Trying Doors – Ambition Magazine
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Trying Doors

The only doors I couldn’t get into, were the ones I never tried to open.

Back in college, there was this before class ritual that used to bother me so much. People would gather at the door of the classroom. Most of the time, no one had even tried it to see if it was locked, or peeked to see if it was empty; they all just stood there. Instead of waiting with the others, I often tried the door. Sometimes I’d disrupt a class, sometimes I’d get first pick of the seats. Either way, I was always glad to have tried versus just waiting, following the others.

My child’s father and I, we’d thought of moving before. Together. We decided that we didn’t want to spend more than about $600 though, because that was all we thought we could afford. I was moving on my income, only; which meant that I probably should have been looking for postings in the $500 range.

I couldn’t resist going to see this apartment in the northern part of town that was $650. I knew I couldn’t afford it but I just thought it would be a good tease. There’s an annoying feeling inside of me that doesn’t ever want to believe a thing is not possible, too. The Craigslist ad shouted at me: SUNNY APARTMENT IN A TWO FAMILY HOME ON A DEAD END STREET. Everything about it was perfect. There were hardwood floors, a fireplace, two bedrooms and it was nestled in a nice neighborhood. The yards on the surrounding streets were well manicured and when I pulled up I even saw a little girl outside across the street longing for a playmate. “I know someone that wants to play,” I thought to myself. It was perfect for me, like the right shoe with the right bag on a Saturday night. It was torture to look at it, but I did and even completed an application even though I just knew in my heart it wasn’t financially possible.

When I called to turn in the application the manager told me that it was already in the process of being rented. I hung my head. Then the next day I called back and said, “I just wanted to let you know that if anything happens with the future renter, I would be happy to take it.” I tried that door. A week later, the manager called me back to see if I was still interested. A month later, the apartment was mine.

Faith is the substance of things hoped for, and the evidence of things not seen.

The numbers didn’t add up when I viewed the apartment, and the numbers didn’t add up when I signed the lease, but God made a way for me to get from up under my child’s father in that toxic relationship. I didn’t know how I was going to pull it all together and pay the rent, but it didn’t matter at that moment. My faith had gotten me this far and I wasn’t going to stop believing now.

Ashley Aya Ferguson
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