Trauma in the Transition - Part 4 Finale

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On Sunday, June 23rd, I woke up to a flood of thoughts.

The first was clear and almost commanding: “Be upfront and transparent—about the income, the credit score, the preferences, everything.” To this day, I believe that was the Lord.

The second thought was a little more jarring: “We need someone with more power to back us. God is cool, but we need a realtor.” It didn’t take long for me to realize… that “someone” was me.

So, I reached out to the realtors who had walked us through previous challenges in the Manhattan housing market. By the next day, the owner of the agency replied, ready to help us find a place with just seven days left in the month. For them, that was plenty of time.

We had resisted hiring a realtor as long as we could, but by this point, paying a fee seemed small compared to the walls keeping us out of the city we knew God had called us to back in 2017.

Wrestling With Manhattan

Here’s a moment of transparency: I hated Manhattan for the first five years of living here.

After my second child was born in 2021, I finally slowed down enough to notice the beauty of the city and nearby areas. I adjusted, yes, but the moment my family battled our first mild case of bedbugs, I quietly promised myself: If the chance came, I’d be out.

I even considered Staten Island at one point. I just didn’t see the value in staying somewhere that God had sent us.

So when the realty company—one we trusted—assigned us a new agent, I expected a lifeline. Instead, just two days later, she emphatically told us she could not help. No realtor from that agency had ever said that to us before. But this was 2025, and the market had changed, especially in Harlem.

My confidence didn’t waver, though. I told myself: If she isn’t the one to help, then she simply isn’t the one. Five days is more than enough. I’ve seen it happen before.

And yet, underneath that determination, the old questions returned.

Does it really matter? Is this really that serious? Do we even need to live here?

For years, I identified with the idea of not needing much. The thought that God would call us to a place that demanded so much—so much effort, so much time, so much money—felt impossible to reconcile.

Forced to Move

We didn’t just leave because God called us back to Manhattan. We left because we couldn’t stay where we were.

After a job loss, we had fallen two months behind on rent. Our landlord was kind, but when he asked when we could pay, my only honest answer was, “I don’t know.” I even prayed for what to say, and the Lord told me just one thing: “Do not fear him.”

So, I told our landlord the truth—that he should show the apartment to someone else. We left willingly.

Even if we had wanted to stay, another layer made it impossible: our energy meter had been broken the entire time we lived there, and ConEdison threatened to cut power or charge us for three years’ worth of usage.

On top of all that, God had given me two dreams—one confirming we couldn’t stay, the other showing where He was sending us. It was simply time to go.

Seeing it Differently

I began to realize I had been seeing it all backwards. Living in Manhattan wasn’t about prestige, convenience, or even preference. It was about provision.

• My children’s school was God’s provision.

• My husband’s job was God’s provision.

• Our church—and the labor assigned to us—was God’s provision.

Having a home in this area wasn’t an indulgence; it was alignment. It was access to the provision of the Lord and His divine intentions for our family.

When my husband and I married in 2016, we knew two things for certain: God had a purpose for our union, and He intended to bring us into His abundance.

But abundance doesn’t always look the way we expect. Expensive is relative.

Provision in the Wilderness

After being released from my job in April, I felt an urgency to repent for delayed obedience in the business God had given me. I had been holding off on assignments that stayed on my mind daily, simply because I didn’t have the time.

And then, almost suddenly, the fruit showed up. Three days before our move-out date, I made my first four-figure sale in months. By the end of that week, I had closed two more, totaling $10,205 in six days.

It was the first time I clearly saw that real financial prosperity was possible—and that even buying a home was within reach.

But if you’ve been following this Trauma in the Transition series, you know how the story turned. Most of that money didn’t go toward a down payment. It went to week after week of hotels, while we waited.

• Seven days waiting on approval that didn’t come.

• Seven more days lingering nearby for work convenience.

• Seven more hoping a driven realtor could make a miracle happen in East New York.

• Seven more wondering if we were insane for leaving stability at all.

All the while, whispers of God’s nature carried me: His love, His mercies, His daily provision. Each day, we had enough. But the tension was loud:

• Lord, I trusted You.

• I believed You.

• I obeyed.

This looks nothing like what we talked about.

To be Continued

This season stretched me to believe that God’s provision is not just about survival, but alignment with His purposes—even when the path feels unreasonable.

Watch this episode of the Kept Podcast — How Delayed Obedience Keeps You Stuck — to hear how the story unfolds.