Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it.
A Rock of Remembrance.
Hamilton Airport. Midnight, September 1st, 2004.
I walked out of arrivals into zero degrees Celsius. Brrrr, a frost! After missing nearly nine winter seasons I’d forgotten what cold actually felt like. Not the mild cool of a lower slopes of Kilimanjaro morning, but proper damp Waikato winter cold that gets into your bones before you reach the car park.
That afternoon I found myself milking after a half day getting up to speed on the grazing rotation, supplemental feed reserves, how many cows still to calve etc. Back in the role I’d left behind many years ago. Not what I’d imagined doing when I’d resigned from my cropping farm managers role in Tanzania back in May, but it was needed. Dad was still laid up in pain, months away from being useful on his own two feet.
By November he was starting to get around outside on crutches. The farm was ticking over ok.
I was due to start a Masters degree at Grace Theological College in Manurewa, South Auckland, in early February. A solid 75 minutes drive north, so I’d need somewhere to stay up there because with a very full study load I didn’t need to spend two hours plus per day driving. I started thinking about accommodation.
It seemed wise to sort it early rather than compete with every other student scrambling for a room in January. Mum agreed and suggested I call an old school friend of hers who lived near the college. Their kids had left home so she might have something available.
So in mid-November I drove up to Auckland with a few appointments to look at various room and board options plus a couple of self-contained one room rentals to check out as well.
Mum’s friend had a decent room. A way nicer part of Manurewa but still close enough to the college. Only she wouldn’t hold it for me until February, even with a non-refundable deposit. Wanted full rent from now on or she’d advertise it. The other two room and boards were similar. Same with the flats only they were jolly pricey. Auckland reality I guess. Nobody was going to hold anything through summer for a tenant who wouldn’t show up until February.
That started me wondering about buying a flat myself. But with a broken marriage still legally unresolved it didn’t seem wise risking the legal and financial issues that might result from owning tangible real estate before a divorce went through. I’d already paid my ex-wife her half share of our assets a year or so after she walked out. That was my duty under New Zealand law, but I didn’t trust her to not cause further trouble whenever it was I would file divorce papers now that I was finally living in New Zealand.
As I drove back south alongside the river, halfway between Huntly and Taupiri, I felt a tad frustrated. Nothing sorted and no clear next move. I started talking to God about it, the way you do when you’ve run out of your own ideas.
“You know I need somewhere in February. I have no idea what to do Lord.”
Clear as a bell. A voice in my spirit I’ve learned to recognize over the years. Calm, peaceful, unhurried.
Don’t worry about it. Just turn up in February. I’ll take care of it.
Right then I decided to accept God’s crazy sounding advice.
Later after milking I went over and told Mum I wasn’t taking her friend’s offer. She asked what I was planning to do instead? Told her I wasn’t going to worry about it. She gave me the look mothers do when they’re not convinced but decide to respect your decision anyway.
I had a peaceful summer. Dad improving slowly but steadily. Long warm days working the farm. No concern about future accommodation as someone more capable than me was on it.
February arrived.
Orientation day at Grace. Following introductions and a devotional time, my main professor went through the weekly term class schedule with us all. Amazingly they agreed to reshuffle a couple of classes so my lectures got scrunched into a very full Tuesday and Wednesday followed by Thursday until noon. Rest of the week open!
Then he mentioned a family in his church offering a free bedroom to any student who might need it. Two hundred yards down the street from the college. He looked around the room.
Did anyone still need accommodation? I raised my hand.
It’s yours he said.
Wow. Sorted in half a minute! For a full minute I sat recalling my drive home beside the river nearly three months earlier after those appointments that hadn’t worked out. The promise given halfway between humble rural towns.
God hadn’t just provided adequate accommodation. He’d arranged something better than anything I could have figured out. Free. Two hundred yards away.
The room was exactly what I needed. Two nights a week then scoot back down State Highway 1 in the same car God had provided me with fifteen months ago.
Because of the rearranged lecture schedule I could now stay on the farm the rest of the week close to my parents and also near to my sister, bro-in-law and their four children who lived a kilometer away at the far end of the property. More time to reconnect with them all after so many years overseas plus I’d still be available to milk the herd much of the week if Dad needed a rest. He’d be able to ease back into his role rather than risk wrecking his recovery overdoing his return to work. God was covering every angle for all of us.
And the rent I didn’t pay all summer? Still in my pocket.
I’d come so close to locking in one of those November rooms. The seemingly more sensible and responsible, get-it-sorted, so-called wiser thing to do. What stopped me was a lack of peace, then an hour later a frustrated prayer with a clear reply I chose to believe.
God speaks plainly when you’re willing to admit your vulnerability with honesty. The harder part is trusting what He says enough to actually stop solving the problem yourself while not caring if others consider you an irresponsible fool.
Many of the adventures of my life have only been found in that less comfortable space.
Where God is.