John and I believe there are rings of light that lead us.

 

Looking for them, like stepping stones in the darkness, has taken us places we never would have discovered. 

 

Nine years ago John came to Pennsylvania and heard from his boss that we would be leaving California to live  here. My mother took him to the train to catch a plane home to tell me about this, and as he set foot on the train stairs my cousin stepped off. My mother, being one who looks for the rings too, asked her nephew if he knew of a house for sale in our tiny town of Bryn Athyn.

 

As the rings would have it, I was coming to stay with my mother the next week, so we drove by the house and dreamed of living in it. My sister, being another believer, went with me to knock on the door of these total strangers and we asked for a look. They were caught off guard but let us tour the first floor. Then, under my sister's instructions, I offered them $1000 to retain it while I figured out if we could buy it. Surprised, they took the check and agreed.

 

Then our firstborn totaled his beloved car. He was crushed. (So was the car.) We switched focus and spent the next few days on the phone with insurance agents, and were relieved when they decided to pay the remaining debt on the car. 

 

We returned to the task of the mortgage. John was pacing with the phone, still attached to the wall with a long curly cord as they were back then, when the person broke the sad news that we almost made the cut, except for the outstanding car loan in our name. 

 

"The car? Oh, that car was totaled on Friday. Insurance paid it off." Step. 

 

The next weeks were a blur of packing, me not understanding that my diminishing energy had more to do with a pregnancy of multiples than the strain of smashing our worldly belongings into a 24 foot truck. Then our last day in California arrived. We had turned off the phone and John conducted his final church service. We were about to start the ignitions of the van and U-Haul when the church phone rang. It was my sister-in-law.

 

She told us that my mother's apartment had flooded and everything she owned was gone. I collapsed on the church floor and sobbed (being pregnant and emotional).

 

Then I saw a dim ring of light. We had a new house... well almost. She could live with us. Never mind that she was manic, she was with me when I first dreamed of owning this house. Mom would live there too. Step.

 

We drove across the country unable to talk to sisters and mothers and brothers, not yet belonging to the family plan of five cell phones for eight people, and I wondered what the future would look like.