Mi Casa, Tu Casa: The Story of Our New Home

The search begins

Before this past summer, Morgan and I started looking for houses. Not because we needed something bigger, but because our apartment had become… loud. I’m talking music that we felt (our walls would shake) in our room at 1am, 2am, sometimes even later. And listen, we loved our apartment and complex, but it’s hard to rest when it feels like your bedroom is inside a nightclub. We were tired. Just worn out.

Then we saw a house.

A quiet street. Space. A small yard. A little porch. It wasn’t fancy, but it felt peaceful. There was even a park down the road that was the cherry on top.

They were asking $800 a month which might not sound like much somewhere else, but for us, it was more than we could manage. Still, we loved it. We walked through it slowly, taking it all in. We could see meals shared. We could see ministry happening. We could see us there.

But we also knew:
“If this is from the Lord, He will provide. And if it isn’t, He will make that clear.”
And we meant that.

So, we waited.

Fast forward to August 4th. We flew back home to Santiago from the United States. The day we arrived; we both had the same thought lingering quietly:

“I want to go see that house.”

Eventually one of us spoke up. “Do you want to go drive by that house we saw?”
“Yes. I really do.”

So, we did.

But when we pulled up, the se renta sign was gone. The outside had been freshly painted. Cars were parked in the garage.

Someone was already living in it.

We sat in silence for a moment. It hurt more than we expected.
But deep down, we both knew:
The Lord wasn’t in that one. He wasn’t withholding. He was redirecting.

Then, God moved.

A couple told us they felt led to add $350 a month specifically for rent to their giving. We didn’t campaign. We didn’t hint. We didn’t ask. God simply provided and they obeyed.

And here’s where God’s timing gets real:

Around this same time, our water problem got REAL. We had issues since the day we moved in, but nothing like this.

One day in September, after being out all day serving with a team, we walked back into our apartment to find water spread across the floor. Not a puddle, but an indoor kiddie pool in nearly every room of the apartment. We cleaned it up, dried everything, laughed about it because what else do you do?

Except it happened again. Luckily, we were home this time.

By the end of our time there, it felt like the apartment itself was letting us go.

Like the Lord was slowly nudging us out the door, saying:
"It’s time. I’ve already made a way for you.”

By September, with that extra giving, we were able to start looking again.
And we found a home.
Not just a house, a home.

On October 1st, we got the keys.

And from that moment on, the story became about people.

People we love, people we call family.

Our co-workers, Jamey and Madeline, came first. On October 2^nd , we began the move. We started packing up the 15-passenger van along with our Honda CRV with our belongings. This moving crew of 4 made about 3 trips or so together.

Then the next day, our friend and brother Robin jumped in with his workers, trucks, and Dominican problem-solving. No hesitation. Just love in motion. Things were lifted, hauled, squeezed, and balanced in ways I still cannot explain.

Then the Melton crew from FBC Calhoun arrived. On their second-to-last day of a mission trip, instead of serving others, they chose to serve us. They cleaned and repainted our old apartment to help us turn it in. They patched holes. They scraped walls. They swept floors. They got paint in their hair. They moved furniture. They made "leaving well" possible.

Not glamorous work, but work that flowed from servant hearts.

Then the Goins family came. We laughed, we worked, and we repainted the entire interior of our new house. Mounted selves. Hung curtains. Swapped doorknobs. The kind of things that make a house feel like it belongs to you.

One morning, we sat around the table with pancakes, bacon, eggs, grapes, and family. We ate and chatted throughout the morning. It was the first meal shared with others in our new home.

Another afternoon, when we stopped working to eat lunch, we were able watch Cooper and Carter’s (their twin boys) basketball game streaming from back in the States. It felt like family. Like life wasn’t split between countries, but somehow connected.

Then Chris and Rhonda came. Toilets were fixed. A light fixture installed. A car got washed. And then, they (Chris, Rhonda, Laura, and Nick) handmade us corn-hole boards as a housewarming gift.

Do you realize how kind that is?
This is the same game Morgan and I were playing together when we met in college.

Do you know how seen we felt in that moment?
In all of these moments?

Lastly, we hosted our first Wednesday night gathering in our new living room not long after all this took place. About twenty of us, different nations, different languages, different stories, singing and praying together. Worship rising from within these walls for the very first time.

So here we are.
A month in. Settling. Breathing.
Watching God’s faithfulness every time we turn a light on, hear quiet at night, or open the front door.

This house is a testimony.
Not to our effort.
But to His provision.
And to the love of people who have become family.

I’ve realized something: A house is walls and floors.
But a home is people, presence, prayers, meals, stories, shared moments of being known and loved.

 And that’s what we pray our home continues to be.

Our home is not for us alone.
It is open.
Always.

If you ever find yourself needing rest, prayer, friendship, a meal, a place to cry, or to laugh, or to simply be:

Come.
We’ll make space.
We’ll set another plate.
We’d love to have you.

Maybe your story belongs here next.