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There is a story I love to tell. It began in the middle of the night a few years ago. In a dream I saw myself being shown around a grand and spacious house. The scenes were vivid – a wide entrance hallway lined with shiny marble tiles, imposing white columns and classy French windows… I didn’t realize it at first, but God was showing me my new home.
A month later that strange vision spectacularly and unexpectedly manifested into reality. I was being shown around a home and it was just as I had seen – better still, it came with a gardener, ‘pool boy’; even a red Ferrari in the garage! No, I wasn’t able to drive the Ferrari, but I could live there rent-free; all expenses paid for over a year while the owners were overseas on business. I moved in immediately breathless with gratitude.
In the early mornings I would sit at the breakfast table coffee in hand, gazing out the window to the swimming pool and tennis court. With worship music playing loudly, I would ponder the God who fulfils the desires of our hearts (Psalm 37:4). I would marvel in awe at his miraculous provision and relish the sense of being loved by a father who delights in giving his children good gifts (Matthew 7:11).
In fact I would often quote those Bible verses when sharing the story with others. People loved hearing it.
But there is another story. Not one I have told as frequently and perhaps not with the same captive audience. A similar story yet different.
Another Dream Home
It happened a few years later. Our rented home was being sold and my flat-mate was moving interstate. Once again I found myself uprooted and disoriented with those familiar feelings of insecurity returning like an unwanted guest. Not only that, it was right in the midst of an overcrowded rental market and my income was unreliable and tenuous. How would I find a home?
I shared my dilemma with a friend over and she kindly offered me a place to stay for a few weeks. I was thankful for the safety valve while I looked for somewhere to live. Where would it be? Trudy lived on the edge of notorious Kings Cross where the streets are crowded with a gritty, noisy mix of the homeless and trendy and where every night is party night. Far from the quiet leafy upper-class suburbs I was used to on the other side of ‘The Bridge’.
After our coffee together at a local café we wandered through her flat. Her home was a typical inner Sydney terrace; one of many squeezed tightly between rows of seventies apartment blocks and quaint art-deco buildings. It was simply furnished with a compact kitchen and single bathroom coming off a long dark hallway. Through the kitchen at the back of the house was a small room used as a study area.
It was the back room that caught my eye. I stopped; struck by a vague memory. As I looked at the tiny alcove with its brown laminate cabinet and uncluttered bookshelf, familiar images from another dream crystallized before me.
I hurried home to check the words which had been carefully transcribed in my journal over twelve months earlier: “I saw you living in a tiny room like an alcove opening onto a kitchen. It had a plain wooden bookshelf. Like a student’s room.”
But this home was so different to the other one. Could this be from God?
It was pouring rain the day I moved in. I edged my car into a tight spot in the darkened alleyway careful not to disturb the woman crouched over on the edge of the gutter. A flurry of cooing pigeons landed in the tree above and released a spray of white and yellow liquid that narrowly missed me as I emerged from my newly polished car. The lady in the gutter barely looked up as I struggled to cradle the pile of cardboard boxes in my arm; my jewelled sandals slipping on the slimy concrete.
That night as I settled onto the thin foam mattress which almost covered the entire floor of the study, I tried to force the image of my old bedroom with its queen size bed and expansive built-in robes from my mind. My clothes now hung on a plastic wheelie rack in the corner; the rest stashed in boxes over three locations in Sydney. I tried not to think of the tranquil view of Middle Harbour from the balcony where we sat the night before or the white marble double bathroom that I once had all to my own. And when I woke up next morning to the raw screeching of a domestic argument echoing through the back laneway, I tried to forget the sweet twitter of birds that used to signal my mornings.
The God of Mansions and Mattresses
God does not always give us what we want. Have you ever noticed that? The God of Good Gifts sometimes allows long periods of unemployment, extended times of loneliness; worrying financial pressures and seasons of mattresses on the floor. Times when the luxuries of life are more of a memory than a reality.
Through his high and lows, the Apostle Paul learned a great truth. He called it a secret; a life transforming principle that enabled him to be content with both abundance and shortage.
Paul learned that God provides all our needs and gives strength in every situation, whether we have much or whether we have little (Phil. 4:13,19). It is in the midst of want, we learn the secret that he is all we need. We learn the grace and discipline of thankfulness that comes from him alone. We learn to trust in a Father who loves us consistently and completely whether he gives us gifts or not. He is the God who provides both mansions and mattresses on the floor.
I love the fact that Paul learned… Perhaps it took a few experiences and a bit of time to fully grasp this great truth.
Nowadays I have come to appreciate my new home and the raw edginess of city-life; I’ve become accustomed to wearing earplugs each night and have found a place to park my car where frangipani flowers rather than pigeon droppings fall. But mostly I am learning the great secret of contentment. His provision is always sufficient even when it comes packaged in unusual ways. Whether in places of grandeur or simplicity, He is all we need.
That night as I settled onto the thin foam mattress which almost covered the entire floor of the study, I tried to force the image of my old bedroom with its queen size bed and expansive built-in robes from my mind. My clothes now hung on a plastic wheelie rack in the corner; the rest stashed in boxes over three locations in Sydney. I tried not to think of the tranquil view of Middle Harbour from the balcony where we sat the night before or the white marble double bathroom that I once had all to my own. And when I woke up next morning to the raw screeching of a domestic argument echoing through the back laneway, I tried to forget the sweet twitter of birds that used to signal my mornings.
The God of Mansions and Mattresses
God does not always give us what we want. Have you ever noticed that? The God of Good Gifts sometimes allows long periods of unemployment, extended times of loneliness; worrying financial pressures and seasons of mattresses on the floor. Times when the luxuries of life are more of a memory than a reality.
Through his high and lows, the Apostle Paul learned a great truth. He called it a secret; a life transforming principle that enabled him to be content with both abundance and shortage.
Paul learned that God provides all our needs and gives strength in every situation, whether we have much or whether we have little (Phil. 4:13,19). It is in the midst of want, we learn the secret that he is all we need. We learn the grace and discipline of thankfulness that comes from him alone. We learn to trust in a Father who loves us consistently and completely whether he gives us gifts or not. He is the God who provides both mansions and mattresses on the floor.
I love the fact that Paul learned… Perhaps it took a few experiences and a bit of time to fully grasp this great truth.
Nowadays I have come to appreciate my new home and the raw edginess of city-life; I’ve become accustomed to wearing earplugs each night and have found a place to park my car where frangipani flowers rather than pigeon droppings fall. But mostly I am learning the great secret of contentment. His provision is always sufficient even when it comes packaged in unusual ways. Whether in places of grandeur or simplicity, He is all we need.
