A Place to Live

Right after church this afternoon, Job and I ventured off to visit some potential apartment options. Thanks to craigslist, we were able to find some possible options Saturday evening and arrange some next-day appointments. Our first destination took us just down the road from our church-- already a PLUS. It took us 30-45 minutes to find it, though. Go figure! We stopped twice to ask neighborly neighbors who were out and about, but none had heard of the specific lane we were in search of. We were beginning to think it didn't exist. BUT... we managed to find it.

In short, the first apartment (duplex actually) we saw was just fine. There were aspects that I really loved-- great location, quiet setting that overlooked a nature/bird conservatory, a YARD with GRASS. The interior was so-so, a bit rough, but I saw in it much potential for a small and happy home. The owner was pleased with Job and I, but apparently my "bump" was not apparent enough for him to see from beneath my thick winter coat. I told him we were expecting in April, and that kind of posed "a problem" to him. Oh well. We shook hands, and it ended on a pleasant note just the same. I silently bade farewell to the little yard and the quiet home we wouldn't get to have afterall... Off to the next apartment.

The quadplex we ventured off to was Job's find. On craigslist, the interior photo showed a clean and well-lit little home. But as we pulled up to the neighborhood, the environment looked a little less promising. Job, dear husband, forgot to write down the address of the quadplex, so we waited for the owner's wife to meet us on the street corner. We waited in silence-- I was not too thrilled with this new "option," and I made it known in the horribly quiet way that wives of all ages have perfected. We should have just left right then and there, but it would have been rude.

The owner's wife Christina came and met us after a short wait. A warm and friendly Hispanic woman, she lead us to the quadplex, tucked behind a cluster of other quadplexes. The exterior was shabby, at best. Apartment numbers dangled from thumbtacks. She cheerfully lead us inside, where I instantly recognized the interior from the craigslist photos. It was clean and well-lit. There was even a rather spacious backyard (which needed quite a bit of maintenence and clean-up, but hey it was a yard!). I told her we were having a baby in April-- she congratulated us and said, "We have four kids!"-- so considering they lived in the unit next door, children obviously were of no issue.

"In the summer," she said, "it's perfect! We have barbeques, and its very fun."

I smiled politely, imagining Job and I--a couple of white folks straight out of white bread surburbia-- partaking in a festive summer barbeque with Christina and her four kids and all of the other tenants.

But something in me knew it wouldn't happen. Perhaps it could have worked out, but it would have been a stretch. Some of my in-laws worried about Job and I when we moved in to our current apartments, since we were surrounded by folks of *gasp* all sorts of income levels and whatnot. Surely moving here would have my in-laws calling us on a nightly basis, worried about our safety in this shady-looking neighborhood.

Yet I too, in my pride, felt that we could "do better." Maybe find a place a little less run-down, a little less questionable... even if it meant exceeding our projected rent budget. We continued to feign an interest in the unit. Then we genially parted ways with Christina and headed home.

The ride home was a silent one. There wasn't much to discuss-- our first day of apartment-searching ended without any promising leads. My husband and I differ in our personal preferences: he wants something inexpensive and convenient in location, while I hold safety and cleanliness as priorities in a home.

As we pulled away from Christina's quadplex and the run-down neighborhood, I could not help but feel convicted at my own pride: "What would our family/friends think of us if we lived here?" "I could never invite people over." "Is it even safe?" Tough questions. It's funny (funny-ironic, not funny- haha), I used to have these romantic visions of my family and I living simply as missionaries in a third-world country, helping and living among the poor. And yet here I was, walking away from this quadplex because, well, it wasn't quite right.

Too shabby.

Might not be safe.

Sort of scary.

Takes me out of my comfort zone.

Obviously I have not acquired the true spirit of simplicity. I want simplicity on my terms. I want simplicity with a specific zip code.

Fortunately Job and I have a few more months to find a new place to live. We are not in any hurry, time is on our side. I'm sure we'll do a lot of searching before the perfect home pops up... we'll take our priorities and meet in the middle somewhere.

We'll find something safe, convenient, inexpensive and clean, most likely surrounded by dozens of other people who look like us and smile politely like us. But will the summers be "perfect"? Will we be invited by our neighbors to barbeques-- let the kids run free and kick back a Corona or two to the blasting rhythm of a mariachi band recording? Will we be taken out of our comfort zone, embrace a new community? Hmmm... probably not...

Perhaps we'll be the ones missing out afterall.