Getting to Yes!: A Better Offer!

By Gaila M. Anderson

An inspirational motivational book that shows God answers prayer in many ways from how we believe He should answer. It describes the love between parent and child and the strength and comfort gained from relying on our Lord.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: May 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9781973678564

Gaila M. Anderson

Gaila M. Anderson is an evangelical leader within her church community. She believes in God and Family. She and her son reside in Fort Lauderdale, Florida.

Book preview

Prologue

I woke up at seven-thirty, in a rush, like every other morning. It was an ordinary morning. I lay in bed trying to convince myself to go exercise. Should I do it? Do I feel like doing it? I knew I needed to do it because I had ballooned. But isn’t that what was expected out of a forty-something female with an active lifestyle? This is what I rationalized when I was trying to decide; exercise, yes, being lazy, no.

I’m sorry. Being lazy won out. I settled back in bed, hit the remote on the 42-inch television, and settled in for a full dose of Joyce Meyer Ministries. After all, it was Thursday, toward the end of the week, and I should be winding down anyway. Besides, I had just finished a grueling week, right? Work, travel to Fort Meyers, teaching, and I was planning to go home this weekend to help Dad pack up his old house to move into his new house. He and I were very excited about that. We had reminisced enough about the road to getting to here, so on the move into his new house I would get plenty of exercise, I convinced myself.

Joyce was her usual blunt, tell you like it is, self! She force-feeds the Word to you. She makes you understand the Word and understand God! She demands that you see that God is not an option but a requirement. I enjoy her. I had just got back from her women’s conference, her much needed women’s conference, because this past summer I had volunteered to take care of my little seven-year-old cousin for the summer. Sounds nice, huh? Sounds like I’m really doing a good thing huh? Well, that’s what I thought too. Needless to say, she exhausted me. Charity, as she was called, was more than a challenge.

Since Easter, my husband and I had been looking forward to Charity coming to visit us for the summer. I saw my Dad during the Easter holiday and he later signed off on our taking Charity for the summer.

As I now recall, we all had a great time around Easter at my sister’s home where we had our Easter celebration. Charity and her other two siblings were part of the celebration. My siblings and nieces were there also. My parents and grandmother, aunts, uncles, and friends were also all in attendance. It was a great time. My dad was there being his usual positive self. We joked, laughed, and hung out down by the lake as we soaked up and enjoyed the young people in their entire splendor.

A week or so after our Easter weekend, during one of my calls to my dad, we talked about how the construction of his house was coming along, his anticipated move-in date, and Charity’s upcoming visit.

I could tell that Dad was very excited, extremely excited about the construction of his new home, and was looking forward to his move-in date in September or October of that year. It had been a long road to get there.

This road to where we are now with Dad’s home started approximately three years ago. That was when I learned of the housing program’s eligibility for homeownership. I told Dad, because of his fixed income, no minor kids, a certain age, and a dilapidated home, he was a shoe-in for a new home, built to his specifications.

Initially, I believe I was more excited than him. I quickly began to gather all the pamphlets regarding the rehabilitation process. I then placed his name on the waiting list. We thought it would be a relatively short process. God forbid, little did we know that the process would last upwards of two years or more. But nonetheless, we weathered the process like champs in a boxing ring. We felt blows and setbacks, but we were determined to make it to the final bell.

one

The Registration

T he first step we had to endure, as I mentioned, was putting Dad’s name on the waiting list. Once we got that in place, it was months and years of follow-up with the agency to determine if they had forgotten about Dad’s request to own this home. Every four months or so, Dad would recruit me to call the agency to learn of the status of his application. And, every time, the agency’s representative would advise me that Dad’s application was being processed and that it was, Just a long waiting list. From time to time, Dad would get discouraged. But I had to learn to be the cheerleader for the both of us.

It seems lately, since the death of his marriage, I have seen a change in him. I saw a positive, upbeat, person lose a little of himself. With a little hope, I had to convince him that this would happen. We just had to outlast the agency’s bureaucracy. And outlast them we did, or so we thought. Let the games begin, and we were off and running.

So, out of the blue, one fine day, I got a call from my father. I noticed that he sounded excited. He said, Gatortail, I got a letter from the agency.

Wow, I interrupted. Finally! Some positive news from the agency.

Dad continued, They are requesting more financial information from me, he said.

Awesome! See, I told you that you are well on your way now! I exclaimed.

We were both extremely excited.

Finally, my Dad, my hero, my protector and provider, was about to have a little slice of paradise, and it felt good to be a part of it and even greater to be the one to give it to him. I teased him, jeering, See, you are well on your way, Dad. Look out, home; here you come, I said, and Dad laughed.

Close to the end of our call, I could feel and sense my dad’s spirits beginning to lift. I knew that in his mind this idea of him getting his newly constructed home was finally in the process of becoming a reality to him. We talked a little longer on the phone. We joked about his new home, the type of homeowner he’d become, and how I would have a room of my own in his new home. Because, as we all know, anyone that was a child, and now an adult with a living parent, knows that you never outgrow the feeling of being a child to your parent and you always want to feel that you can come back to the safety of home. So it felt good to joke about Dad saving a room just for me. We hung up. That night I had a peaceful sleep and a wide grin on my face.

Because, truth be told, and I would never admit it to my Dad, as I am the cheerleader of this housing project, but I was beginning to lose a little faith that God was going to allow this to happen. However according to the Book of Matthew, Chapter 17, Verse 20, a little faith is all I needed.

According to the King James version of the Holy Bible, the verse specifically says, "And Jesus said unto them, Because of your unbelief: for verily I say unto you, If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place; and it shall remove; and nothing shall be impossible unto you."

However, Dad would never know that my faith was beginning to wane, so each time he began to express doubt, I would remind him of the kind of God we served. I would remind him how God promised us ‘Houses we didn’t build’ or something along those lines.

According to the Bible in the King James version, from the Book of Deuteronomy, Chapter 6, Verses 10 and 11, the verses specifically say, "And it shall be, when the LORD thy God shall have brought thee into the land which he sware unto thy fathers, to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, to give thee great and goodly cities, which thou buildest not, And houses full of all good things, which thou filledst not, and wells digged, which thou diggedst not, vineyards and olive trees, which thou plantedst not; when thou shalt have eaten and be full;"

And Dad would always respond, Yeah, you right, Gail.

And, I reflected, isn’t it just like God to swoop in at the nick of time, when you think it may not happen, and provide a ‘ram in the bush’. . . or to contemporize it . . . a letter in the mailbox.

The letter that day did a lot for my Dad’s spirits. It did a lot for my spirits in this process too. I silently said, Thank you, God. You are so awesome. You are mighty! Thank you for loving me. Thank you for loving us.

two

Let the Fun Begin

S o, it seemed like the worst was over, huh? It appeared as though it was smooth sailing from here on out, right? Well, when have you known the plight of the Christian to run smoothly? The Lord never promised us a lack of trials and tribulations, but just the strength and the assuredness to get through them. And who knows that better than Paul of the Bible?

According to the King James version of the Bible, in the Book of Acts, Chapter 20, Verse 19, it specifically says, Serving the Lord with all humility of mind, and with many tears and temptations, which befell me by the lying in wait of the Jews:

Of course, like most of us, because I was diligently serving the Lord, I thought those trials and tribulations applied to other people but not my dad and I. After all, we had just endured a two-year-plus wait to get the letter. What more could be in store? Sometimes, we believe, the ups and downs of this world apply to others, and isn’t it always a different standard when it comes to ourselves? For, like I said, we had just brutally suffered through a two-year-plus wait for the letter.

This, of course, was where the fun began. Next, the agency advised my dad that he had to come in for a face-to-face interview and to bring in financial documents to verify his identity. The face-to-face interview was scheduled some three to four weeks away.

We were anxious to get this process underway, so we asked for a sooner date. Of course there was not a sooner date available. The target date of four weeks in advance would be decided exclusively by the agency and sent to Dad by mail.

During the days and weeks that passed, Dad would, with heightened anticipation, go to the mailbox each week. Sometimes he would visit the post office two or three times a week to see if the expected interview date had arrived. You see, in our rural town, we didn’t have the luxury of the mail carrier delivering our mail to our home; instead, we had to go to our local