the preacher's wife drive up. She had a
strange look on her face. She also had bags of groceries for us. She
said she'd argued with God about bringing us food. She had no idea
which apartment I lived in, so how was she going to get the stuff to
me? She'd argued about taking me anything at all, because I hadn't said
I needed help and she didn't want to offend me by bringing food, like I
was poor or something. Amazing the excuses we use to ignore God.
Well, don't you know, I was thrilled to death to see her. God had done
it again! She found me against all odds, and we got food we
desperately needed.
Through circumstances, God kept me from a
potentially unpleasant confrontation with the apartment manager. It
seemed God didn't want me to talk to her, considering the trouble I had
when I tried. We never did have that conversation. Thanks again,
Lord. On both accounts.
~*~
I still need a job, Lord.
A few days after making that request of God, my son and I were walking
downtown and saw a Kirby store. Now, we both love Kirby vacuum
cleaners. We went in just to see what there was to see. The owner and I
discussed the merits of their product over other brands. She offered
me a job as a telemarketer, beginning that night.
I told her I'd
be happy to have the job, but I didn't work on Wednesday nights, as I
needed to go to church. She agreed. WOW, Lord! How unusual is that?
They were closed on Sunday, so that wasn't a problem.
It wasn't
much for pay, and only twenty four hours a week, but it would be enough
to tithe, pay the rest of the rent my son’s check wouldn't cover and pay
the utilities, with just a bit left over for food.
So, now we
had a church and I had a job I could walk to. The grocery store was
literally out the back door. Still no car, but we didn't need one, and
couldn't have afforded one. God was working overtime taking care of me,
giving me only what we needed, and not burdening me with things we
didn't.
After a while there were things going on at work I didn't
feel were being done in a very ethical manner, but I needed the job. I
really didn't want to have to tell the boss lady I didn't think they
were doing things the way I felt they should be done. It wasn’t my
place. I asked God to show me what He wanted me to do.
One night
the other woman who worked with me decided I wasn't doing my job, so
she called the boss to “come in and make me get to work.”
Now,
one does not have to be overly energetic to dial phone numbers no one
answers. Trust me; I was working as hard as she was. She was making
contact; I was only getting answering machines, and we weren't supposed
to leave messages.
When the boss arrived and heard the other
lady's story, she asked me privately what was going on. I told her
working with that lady wasn't going to work, and I quit right then and
there.
She understood, I think, because another lady had already
quit for the same reason. And I didn't have to say anything about
ethics.
But now I had no job and the rent was due. When I
explained the situation to our new apartment manager, he said he
understood my situation; he was very sorry but he could only give me
twenty days to pay the rent. After that I'd have twenty four hours to
move.
Help Lord…
No one at church knew about the money situation. I'm not even sure I told my son about the possible eviction.
A week later, on the second of the month, I got a call from the
legal representative for my VA disability case. He said it had been
approved - at 100% on the bipolar!
That would be one very large
chunk of change! The back pay would commence from the filing date four
years prior. If it had been approved on the head injury that would have
only given me seventeen months of back pay, because that’s when that
diagnosis was made and I had added it to my VA claim.
“Thanks Lord!” I shouted. The man on the phone probably thought the award was well-deserved!
Moving out of state had been a good thing. If we hadn't moved, there
is no telling which psychiatrist I would have seen. Granted, God could
have arranged it to be the same one, and in effect He had when we moved.
Not that I had any idea when the money would arrive. This is the government we're talking about. It could be months.
So, the countdown to being evicted began. I didn't really look for a
job because I was under the impression that if I got 100% I wouldn't be
allowed to work (which years later I found not to be the case). What
would be the point in getting a job only to have to quit when the
disability started? If I managed to find a job within a week, I
wouldn't get my first paycheck before the rent was due, anyway.
I
paid the utility bills and bought food with what money we had and saved
as much as I could. The rent had to be paid in full, no partial
payments allowed.
I waited and prayed. I don't remember
worrying, though. I'd seen God work so many miracles since moving there
that I didn't even begin packing to move, or arranging for help if I
needed it. I just knew God was going to come through for me. I did
wonder what I’d do with all our stuff if He had other plans for me. The
sidewalk outside the apartment would be pretty full of stuff.
On the morning of the 20th I walked to the mailbox, hoping the check would be there.
No check.
I was finally beginning to wonder what was going to happen next and
began looking at our possessions in terms of what we would be able to
keep, wondering where we would go.
My daddy called in the early afternoon of the 20th, just
three hours before the rent had to be paid, or we'd be out on the street
the next day.
"The man who is buying my property also wants to
buy your cabin. He just sent half the money for your cabin. Where
would you like me to send it?”
“Wire it to my bank here, please! Now!” For the first time, I explained the situation.
Eventually the money from the VA did come in the mail. In the
meanwhile, God changed the heart of a buyer and the money daddy sent
paid the bills.
God had done it again!