One year, two weeks and three days ago. That’s when we moved to this new house. Our exodus has been a revelation through and through.
Some dads just up and leave, after a couple of months in a new house, and pitch their tents two blocks away. Going round and round in one hood. Others do the moonlight flit; fleeing with rent arrears and leaving their rented abode looking nothing like it did when they moved in.
We had overstayed on that mountain. In fact, we were among the first occupants when the apartment block was spanking new. Neighbours came and left, leaving us right there.
We kept planning and postponing our exodus. Meanwhile, this Scripture kept indicting the head of the house: “You’ve stayed long enough in this mountain. Pack up and leave.”
“We’re moving next month,” I told Tenderoni last year, towards the end of February, “let’s go and look for a house.”
We hit the next neighbourhood and started our search. Moving from court to court. Asking watchmen and agents. Knocking on gates.
When our search didn’t yield anything, we moved two neighbourhoods away. We loved the first house we checked out. Talk about the first kiss. However, it was a matter of first-come-first-served. Our pay was two weeks away.
“We’re believing God that we’ll get this house,” we told the agent.
We checked out other vacant houses around. For plan B’s sake. But? The red lipstick from that first kiss stuck on our lapels.
I don’t know about all dads, so I will speak about some. Some dads have big dreams for their families. They might not preach it. They might even seem as if they’ve settled in, till the rapture. However, if you lock your faith with theirs, and they dovetail, you’ll be surprised at the mountains these fellas are moving for their families.
Still, I had tons of questions. Was I leading my family the right way? Would we manage? As we saw house after house, I knew this was it. I had to lead my people by faith.
The former was a place of blessings, but we’d outgrown it. The song that encouraged us was Enda Nasi, by Reuben Kigame. It speaks about God leading His people to their next level.
In church, I always take the tithe envelope home the Sunday before I get paid. My rationale is, before I take it to God’s house, I should pray over it at my house. This priest wants to declare “outcomes” over his income. The Sunday before we moved, there was a shortage of tithe envelopes in church.
“God works in mysterious ways,” a sly voice whispered. “God knows that this month we’ll need every red cent on our pay slip.”
“You didn’t hear me right that time,” the agent said, quoting a higher price, when we spoke over the phone and I asked for the bank account number so that I could deposit the rent.
Ugly news: we returned to begin a new search. We had already given our landlord notice. We would be out of the house by end of the next day. Even as we searched desperately, that red lipstick had permeated through our lapels and was now stuck on our hearts. By nightfall, we were still house-hunting.
Back at home, our stuff was packed. We had already moved emotionally, it was just a matter of moving our household goods. And now this.
“Let’s return home and pray about it,” Tenderoni and I agreed.
“We’ll trust God and move into this house,” we agreed, “Lord, Enda Nasi.”
First thing we did that Saturday was pay the rent and deposit. As the landlord struggled with the padlock to our new pad, she told us something that took us aback. “Ever since you guys saw this house, nobody has seen it.”
The day we moved into our new house, heaven opened: it rained hailstones. It was Pudd’ng’s first time to experience this type of weather. “I thought someone on the roof was pouring ice cubes at us,” Pudd’ng said.
A dad’s got to lead by example. I couldn’t let us open this new chapter in “debt” and disobedience. That month we paid our tithe. Fully.
