Providential Phone Call

We are spending our 3rd night in a hotel in Benson. We know nothing more about our future than we did yesterday. At this point there's not a place on earth that feels safe. We've considered camping as an option. Hotels don't seem safe. New homes don't seem safe. Old homes don't seem safe. The biblical concept that earth is not our home has taken on new meaning. The owner of our rental home graciously tracked down all of the specifics regarding the pesticides. I am waiting to hear from our toxicologist regarding potential contamination of our belongings. Until 3 days ago I knew nothing about our vulnerability to pesticides. Now I do. As a friend pointed out, better now than the day after we purchase a home. Nonetheless, we are struggling. Deeply. In the midst of it all I received a phone call this afternoon. The kids and I had visited a church January 25th. I filled out a visitor's card and searched out a welcome table after the service to drop it off. I knew that it could be awhile before I'd hear.It's a big church and I would understand if I never heard at all. Besides, I can always call them. But in my darkest 2:30 this cell phone rang. It was a pastor from the church. I don't know what kind of day he was having or why he called me today. I wonder if it was hard on this particular Wednesday afternoon to reach out to a stranger. I do know that he sat and listened as I cried and shared. He understood that there was more to our story than he heard in those 5 minutes. He offered to help in whatever way he could. But, in reality, he already has. He was the instrument God used to let me know that we are never alone. Never.