“Have you ever thought about leaving this town?” Brother Anthony said that question had been laid on his heart. He waited for my answer.
“Some days I can’t wait to leave. Other days I want to stay here forever.” This little rural town had been home for thirteen years. My daughters had never lived anywhere else. My son was buried here.
My pastor had my trust and my attention. He knew my family and all our troubles. He was a friend, counselor, and prayer warrior. I knew him to be a man who sought God’s will and listened to His voice.
“What keeps you from moving?” he said. “You have no family here. You never know from year to year whether your school will still be open.”
He was right, so I listened.
“Are you pleased with your kids going to junior high and high school here?”
Had he read my mind? My older daughter was about to enter the sixth grade. If we moved, now would be a good time.
The preacher laughed. “Now, Michelle, I’m going to meddle. Have you ever thought about being married again?”
I squirmed in my chair as I considered my answer. I had been a single mom for several years. I had dated a little, found myself attracted to men much like my ex-husband, and decided to focus solely on raising my two daughters. He was meddling. “Some days,” I said. “I think maybe I will, and some days I’m glad I’m not.”
“How many single, Christian men your age are in this town?”
I didn’t need a calculator or fingers on both hands to answer that question.
“They’re not coming here,” he said. “What kind of opportunities might there be for you and your daughters in a bigger town?”
“I don’t think it’s right to uproot my kids to look for a husband.” Even as I protested, my thoughts began to change. Could it be that God had good things in store for us somewhere else? Could it be that God’s plan involved moving? I was definitely out of my comfort zone.
I had one more objection. “I’m really involved in our church,” I said. “What if I get lost in a bigger one? Will I have a place?”
Anthony chuckled. “When you find a church, I will call and make sure they put you to work.”
Our conversation turned to the benefits that could come from moving. Teaching in a school that was not at risk of being closed would be nice. A different setting would be good for my daughters. They were at a good age to make a move.
“You’re a teacher, you could go anywhere. What would happen if you sent out some resumes?”
I nodded. I could send resumes and see what doors God would open. I looked at my pastor. “I can do that. I’ll give it a shot. I’ll go anywhere but Waco.”
He laughed.
I laughed.
I think I heard other laughter, although there were only two of us in that room.
My parents had recently retired to Waco. My past decisions and actions had left our relationship strained. I couldn’t imagine living in the same town. I’m glad God is not limited by my imagination.
I followed through with my promise. I sat at my computer daily, researching school districts. I pondered a new life in Dallas, Houston, or San Antonio. As I considered each new city, I could feel that little nudge, that quiet little voice whispering, “What about Waco?” I tried everything I knew to drown out that voice. I tried in vain to come up with good reasons to go anywhere else. The still small voice said, “What if the kids are sick? Who will pick them up from school? You need to be near family.” The whisper won.
I narrowed my search to the Waco area. I shared my plans with my parents, who were thrilled. I attended job fairs, filled out applications, and went for interviews. I did not get discouraged when I had no results. God was directing this adventure. He would provide just the right job. I did; however, have my own timetable.
I was scheduled for major surgery on June 23rd. I decided that if I didn’t have a new job by then, I would teach where I was for another year, then begin to look again. To have surgery, sell the house, pack, move, buy another house, and start a new job would be too much in too few weeks. That was my plan. God’s plan was better.
The night before surgery I received an offer on my house, which was not yet on the market. The day after surgery I received a phone call on the landline in my hospital room.
“Hello, I’m Tim Van Cleave, the principal at Robinson High School. I have your application that was sent to us by the junior high school. We are looking for a math teacher. Are you still looking for a job?”
“Yes, I am still looking.”
“Great. We have a position open. Can you come next week for an interview?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t. I had major surgery yesterday. I won’t be able to make that six-and-a-half -hour trip next week.”
In the days before Skype and Zoom, Mr. Van Cleave called again the next day and interviewed me over the phone. I was in a hospital room. My interview outfit was a hospital gown. My hair was a mess. I was on pain medicine. I got the job. God does indeed work in mysterious ways.
Six weeks later I started my new job. The old house was sold, the new house was bought. All the belongings had been crammed into the U-Haul. The stuff, the kids, the dogs, and I were now in our new home halfway across the state.
Even now I look back at the way God orchestrated that move and I am awestruck. He parted the waters and we walked across on dry land. He was faithful, as He has always been and always will be.