“Mommy,” Evan’s eyes lit up with excitement while he snuck behind me, squeezing both my shoulders in a tight hug, “I don’t want to ever move away from this home. Can we please stay here forever?”

His out-of-the-blue, unexpected declaration left me scrambling for words.

“We are not going anywhere, honey. At least not for a long, long while. We just moved in!” I assured him, looking deep into his blue, hopeful eyes. “I am so glad you love this new home. I love it, too.”

As I sat there on the floor with a pair of restless arms dangling around my neck, reminiscing about how God brought us to this place, I could not help but notice a pattern. Every time we desperately needed something, He provided.

It all started a year ago on a seemingly peaceful Sabbath morning. Ding! Chris’ phone delivered the message that wreaked havoc on our hard-earned peace. “Your apartment lease contract expires at the end of this month. From now on, the rent will be [double-than-before] dollars. If you wish to continue, let me know. In case you decide not to, this would be your last month, which has already been covered by your initial deposit.”

Happy Sabbath, I muttered. Somehow, I felt these were the only words missing to complete the irony.

I sighed.
“Well, it’s not like we didn’t see this coming,” Chris stated.

He was right. Since the Ukrainian war started, the influx of Russian and Ukrainian citizens fleeing to Georgia has increased exponentially. So has the demand for housing. We read in horror the long posts from expatriates like us who could no longer afford rent, now moving to other countries after many years spent in Georgia. Not everyone was dealing with reasonable people like our landlady, who at least honored the contract until its end, giving us proper notice. Not everyone had their rent double. Most of them had it triple.

We prayed, knowing we couldn’t afford a doubled rent—or tripled. We couldn’t leave Georgia either. We were here for a purpose greater than us. We forwarded the troubling news to our field director.

The AFM office put wheels in motion for us to purchase a project house, and it felt like watching the Red Sea waters split in two, revealing a new, dry path—the one allowing us to stay. If I had known what kind of an adventure that would be, I might have just turned around and marched right into the Egyptian’s arms. I am thankful I didn’t.

Purchasing an apartment was going to be a pain. No room for mistakes. Dima, our good friend and realtor, knew which properties had smaller square footage than advertised, which were unauthorized constructions, which apartments had paperwork problems or difficult owners, which properties were still listed despite having already been sold, and so on.

The next two months were a roller coaster. We saw less and less of Chris while he was out making calls, seeing apartments, scouting neighborhoods. Every evening, we would crossmatch screenshots of apartments with notes Chris took during viewings with Dima. Then this kind of ping-pong would follow between me and Chris:
“Oh, this one is so spacious!” I said.

“I doubt that makes up for the lack of gas or heating.”

“All right, next one. It has three bedrooms and a nice living room where we can actually invite people!”

“That’s so out of our price range it’s not even worth viewing.”

“Oh. Then I challenge you to find a fault with this one. Spacious, affordable, great neighborhood.”

“Yeah . . . here’s a photo of the building I took today. It’s literally crumbling.”

That was no small detail after we had just witnessed a tragedy in our city—a seven-story building had collapsed in the middle of the day, killing nine people. I was thankful that Chris was always willing to go the extra mile and check out the exact building, which, you guessed, was rarely advertised on the listing.

“Ok, check this one out,” I said.

“We crossed that out yesterday, remember? Already sold.”

“I give up.”

While I am no scientist, I’m pretty sure this is exactly what migraines are made of.

By the end of the two-month search, we had narrowed it down to three options. A small but very practical apartment in a great neighborhood, but with no windows in two of the rooms. A bigger apartment for the same price, in a good building, windows included, that needed some further investment and repairs. A ready-to-move-in apartment for a higher price. Just as we were preparing to close in, Chris had the impulse to check the website again.

“Remember that apartment that we declined to see because it was outrageously out of our price range?” he asked. “It’s just been listed today for 20 percent lower. I’m giving Dima a call.”

I could hear Dima laughing over the phone. “I think that’s a mistake.” It was. However, two hours later, Dima called back.

“The owner called. He’s willing to sell for the listed price if you have serious intentions about it. He needs cash fast. He’s abroad, so he won’t come unless you decide to buy. Do you want to see it?”

Chris and I looked at each other and nodded. It was so last minute that it made perfect sense. Answers to prayer almost always come like that.

The moment we stepped in, we knew we loved it. All other options still carried doubts. This one clicked instantly. I could envision the spacious living room filled with young people on a game night and families for Sabbath worship. We would finally have room for an office so Chris wouldn’t have to make phone calls out of the car, in the parking lot . . . during winter. I could see the children settling into their own room with their bunk beds and desks, finally hanging those fluorescent planets we had been saving.

Chris gently woke me up from my daydreaming: “It’s not up to us, you know.”

“I know. But if God did save this apartment for us, He will make it happen.”

The next day, we received the approval to purchase. Tired, sleep deprived and overwhelmed, I cried like a baby. I dropped to my knees and thanked God for his constant care. I had been so frustrated when the previous findings didn’t work. But had they worked, a dark apartment half the size of our current home would have been ours . . . for the same price. It was one of the shortest and hardest prayers I prayed: “I trust You, Lord. I will let you handle this from now on.”

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