Hope at the Threshold

By Natalie Busch

Natalie Busch's life was pretty conventional. She was a worship pastor's wife in the suburbs of Dallas with two young children. She blogged as a hobby, writing about beautiful, messy motherhood.

Then, out of nowhere, her world was turned upside down. She and her family found themselves without a home of their own, facing poverty and an unexpected diagnosis. She continued to write, sharing the raw emotions of some of their life-altering decisions and heartbreaking challenges, hoping that God could use their story in some way. 

This heartwarming memoir will have you laughing, crying, and cheering for this family as Natalie navigates the world of welfare and hearing loss. It's a story of hope for anyone who is struggling to see God's hand in the midst of difficult situations.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Natalie Busch
• Release date: Jan 14, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224436040

Book preview

The Pilgrimage Begins

She slipped a wad of cash into my hand, and I looked at her as confused as if she had just given me a sack of turnips.

Just take it, she told me, before I could even refuse the gesture. My friend Hannah was in her twenties just like me and was a stay-at-home mom to her two young children just like I was. They didn’t have any extra money lying around, so I didn’t want to accept her gift. Her voice was soft as she went on to explain, looking at me sympathetically. We’ve prayed about it, and we know you haven’t been getting paid. So, we wanted to give you this money. Please. Just take it. She laid her hand on top of mine and said everything else with her eyes. She was one of my closest friends, and one of the only ones who really knew what we had been going through.

We had been in ministry at this small-town church for over 10 years and had been on staff for 7. But lately things had been tight for the church. And when there wasn’t enough money in the offering to make payroll, we didn’t get paid. The first time it happened was scary, but it was made up for the following week. Eventually, this scenario happened more frequently, and we were behind on five paychecks. We knew we were on the brink of poverty.

Up until then, I can’t say that we were living a cushy life by any means, but our needs were met. My husband, Jeremy, was a musician, leading worship full time. I was a freelance photographer, making the bulk of my income working for a local magazine. We had a one-year-old girl named Sedona and a 4-year-old boy named Zion. We owned a nice little fixer-upper with historic charm. Our city was known as the crepe myrtle capital of Texas, and our yard not only had crepe myrtles but wisteria, a pecan tree, a fig tree, and daffodils that bloomed every spring. We even had urban chickens that gave us fresh eggs daily. There wasn’t a ton of downtime in that season of life. But when we had a chance, we would strap the kids into the bike trailer, and the four of us would ride down to the library or a nearby park, sometimes stopping for ice cream along the way. I guess you could say it was the American dream. We were in our prime, living the life we were supposed to live.

Both Jeremy and I were raised in quintessential middle-class families and all that came with that. Both of our families had a pool at some point growing up. We both have memories of traveling across the country for summer vacations. We both went to private school for most of our education. However, this lifestyle didn’t come easily for either of our families. His parents had a lawn care business on top of their full-time jobs, and Jeremy was expected to help mow lawns from the time he was eight years old as a way to pay for his tuition. Meanwhile, my mom was working as a cafeteria lady along with a variety of other part-time jobs to help pay for my schooling. Both of our upbringings involved a level of sacrifice, but at least we never had to experience true financial struggle.

Now here we were, 10 years into our marriage, and we found that we just weren’t able to keep up. We were clinging to the dream but felt ourselves slowly losing our grip. We knew it was time to let go. We needed to move on, though we feared it. And we fought moving on because we loved our home and church family more than anything. We knew what the Word of God says in Joshua 1:9, Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.¹ Now it was time to live it.

We began to receive one confirmation after another that it was time for us to step out in faith and felt the Lord leading us to move to Northern Kentucky where my family lived. This move meant we were leaving our jobs, church, loved ones, house, and the life we’d known our entire marriage. It was the most difficult decision we ever made, which is saying a lot, given that we were risk takers. We got married when I was EIGHTEEN, but I was so naive and in love that it felt like it was a no-brainer decision. Buying our first home was another major milestone, a huge gamble, but we saw potential in the property. Even when we had our kids, it felt like we were taking a big leap of faith, but we had made a lot of plans and provisions over seven years of marriage before we became parents. As I evaluated all these huge life decisions over the course of our marriage, this move was entirely different. We had no big opportunity waiting across state lines, no safety net other than living with my parents, but we knew it was what God told us to do.

So, we started to fix up our house and called a realtor. The market was bad, and the weather that December was even worse. But Jeremy would be out of a job by the end of January, so we had no time to lose. We listed our house the week of Christmas and prayed for a buyer. For our Christmas card that year, I suggested we drag our nasty, old, yellow couch to a field and take pictures on it. Then we could just trash the couch so that we didn’t have to haul it to Kentucky. Jeremy reluctantly agreed. The photos were of the four of us, casually posed on the retro couch out in nature, and our cards that year were adorable! However, my full plan did not come to fruition, never managing to dump the ugly, old couch afterwards.

December 25th of 2011 was both desperate and beautiful for us. Christmas fell on a Sunday that year, and the church was having a small service. I woke up before everyone else and put on a dark green dress, black cardigan sweater, and high heels. I would normally dress more casual for our church services, but since it was Christmas, I wanted to be festive. My heels clicked against the hardwood flooring as I went into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. The kids must have heard me because they woke up and toddled into the living room to find a two-foot-tall Christmas tree sitting on the coffee table with a few presents around it. Since the house was on the market, we had to keep it showroom-ready at all times, so we didn’t decorate.

Jeremy walked into the room in his crisp, white-collared shirt and red cashmere sweater. He was also dressier than usual. I could smell the cedar and juniper in his beard oil. Merry Christmas, he said as he greeted me with a kiss. Merry Christmas, I replied. The kids were anxiously poking at the presents. Ohhh, one more quick thing before we get started, I said as I pulled out a pocket-size video camera and put it on one of my tripods to record the morning’s simple festivities.

There were only a couple of small presents for the kids, which had been wrapped using painter’s tape and labeled with masking tape and a permanent marker. We had just finished all the touchups on the house to get it ready to sell, so those were the only gift-wrapping supplies I could find. Still, the looks on the kids’ faces as they tore open their gifts were priceless. Lightening Da-Queen! Zion cheered as he raised the little red car into the air. Then he pushed his thick framed glasses back up on his little nose to inspect the new toy. Sedona tore open a package of play dough and hoisted it up into the air mimicking her brother. Ahhh uhhh ahhh dahh, she cried out in delight. Jeremy and I looked at each other and smiled. We didn’t have gifts for each other. We didn’t care, nor did we notice. I quickly threw on the kids’ Christmas outfits, and we hurried off to church, leaving a little trail of wrapping paper and various construction tape on the floor.

At church, Jeremy led the congregation in Away in a Manager. I closed my eyes and prayed that I would have that kind of heavenly peace as we entered the next season. I loved hearing Jeremy play the guitar. I loved hearing him express all the praise in his heart. He was a worship leader when we met. It’s how I’ve always known him. This chapter was ending. And as I sang, a tear slipped out with my prayers.

The next day when Jeremy’s phone rang, I saw that it was the realtor, and we both took a deep breath. Jeremy answered and put it on speakerphone. The realtor was calling to report that a family came by and wanted to buy the house for our asking price! We couldn’t believe it! Our house had only been on the market for a few days, and this was the day after Christmas! We tried to remain composed while on the phone, but as soon as the call ended, Jeremy slammed the phone on the kitchen counter, swooped me into his arms, and swung me around. We both held each other and jumped up and down in the kitchen as if we had just won the Super Bowl. This news changed everything! We were now debt free, including our cars, student loans, credit cards, and medical bills. The equity on the house covered all of it. The financial struggle was over, and we were free to start a new life.

Saying goodbye was hard. We packed in as many visits as we possibly could in the weeks leading up to our move. We had pizza with all of our neighbors. Jeremy’s sister hosted a beautiful going away party at her house. Our church threw us a memorable party and made the sweetest scrapbook with notes and photos from everyone. Over the past decade, these people had supported and encouraged us as we went from young newlyweds to spiritual leaders to parents. The memories were too many to count, and, to be clear, we were later given all of the back paychecks that we were owed and then some.

We had our Pastors, Dan and Connie, over to our house one last time before the move. There was no shortage of conversation and laughter as it always was with them. At the end of the night, we lingered near the front door before our final goodbye hugs. Dan held Sedona, and Connie said bye-bye to her in a sweet sing-songy voice as Zion ran circles around all of us. We continued to lament how difficult this moment was as we exchanged hugs and promises to never lose touch. Then, during our commotion, I saw Sedona enthusiastically waving her hand and mutter, Buh buh. My face suddenly lit up. Did she just say bye-bye? I asked in disbelief. All of us turned our attention to the toddler in Dan’s arms with exaggerated praise for this chubby-faced girl’s attempt at two simple syllables. This was a big deal because at 21 months old, Sedona still had yet to say her first word.

Yay! The room cheered loudly, and we continued to say BYE-BYE over and over, invading her space with cheesy expressions, hoping to encourage an encore performance. She just smiled and laughed at all of us silly grownups. When it comes to milestones, like first smile and first steps, I’m like a referee in the NFL that has to watch the play again before making the call. I’m a stickler and wasn’t ready to declare this as her official first word in the baby book or Facebook. I had to admit, though, her sounds did sound a little like bye-bye to me.

Then the cold winter day came where we bundled up and left our first home for the last time. We hooked a trailer to the back of Jeremy’s SUV, and literally drove off into the sunset. That was January of 2012. It was a new year. A new state. A new life for us. I looked out the window as the sun tag-teamed the streetlights on its way down, and I began to think about what this next chapter would look like. When people are in ministry at a small church, they tend to take on a lot of extra positions. So, even though Jeremy’s title was creative arts director, he not only created graphics, led worship, built websites, made bulletins, and led a college group, he also did a lot of maintenance and building projects because he happens to be handy. All of these things were going away now.

As I fantasized about what in the world we would do with all this extra free time, the car started sputtering, jolting me out of my trance. Put, put, put, it chugged along. That is not what people ever want to hear, but especially when driving across the country in the middle of the night with half of their belongings. Jeremy pulled off the highway, and the car gave a couple final chugs before completely shutting down. I put my forehead on the dashboard, and Jeremy called roadside assistance. I was praying, and perhaps there may have been a little bit of questioning God about why our shiny new life was being kicked off with a broken-down vehicle! I couldn’t think of much worse in that terrifying moment. The good news was it was an easy fix, and we were back on the road again in no time. The bad news was that we were just beginning what would be a long journey that would test our marriage, our family, and our faith like never before. We had absolutely no idea what we were in for.

Chapter 2

Welcome to Welfare

When we got to Kentucky, my family welcomed us with open arms. The kids were thrilled to live with their grandparents along with the excitement of having things that they never did back in Texas, like a cat, a dog, and snow.

My parents lived in a big brick house that was built in the 1800s but needed a lot of work. The wallpaper was peeling; there was only one bathroom in the whole house; and there were no closets in any of the rooms. The house was so old that it existed before the neighborhood did. So, although there was a grand front entrance, it faced the next-door neighbor’s house and the side of the house faced the road. We intended to swoop in like a rescue squad and help restore the antique property. Unfortunately, good intentions don’t always equal results, and not too much was accomplished in the time that we lived there. But they were very gracious to take us in and would have allowed us to stay as long as we needed to get back on our feet.

We didn’t have a long-term plan for employment or housing. The first course of action was to just get settled in. We unpacked all our boxes upstairs in the large master bedroom; and within three weeks, we were finally starting to feel like we were living in Kentucky and not just visiting my parents.

One cold morning in February, I was washing dishes again because the old house did not have a dishwasher. I had my hair thrown up in a messy bun, and I was wearing my stay-at-home mom uniform which was basically sweats that can double as pajamas. I was trying to distract myself for three minutes when finally Jeremy came into the kitchen.

I looked over at him, my sudsy hands lingering over the sink holding a wet plate. Well? I asked as I raised my eyebrows and bit my lower lip.

You are pregnant, he said with a giant grin and hopeful eyes.

I nearly cracked the plate I had been washing. I had suspected that I was, but we had been so busy getting our house ready to sell and then all the packing and unpacking. I didn’t even have time to think about that.

It may sound bizarre that my husband was announcing to ME that I was pregnant, so let me back up. With