Frustrated I clicked from page to page begging the internet to reveal the answer. To find what I was looking for. When I reached the end of my search, with nothing new having been posted, I laid my head on my arms like a sixth grader pouting at their desk, and began to cry. My shoulders heaved up and down as I prayed.
I am rapidly losing hope that we are going to find a place to stay.
A place that is in town, near my family,
where my children will be safe and have room to run.
Please, please, please.
In Jesus Name I pray,
I kept my eyes closed, took a deep breath and got up. I read to the baby, delivered morning snack, and finished my cup of coffee. I folded some laundry, did two nebulizer treatments and tidied up the living room. My anxiety kept rising, and finally I sat down with my journal in my lap in Josh's easy chair. I started writing furiously all the things that are weighing on my heart, and that's when the phone rang.
It was my sister.
She was crying.
"Shelly, you got the house!"
Then we were both crying. Her friend had texted to tell her that the decision had been made and our family would be able to rent her aunt's furnished, three bedroom/two bath, double car garage, huge backyard, one-house-away-from-my-sister's home. For the entire duration of our stay in Vancouver.
It had been less than two hours since I'd prayed.