Well into the fourth week of Indiana’s mandatory quarantine, B drove 1.5 hours north to tour two Warsaw apartments. It would have gone according to plan (visit apartments, gather various notes, consult with roommate over the weekend) except that, even during COVID, apartments wait for no man.
The minute B stepped inside the Washington House, he knew it was the right place. The left-over washer and dryer, lawnmower and red charcoal grill seemed to corroborate his instinct. But wanting to practice diligence, he did not give the landlady a firm answer. “Can I let you know by the end of the day, after I visit a second apartment?” She agreed, remarking that they were at the top of the renter queue — not because they had toured the Washington House first, but because they had applied first, albeit to a different apartment entirely. Their application solidified their right to lease the Washington House before anyone else.
So B test-drove to campus (7 minutes) and somewhere along the way picked up flowers for his girl (that’s me) before visiting her. Fifteen minutes later, we were in his car and heading back to the Washington House. “This is it, the yellow one.” “Wow, that looks like a real house!”
And then it was onto the next apartment viewing. This one was cookie-cutter standard, smelling slightly of second-hand smoke and looking a bit neglected. It was not *right.* B made notes of all the hard facts (location, size, price, amenities) and called his roommate to make a decision.
“Which one do you think it best? You’ve seen them all.”
“I like the apartment on Washington… it’s a real house.”
“Alright, let’s do it.”
And with a quick confirmatory text to his soon-to-be landlady, B floated to Dunkin to pick up coffee, thinking his day was done and we could take a walk through the trails before he left town. But as he pulled up to the Dunkin window, his phone buzzed. “It’s Gladine. She wants us to sign the lease today!”
Three more phone calls and a U-turn later, we were on our way to the bank. B had never withdrawn so much money all at once, and certainly not money that would be turned into a down-payment on a rental. He parked at the bank to catch his breath. “It’s all happening so quickly.”
By signing the lease that afternoon, they would have freedom to start moving in … that afternoon. It was either sign the lease and start paying for a month of rent they had not anticipated, or not sign the lease and lose the apartment. There was no middle ground. B withdrew the money, and in less than 45 minutes, he was standing in the kitchen of *his* apartment, key grasped in one hand, a signed copy of the lease grasped in the other.
“I want to see how far of a walk it is to Peking.”
From first visit to signed lease, the whole process lasted about 4.5 hours. With a new-and-improved move-in plan (next weekend rather than the first week of May) B and his roommate are taking on a new lawn-mowing, dish-washing, party-hosting adventure.
It seems obvious that those 4.5 hours were orchestrated by God. Our plans are not His plans. Sometimes His plans take decades; other times they happen all at once. On this particular Good Friday, they took 4.5 hours to begin, reach a climax, and resolve.
And am I excited to have My Person a mere 7 minutes away? Unequivocally, yes.