"If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!"
We moved back home to our sleepy little town when our son was six months old. Our first floor apartment was set at the edge of one of the first suburban neighborhoods born just after the depression era of the early to mid 1930's. Most warm mornings, three seasons a year, I'd buckle our son into his blue stroller and meander up and down the quiet, tree lined streets.
After two years of walking those quaint New England neighborhoods, I'd memorized every house; their beautiful, landscaped yards, their color and unique architecture, even their placement on the street. They were all beautiful but I had my favorite. It was a small, white colonial with a big back yard. It was fenced-in with green hedges with a long driveway on one side and a cute little archway that was attached to the left side of the front stoop that created a double front peak. It faced the southeastern sky so I knew it would be sunny and welcoming most of the day. It was the house I felt I could call home; a place to put down roots and plant our family. It was something I'd never had growing up...a homestead; a place where good memories were made and reminisced.
I always ended our walks at the street directly opposite that pretty white house and pause a moment to take a long look and breathe a simple prayer. "Lord," I'd say, "if you so choose to give us a house, I'd like one just like that!"
When I was five months pregnant with our daughter, we knew it was time to buy a house. Before we could even open the ads in the newspaper, an acquaintance had a house for us to look at. It was her elderly mother's home. She'd lived in it since 1936 (53 years) and she wanted to meet the purchasing family face-to-face. So, with address in hand, I navigated the directions for my husband as we wove through the familiar streets I'd walked every day for two years.
"Okay, take the next left and the house will be the second driveway on the left," I instructed. My husband pulled into the driveway and I looked up from the written directions for the first time.
"Here we are," my husband said cheerfully.
I was speechless. There we were, parked in the driveway of my favorite, white house.
"You okay?" my husband asked trying to figure out why I wasn't getting out of the car.
"This is our house," I finally managed to whisper through tear brimmed eyes. "It's the exact house I've prayed for every day for two years."
We didn't make an offer that night. In fact, the asking price was way out of our price range. But with a bit of negotiating they accepted our offer and within a month we moved into our pretty, white house. It will be twenty one years this November since our house became our home. We've raised two children here and continue to make wonderful memories now with our grandchildren. This pretty white house has truly become our family's homestead.
I love to tell this story because it's a story about God's generous heart towards his daughter. He looked beyond my whispered prayer and into my heart. He could have chosen to bless me with any gift but He chose to give me the best gift; the gift that meant the most to me.
This same God wants to be generous to you, too. He's waiting for you to ask.