This world is not my home, I’m just a passing through. If Heaven’s not my home . . . The catchy tune ran through my mind as I biked through neighborhoods looking for a place to call home. There were large houses for rent, furnished with the traditional massive, beautiful wood furniture of the upper class. The thought of keeping all that space clean was daunting; besides, the rent prices were above my budget. Interspersed throughout the neighborhoods, often right next door to large, beautiful homes with fenced yards, were small one- and two-room apartments. I learned that these compact homes are not available to foreigners. Prayerfully, I continued searching.

One day a teacher stopped by my office at work. “Hi Sara, how are you? Are you still looking for a place to live? You should call my landlord. I just heard that an apartment next door to us is going to be available soon.”

A two-minute walk from my office and close to the student missionary housing, the location was ideal. The apartment’s size and layout were adequate and convenient, and the price fit my budget. The only catch: it was completely unfurnished. In faith, I signed the lease, confident that God had opened this opportunity. Two weeks later I moved in with only a borrowed bed and my suitcases. For the next month, I spent every spare moment either scrubbing the floors tile by tile or shopping for furniture and appliances. Though setting up the house from scratch initially just seemed like a lot of work, the process put me in touch with people I would never have met otherwise. With God, nothing happens by chance. It is He who directs our steps. I look forward to seeing how He will use these special connections in the future.

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