The Post-test Revealed

I let you down easy last night because I figured half of you were about ready to slap me. I wasn't practicing to perfect the art of the cliffhanger for some weird writing class assignment. I was just giving it to you guys the way God gave it to us. We got a piece here and a bit there as each new day dawned. I'm highly suspicious that he planned it that way because he knew, for our frail human hearts, ignorance really needs to be bliss about ¾ of the time. Can I get an amen? Not too loud...remember..I'm Presbyterian. Loud noises with religious connotations frighten me!

We were absolutely blindsided by our landlord's sudden request that we vacate ASAP for his convenience. We were, well at least I was, hysterically blindsided by the news that we might qualify for a home loan less than 2 weeks after our Chapter 13 was discharged. Perhaps those who are wiser in the ways of the world than I was then would not be shocked by this reality. But, I had consigned myself to the relative comfort zone of rental housing for the rest of my life. In fact, there were a LOT of perks to the option as long as you had a good landlord. All things considered, ours was superlative until he bobbled that last phone call. Given the circumstances, who could blame him?

For the next few days after his call, we groped our way thru the darkness listening to the voices of our real estate agent and her mortgage loan officer friend guide us to the light. I was terrified (surprise, surprise) every minute of the day and night. I was afraid we were wasting our landlord's time as well as the 2 women on a crusade to get us a house with our name on the loan. I knew my life. In my life, the rug would get jerked out from under us at the last minute sending everyone back to square one in the rental housing market. If I had been in possession of any breath left to hold, I would have held it.

The flurry of phone calls those first 3 days led to a scavenger hunt of monumental proportions. Where's Waldo pales by comparison. Remember the time frame? It was late summer of 2008. Everywhere you looked, retail dirt in our county was on the move. Commercial expansion was at a feverish, frenzied pace. That market was rivaled only by the housing market. In our area, the housing market was a shark tank. Chum was in the water, and the sharks were in feeding frenzy. In the 2 weeks or so that we looked, we made offers on 5 houses.

In every single situation, we'd get word that another contract had been accepted within an hour or so of our offer going in. Was God giving us a signal? Walk away and rent? Keep looking? Ha-ha, I'm playing with you, and it is fun? The wear and tear on my nerves began to show. I finally collapsed in an exhausted, teary heap caught between a rock and a homeless place AGAIN. I still questioned the Realtor as to how we could buy a house with virtually no down payment. She shared the news of a special no down payment program. As we were told, there were only 2 of those programs left. Both were ending soon, and we qualified for 1 of them. Are you kidding? Financial lepers like us? Surely they had us confused with someone else!

We received the news that we would have special hoops to jump through. These hoops were for social and financial lepers like us. There'd be extra documents to produce and an epistle to write explaining how we'd sunk so low from such lofty heights. Oh goody, goody, goody! Yet another opportunity for us to grovel at the feet of the more powerful. Little did I know how God would connect some dots for me.

Four years before we had visited with our bankruptcy attorney and heard him say that, in the final analysis, no one would care if we filed Chapter 7 or 13. He had encouraged us to take the easy way out and file Chatper 7. As soon as we went to court, our troubles would be over. Oh, yea, we'd carry a scarlet 7 on our forehead for 10 years, but who would be counting except us? If we opted for that messy old Chapter 13, we'd be under the oversight of the court for 4 years while they garnished our income every month. The upside for the option would be that we'd lose the scarlet 13 on our foreheads in only 7 years. Yipppeeee! I had chewed my tongue till I was virtually drinking blood as I told Jeff I'd trust him to make the decision. Yea, inside, I was screaming, “OH, PLEASE; OH, PLEASE; OH PLEASE!! PICK CHAPTER 7!!!!” After all, no one was going go care anyway! Many a month I looked back on our 'mutual' decision with loathing always wondering, “What if we had filed 7?”

Now, as we navigated the tricky waters of this new house hunting campaign, word trickled back down from the mortgage loan officers, their bosses, and the underwriters whose altar they bowed down before. Somebody did care after all. In our case, it was the underwriters. Seems they were mighty impressed by our story and especially the part about how we opted for Chapter 13 to honor our debt when we could have taken the easy way out and filed Chapter 7. Will wonders ever cease? God has a way of connecting dots when you least expect it. I've got a few more recent dots I'm hoping he's at work on. I'll get back to you on those situations. Stick around for the 411 as it happens. If it happens.

Finally, we found the new house that had good bones. Smirk. I didn't know it was infected with rehab-itis nor that I was in for a bad case of it. Ignorance is bliss. Have you not figured that out by now? Jeff was at the office when I first laid eyes on it. I called him hardly able to stand or talk as both my voice and knees were shaking. “I've found a house. It has good bones. It has good flow. It'll be a great house to entertain in. It has a creek. It's on a cul-e-sac. I'm sorry you aren't here. I'm making an offer.” I figured if I could trust him on that little Chapter 7 vs 13 thing, turn about was fair play.

Guess what? We were a back up contract. I'd roll around on the floor and laugh out loud except it wasn't one bit funny, God. I dragged myself back home figuring God was keeping me in my submissive place since Jeff hadn't been there to eyeball the object of my future infection. The Realtor and I decided to take a break because I was about to send her to the local psych ward with a case of customer induced duress. So, when she called the next morning, I was understandably curious. “The first offer fell thru. I told them we'd come back for another look to insure we want our offer to stand.” Jeff met us at lunch. The contract was signed, sealed, and delivered. We would close on September 6. And, we did.

Every single soul that knew what we had been through navigated those heady days with us. I'd say we were all equally slack-jawed. My good God had redeemed my faith in him. Does that sound cheeky? I sure don't mean it too. I felt like King David dancing before the Lord. I had endured. I had finished this part of the race. I had lived to see restoration this side of Heaven. It would lead one to sing and dance, “Hallelujah!” if one weren't a high church kind of Presbyterian girl, that is.

One or 2 last things: 1) Remember that $3K in the bank for a newer used car? Turned out it was exactly what we needed to pay our part of the closing costs and the movers to haul our stuff the 4 miles from the house in the garden-hood to the house with case of good boned rehab-itis. 2) For the first time in our 19 year marriage, we went to a home improvement store and bought something together. We bought a bucket of paint.

You have to understand that when a couple has been haunted by monsters who have hidden in the shadows since one spouse's childhood, everything about a marriage gets complicated. The affected spouse really needs to make sure they are never, ever surprised by even the simplest things like how pictures are hung and colors of paint are chosen. This joint purchase of a single gallon of paint represented a milestone of celebratory proportions. I had died and gone to heaven. All I needed was for the coroner to show up and confirm my diagnosis.

Before I could open that bucket of paint, the stock market would take a sudden, unexpected dive. First it bobbled enough to get my attention. Any wife of a consulting engineer knows you don't tinker with the stock market and stay employed. It bobbled and then it tanked. Jeff's company went from hiring 70-year-old men out of retirement one day to laying off as fast as they could the next day. I tell you this information for the literal truth it was. We didn't wonder if Jeff would get laid off. We just wondered what day. I put the can of paint in the back of the closet and stopped unpacking. What was the use?

At first, I thought I'd pass the test if that is what it was. I figured maybe, just maybe we'd already been through a 3 year stint of unemployment so that I could rise up as a paragon of virtuous faith. I could tell everyone else how you could do it and survive while God kept us solvent this time around. Hey, it might be a good gig if you could get it. Only, I didn't.

Isaiah 54:10 (OpenBible.info)

For the mountains may depart and the hills be removed, but my steadfast love shall not depart from you, and my covenant of peace shall not be removed,” says the Lord, who has compassion on you.

Pop Quizzes and Post-Tests in The School of Life – the Test Begins

Have we met? Allow me to introduce myself. I am a fraidy cat. I am the daughter of Abraham. Metaphorically speaking. Nope. I didn't get his faith-based DNA. I got his fear-based DNA. When you read his kudo's in Hebrews, don't mistake me for his relative. When you read about all the times he caved into fear during his lifetime, there I am as big as a billboard and in technicolor that would make Steven Spielberg envious. Given Abraham's historic reputation, maybe there is hope for me?

Once you know me, you know that my reaction to our sudden and undeserved eviction from the little house in the garden-hood was uncharacteristic for me. I have to admit: I was 'purdy' impressed with me for laughing in the face of life within an hour of the 'get outta ma house' phone call. We sat the boys down and had a matter-of-fact chat. Even got an ice cream on the way home to soften the blow that was coming. They smelled trouble a mile away just by the looks on our faces. I told 'em what I had told God, “He's got to have a solution to this situation because we sure don't.”

By the next morning, my friend had goaded me into calling the Realtor. I waited on a call back just kicking myself for wasting the woman's time. The phone rang within 45”, and she greeted me with quite a punch line. “Well Miss Missy, what makes you think you can't buy a house?”

ROLL. MY. EYES. Here we go again. Another person to whom I can tell my sad tale for the privilege of hearing the sniff of disdain and the well rehearsed quick exit line kept on file for financial lepers like us. But, I put my best game face on knowing she couldn't see me sweat over the phone and took one for the team. I laid out in less than 3” what has taken you kind folks weeks to read. If that wasn't enough to finish her off, I ended with, “Our Chapter 13 was just discharged by the court 12 days ago. We have $3,OOO in savings in hopes of replacing one of our cars. We've just been too scared to go to a dealer knowing they will laugh us off the lot.”

My mind flashed back to our other life. The before time when mortgage loan officers and car salesman would get one look at our credit score and literally jump over each other to get us to do business with them. You know...back in the days when we were somebody. I'd seen the last of that life. I was so sick and tired of telling our sick and tired story that I was ready to scream. Only seconds had elapsed while life replayed.

“Did you say your Chapter 13 is discharged?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have the letter?”

“Yes.”

“Would you give me your socials?”

“Uh...uh...ok?” I stuttered and stammered my way through 2 sets of 9 digit numbers.

“Sit right there. Don't move. I'll call you back in 5 minutes.”

Try as I might, I couldn't head off the avalanche. Sobs erupted without enough advance knowledge for me to stop them. “Please, Lady, PLEASE. Don't do this to me. All we have is what we have. If you don't handle rentals, I'm sorry I bothered you. We need to get out of here as quick as we can. I need to be looking for a rental house. Can you help me do that? If you can't, I don't need you to help me do anything else. We have no family we can turn to for some sort of 'gift letter' and a wad of cash to put us back in a house of our own. Lady, Lady. Don't do whatever you are going to do. Just help me find a rental. No pets. No smokers. Hardwoods if you can find them. Please?' By this time, I was crying so hard she could barely understand my tirade.

She waited for me to quiet a bit. “Listen, Darling....why don't you let me decide what you can do or can't do when it comes to real estate. Just let me make a call.”

I hung up the phone trying not to slam it and rolled over on the sofa sobbing huge gasping sobs. Presently, the phone rang again. I sat up and managed to answer it with a shaky, “Hello?”

“Ok, Miss Missy. Did you know your credit score at this moment is almost as high as it was before you went thru bankruptcy?”

“No....?”

“Did you know that your credit rating is higher than mine has EVER been in my LIFE?”

“No....?”

“Did you know that I rarely work with anyone whose credit rating has EVER been this high even if they've never, ever been CLOSE to filing any kind of bankruptcy?”

Well, you can imagine that my level of hysteria at this point was high enough to get me committed at the same psych hospital where I had once worked. I was again sobbing uncontrollably.

“Are you going anywhere today?” Was she kidding? I was incapable of walking a straight line to the bathroom for tissue at that moment I was so undone. Did she really think I was going to inflict my hysterical self on the general public? All I needed was a hysteria induced DUI charge to make my life complete.

“No.....”

“Good...sit right there. I talked to someone before I called you back. A mortgage loan officer is going to call you within the hour. She is going to take your mortgage loan app over the phone. I think we can get you pre-qualified for a mortgage before close of business tomorrow. Do NOT buy a car till we have you in a house. It'll drop your score a couple hundred points for a couple of months. Wait till we close. Then, go car shopping.”

“But...but...but..we have $3,000 in savings for a CAR not a house...and that isn't even close to being a down payment. I told you, we can't pull a gift letter and a tens of thousands of dollars out of some long lost dead relative's account. Just find me a rental house, PLEASE? No pets. No smokers. Hardwoods if you can find it.”

“Don't go anywhere. My friend will be calling you within 40 minutes. I'll talk to you again after she does.”

There have been a lot of my days in my life when I felt as tho' I had been thrust into some LSD driven adaptation of the Twilight Zone. This day was one of them. I called Jeff at work. My near hysteria led him to believe something horrible had happened. Was someone dead? He rushed home for lunch to get the 411 in person. While he was there, the mortgage loan officer called. Jeff jotted down a list of documents she'd need. When we finished the call, we sat and looked at each other in stunned silence.

For frame of reference, I call your attention to the time frame in our recent American history. It was July of 2008. In a few weeks our roaring American economy would undergo its biggest challenge since the Great Depression of 1929 Ignorance is bliss as long as you are ignorant.

I hate cliffhangers. I know you hate me for leaving you on the edge of a cliff night after night. I wish I could start writing and just keep going till I'm done. Writing my way back to God ought to be that simple. It's not. The long story short is that tonight I am sitting in the house we bought for less than $3,000 out of our pockets. So, you will no doubt wonder about what a weenie I am. With a God who did a miracle of Old Testament proportions for my family, how in the world have I ended up having to write my way back to him?

If you had asked me during those short weeks would I ever be writing this story for this reason, I would have checked your breathalyzer. I was the girl whose good God had a good plan. I had spent a lot of oxygen telling anyone who would listen that he was faithful. One day, I fell. When I did, I eventually stood on my own two feet again. My heart never got up off that muddy, rocky hill.

Fear is relative. Stress is relative. Deprivation is relative. Life is relative. Some of my visitors will bounce over to my fraidy cat world, take a look, roll their eyes and say, “Sheezzz! Can she GET anymore self absorbed? This place is too neurotic for me,” and bounce away never to return. Others of you....hmm...today you wondered. Am I invisible? Does anyone see me? Why am I here? Do I matter? Does anybody see me disappearing before their eyes? Welcome home.

As much as I wrestle with my faith, I'm not sure faith really counts unless you've had to fight for it. I'm no longer impressed by blasé, robotic-like, automaton faith expounded upon by trite cliche's so common here in the buckle of the Bible belt. God bless you if you got the life that allowed you that kind of faith. Your life must be amazing. It must be wonderful to be you. Me, I'm having to fight for mine. If you know the feeling, come back tomorrow. Ok? Maybe even be brave enough to bring a friend? 

Isaiah 43 1b-3a (NIV)

Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am the Lord you God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior. (Isaiah 43:1b-3a)