We had left Galveston in the middle of the night. My husband drove the 26 foot U-Haul
which held all of our material possessions, and the kids and my mother rode with me in my new car as he led us to the fifth largest Metropolitan city.
"Houston here we come." I remember saying. Big dreams. Big things. New beginnings awaited. God was finally smiling on us. This is what I had always suspected a child of God would experience—heaven on earth, the anticipation of good things to come. I was excited! I had my two babies finally, a boy 15 months, and a girl four months. And The Art Institute Of Houston awaited.
I was enrolled as an Interior Designer major. My heart was set on designing air crafts & luxury hotels. My long term goals ... travel and move to the Big Apple. My husband and I had already talked about putting the kids in the best private schools. We were set.
One day my husband called to tell me that he had been in a major car accident and that though he was fine my car had been totally destroyed. His truck was already in the shop being worked on from another accident. The truck should have been ready some time ago, but we were having problems getting the company who was working on the truck to cooperate with us. They had started giving us the run around.
Nevertheless, I assured him that the car being destroyed was "No problem, and that we would just have to get a rental car through our insurance."
Knowing we had this option comforted both of us as he was employed as a carrier at the time and needed a vehicle for work. Early the next morning I got all the insurance papers out and called the company. I couldn't believe what I was hearing on the other end of the phone. For some reason—still not apparent to me. I had not paid the premium on my vehicle, only his. This proved to be catastrophic for our family. If my husband didn't have a vehicle he couldn't work, and he was the sole provider for our family financially.
So that same day, he set out to look for work on public transportation. Within a few months, I had to withdraw from my classes at The Art Institute because we could no longer pay for a baby-sitter.
Depressed was an understatement for me. We eventually had to call our church who helped us with food, rent and money for the electric bill. The only thing we lacked, other than a car, was a home phone. The apartment complex we lived in had plenty of pay phones which was sufficient. People who we knew gave us permission to call them collect if we had to.
For me not having a phone was like loosing a limb. It was my only life line. I was accustomed to talking to my mother, grandmother, cousins, and friends daily. Not being able to cry on their shoulder sent me in a depression in and of itself. That same week I found out I was pregnant, again, and was put on bed rest due to spotting and me having already had so many miscarriages.
I was angry, and had just left a heart-wrenching experience behind in Galveston. We came to Houston for a new beginning. I couldn't understand how a God of love ... a God who said He loved me would continue taking me through such troubling things. Since my salvation a year or so earlier everything I did and didn't know was with Him in mind, so why would He chose to continue punishing me? It just made no sense to me.
Being in this predicament forced me to do nothing. All I could do was lie down and listen to the radio. I couldn't even sit up otherwise I would start to bleed. So there I laid. Flat on my back with my husband serving me for breakfast, lunch and dinner. He would feed me and the kids, go look for work, and come back home to feed us again. This went on for weeks. Until I finally miscarried. I didn't want anyone from the church coming over to help me. For one I was embarrassed and two I didn't really know any of them. We were so new to the church and the city.
One morning while making breakfast I heard a very annoying voice. The voice I came to love. The lady said, "You are loved with an everlasting love, that's what the Bible says. And underneath are the everlasting arms. This is your friend Elisabeth Elliot welcoming you to 'Gateway to joy.'"
Thus a new beginning ensued for me.
Please join me next week to continue reading one of my "Gateways to joy stories."
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Please remember —"Everything if given to God can become our gateway to joy."