How God Helped Me Find a Home

It’s been a while… but I’m back.

I’ve been sitting with this for a while, wondering whether I should post once a month, maybe twice. The truth is, life has been pulling me in so many directions lately. Some days, I feel like I’m just trying to keep my head above water. So if you’ve been waiting for this post… thank you. I mean that. I hope the silence hasn’t felt too long, and if it has, I hope you know it came from a place of simply trying to catch my breath.

So, what am I here to share today?

Honestly, I’m stepping back a bit from that “agony aunt” role. You know the one unpacking all the messy stuff, always processing pain. But that’s not who I am at my core. Yes, I’ve walked through hard seasons. Yes, I’ve spoken openly about broken relationships and friendships. But I’ve never wanted to dwell there. My heart has always been to speak from a place of healing, showing that restoration is real. And if you’ve been reading for a while, you’ll know that this space has always been about testimonies. Honest ones. Raw ones. And yes, sometimes they start in heartbreak, but they always point back to what God has done.

Today, I want to share a moment when God truly made a way for me.

If you’ve read any of my older posts, you know this about me already: I’m a dreamer. Literally. This whole journey, everything I’ve been sharing, started with a dream. A real one. The kind that stays with you long after you wake up.
And just like Dr. King once said, I had a dream.

This time, though, I’ve come with receipts. (Because I know some of you love a good, “See? I told you so” moment.) I want to show you the process, not just the outcome. Because sometimes we see people on the other side of the mountain, but we didn’t see the climb, the struggle, the prayers whispered when no one else was around.

Back then, I was living with my aunt for nearly seven and a half years. One night, I had this dream. In it, she received a letter from the council. After all those years of waiting, she’d finally been given a house. She had been bidding for what felt like forever, caught in a cycle that seemed endless, stuck in a place that didn’t feel like home anymore. The rent was high, the pressure was mounting, and her soul was weary. She had already said she didn’t want to still be in that place by the time eight years rolled around.

And yet, there I was dreaming of a breakthrough. A house. A new start. For her.

In the dream, we celebrated. I remember feeling so genuinely happy for her. I could feel the relief, the joy, the weight lifting off her shoulders.

But as the excitement began to settle… something quieter crept in.

A small, uncertain voice. One I didn’t want to acknowledge, but couldn’t ignore:
Where does that leave me?

Even in the dream, I could feel the tension. Smiling on the outside, cheering her on. But on the inside? I was silently asking God: Where will I go? What happens to me now?

I didn’t have an answer. I didn’t have a plan. I just had the question and the quiet hope that somehow, even in this, God was already working.

When I had that dream, something in me just knew this wasn’t random. It didn’t feel like one of those fleeting, confusing dreams you forget by morning. No, this one felt weighty. Real. Like something had shifted in the spirit, and I needed to pay attention. I could feel God tugging at my heart, nudging me to prepare, not panic, just prepare.

There’s a verse in Job that has always stayed with me.
Job 33:15–16 says:

“In a dream, in a vision of the night, when deep sleep falls upon men, while slumbering on their beds, then He opens the ears of men and seals their instruction.”

That’s exactly how God speaks to me. He always has.
More times than I can count, He’s whispered things to me in dreams, guidance, correction, even gentle warnings. It’s become a sacred space for us. When the noise of the world fades and sleep settles in, that’s often when He draws near.

And that night?
He was speaking.
And I chose to listen.

I didn’t shelve the dream or dismiss it as a coincidence. I took it seriously. I reached out to people who had walked similar paths. I asked questions, listened to their stories, and quietly began to map out what action might look like. And that’s when I decided to apply for council housing myself.

It wasn’t a decision driven by fear or desperation. I wasn’t running from something; I was walking toward something. I didn’t have all the details. I didn’t know when, or even if, it would happen. But there was this quiet, steady confidence in me that something was on its way.

I wasn’t reacting to my current circumstances.
I was responding to a glimpse of the future.

God had already begun to reveal, bit by bit, dream by dream.

To give you some context, I was studying full-time, working part-time, and commuting long hours to university. My finances were tight, constantly stretched thin. Most of my income was going straight into train and bus fares, far more than I could realistically afford. Renting my own place? It wasn’t even on the table. It just wasn’t a feasible option at that stage of my life.

But even with all of that… I moved.

Not because I had all the answers or a solid plan, but because deep down, I believed God was preparing the way. And I wanted to meet Him there, in faith, not fear. It wasn’t a loud, dramatic move. It was quiet, intentional. Like saying, “Okay, Lord, I trust You. I don’t know how this ends, but I believe you’re already in it.”

I remember starting the housing application. Sitting in front of my screen, hands hovering over the keyboard, heart hopeful… but also hesitant.
I couldn’t bring myself to go all the way through with it, at least, not yet.
There was a quiet conviction in me, one I couldn’t ignore. A voice that said, Do it right. Walk this out with integrity.

And that mattered to me.

I know how easy it is to tweak the truth just a little, especially in systems that sometimes feel like they’re not built for people like us. I’ve seen others do what they felt they had to do to get through the cracks. And I don’t judge that. Survival has its own rules sometimes. But for me? I couldn’t go down that road.

I didn’t want to bring unnecessary stress to my aunt, and more than that, I didn’t want to compromise my peace for the sake of progress.
I’m a terrible liar anyway, honestly. I wear the truth (or the lack of it) all over my face. But it was deeper than that. This wasn’t about trying to look good; it was about staying rooted in what I believed God was asking of me.

When you're navigating systems like this, one wrong step can unravel everything. I knew that. And I didn’t want to build something I’d have to constantly be afraid of losing. I wanted peace. And I wanted God in every part of the process, even if it meant things took longer.

So I waited. I prepared. I walked slowly.
Not perfectly, but prayerfully.

So I started… then I stopped.

Not because I was afraid, but because something in me wanted to do it right. I didn’t want to rush ahead of God or try to force something in my strength. I wanted to trust His timing even when I didn’t understand it. Even when the waiting felt uncomfortable.

Months passed, maybe four or five. I was still in the thick of it: commuting, studying, working, stretching every pound, and carrying this quiet sense of uncertainty about what the future held. I remember sitting with that uncertainty, praying softly, honestly. I was wrestling with questions I didn’t have answers to.

And then, in that quiet place, I felt it. Like a gentle nudge. A whisper from God that simply said,

“Write an email. Explain your situation to the council.”

At first, I hesitated. I hadn’t even applied yet, I’d stopped halfway through the process months before. But in that moment, it didn’t feel like a demand. It felt like an invitation.
An invitation to show up as I was.
To be honest.
To stop overthinking and just… start again.

Not with a perfect application. Not with all the answers.
Just with the truth.

So I took a breath. And on 19th February 2021, I sent an email to the council.
It wasn’t dramatic or strategic. It was just real.

I explained that I was a full-time student with no job at the time, though I was actively searching for one. I shared that I’d been living with my aunt for years, and that while she loved me deeply, she was also struggling financially. She was already in the system herself, bidding for council housing. And if she received a two-bedroom home, which she truly needed, I didn’t know what that would mean for me.

I told them the truth: That my aunt would never put me out on the street. That she loved me and would always consider me. But I also didn’t want to add to her worries. I didn’t want to be another weight on her shoulders while she was trying to catch her breath.

It was a small step. Just an email.

But somehow, it felt like something new was beginning.
Not because I had everything figured out, but because I was finally walking with openness, with honesty, and with trust that God would meet me in that vulnerable place.

The council replied to me on 25th February 2021, just six days after I’d sent my email. It didn’t take long at all. Their response was simple but reassuring: they advised me to speak to housing advisors, said they’d extend my existing application, and told me to go ahead and submit the necessary documents.

But by the time they got back to me, I found myself writing to them again that same day, this time, with news I hadn’t expected.

My aunt had just been offered a house. And not just offered, it had already been accepted.

She told me she’d been receiving calls from a Northampton number the week before, but in the chaos of life and a busy schedule, she hadn’t picked up. When she finally called back, she found out it was the council offering her a home.

Isn’t that just like God?

That gentle nudge I felt to send an email, to speak honestly, to take that small step in faith, it aligned perfectly with something He was already unfolding. My obedience met His provision. And there she was: moving into a new home.

I just sat in quiet awe. God had gone before us both.

By then, the council began to process my application more quickly. Things started falling into place not because I forced them to, but because I followed His lead.

What can I say? It’s so important to listen to God the Father, to God the Holy Spirit.
I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t responded to His voice first in a dream, and then in the stillness of prayer.
That one dream set things in motion.

That’s something I’ve come to deeply cherish: how the Lord speaks to me in dreams. How He pours out His Spirit so personally, so gently.

I’m reminded of Acts 2:17:

“And it shall come to pass in the last days, says God, That I will pour out of My Spirit on all flesh; Your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, Your young men shall see visions, Your old men shall dream dreams.”

This wasn’t a dream I made up.
I didn’t go to bed anxious or thinking about my circumstances. In fact, at that point, nothing drastic had happened yet. I still had a roof over my head. I wasn’t in crisis mode. There was no looming eviction, no emergency.

And yet, God spoke.
He spoke before the storm.
Before the shift.
Before I even knew I’d need to take a step.

That’s the kind of God He is always ahead of us, always covering us, even when we can’t see the full picture.

I’m even reminded of the scripture in Jeremiah 29:8, which says,

“Nor listen to your dreams which you cause to be dreamed.”

Some dreams are indeed born from the thoughts we carry into sleep. The things we dwell on late at night, the worries, the fears, the ‘what-ifs’, they often creep into our dreams.
But this one… this dream didn’t come from me.
I hadn’t been obsessing over my situation. I wasn’t lying in bed, panicking or overthinking. At the time, I was still living in my aunt’s home, and there was no urgent crisis. That’s why it shocked me. That’s why it shook me. Because I knew this wasn’t something I had made up in my mind. It was planted by God.

Eventually, my aunt did move out. It all happened quickly. She had already paid the last month’s rent, so I was able to stay in the now-empty house while the council looked for a place for me. It was quiet… stripped back… but I had the essentials: a blow-up bed, heating, light, and food.
And honestly? That was enough.
I knew my aunt wanted to stay with me, to make sure I was okay. But I wanted her to enjoy her new home, to rest, to exhale. After all those years, she deserved peace. And I trusted that I’d be okay, too, because God hadn’t brought me this far just to leave me.

During that time, I was also looked after by a close friend of mine who lived just down the road. She provided me with food and even a place to sleep when I needed it.
Here’s the part that still brings tears to my eyes…
About a year before, that same friend had been offered a council house. And when she got it, I remember feeling a gentle prompting from the Lord to buy her a bed. It seemed small at the time, just an act of kindness, obedience.

What I didn’t know was that a year later, I would be sleeping in that very bed, in that very home.
My God.
When He has a plan, He has a plan.
She helped me through my housing application, too, guiding me step by step. She was so patient, so present. I’ll never forget that.

Eventually, I did get housed in an emergency accommodation.

Then came March 29, 2021.
The council called and told me to come into the office, that this would be the day I’d be allocated a place.

And just like that… it happened.
I was housed.

God had done what only He could do. Not in a rush, but in His time.
Piece by piece, He had woven the journey together, each person, each prompt, each provision.
That part of the journey was, without a doubt, one of the hardest.
The transition. The uncertainty. The in-between.
But even then… I found that wherever I went, God placed someone nearby someone I could lean on. I moved into an area not far from another friend, and anytime things got too much, her home was open. Her heart was open.

The emergency accommodation felt like a stopping ground, a pit stop before being allocated something more permanent. People came and went, and there was this sense that no one was settled. We were all waiting. Hoping.

Why was it challenging?
The very first day I moved in, I cried. Not just from the weight of everything, but because I missed my family deeply. It was the first time I was truly alone, and the silence hit me harder than I expected.

And then there was the smell.

The moment I opened the door to my new space, it greeted me like a wall. Smoke heavy, stale, clinging to everything. The blinds in the bedroom were stained yellow from the previous tenant, who had smoked forty cigarettes a day. The sofa carried the same smell. So did the carpet. Even the walls seemed to exhale it.

I remember standing there, overwhelmed, grateful to have a roof over my head, yes, but also unsure how to make this place feel like mine. It didn’t feel like home. Not yet.

Then, in one of those quiet, grace-filled moments, my brother stepped in. He blessed me with some money, a hundred and something pounds, enough to pick up a few things to make the space a little more comfortable. A little more me.

And so, I turned to the friend I mentioned before, the one whose bed I had bought, the one I had once betrayed, and later stood beside as her bridesmaid. If you’ve read my earlier blog, you’ll know the story. If not, let me just say this: God really can restore what we think is too broken. I love how He worked that relationship full circle. She was there for me again, helping me shop for bits and pieces to decorate and breathe life into the space.

The struggle with the smoke didn’t go away easily.
Everything I owned started to smell like it. I was constantly coming down with colds and sniffles, and I knew something had to change.

So I got to work.

I took down the blinds, bleached and washed them. I hired a carpet cleaner and scrubbed the floors, the sofa cushions, even the walls. I bought a sofa cover to mask the scent and give the room a fresh feel. I did what I could with what I had. And even though the smell didn’t vanish completely, not right away, I still thanked God.

I thanked Him for the strength, for the provision, and for the little I could do to reclaim the space.

Because sometimes home isn’t just about where you live, it’s about what you pour into it.
And for me, every scrubbed surface and every new item brought me one step closer to creating something sacred. A place of safety. A place I could call home.

Other challenges came quickly, some physical, some spiritual, but all of them overwhelming in their way.

The house I was placed in had shared bathrooms and a communal kitchen, which sounds simple enough… until you live in it. I remember the discomfort of hearing people brush their teeth, wash their feet, and spit in the kitchen sink; the sounds were hard to unhear. Then there were the times I walked into the bathroom only to find poo samples left everywhere. It was too much. And it wasn’t just occasional, it was daily.

It got to the point where I couldn’t bring myself to use the toilet or the sink without feeling unsettled. I found it hard to eat in my own space. I didn’t feel at ease in my own temporary “home,” so most days I would walk over and spend time with my friend who lived nearby. That space became a refuge.

Then came the spiritual warfare, something I wasn’t prepared for, but couldn’t ignore.
One of my housemates smoked weed every single day and had her boyfriend over constantly. They’d sleep together daily, and I could hear everything. It felt like a heaviness in the atmosphere, something I couldn’t shake off.

So, I fought back the only way I knew how: through worship and prayer.
I’d sleep with my earphones in, soaking in worship music, praying as I drifted off, sometimes crying, sometimes just whispering Jesus’ name. In that isolation, my relationship with God deepened in a way I hadn’t known before.
There was no one else to run to.
No distraction.
Just me and Him.

And as much as I wanted to reach out to my parents, to say, “I’m struggling, please pray for me,” I held back.
I didn’t want them to carry the weight I was feeling.
But God saw.
And He carried it.

I went through all of it: loneliness, discomfort, spiritual battles and somehow, He brought me through to the other side. There were moments I had no clue where the road was leading. I didn’t have a five-step plan or a timeline. All I had was faith that God had a plan for me. And He did.

I finally moved out on August 19, 2022.

But even before that, the journey of getting a permanent home was another stretch of waiting and more of God’s quiet, miraculous movement behind the scenes.

While I was still in emergency accommodation, I had another dream.
In it, I saw the government, and someone handed me keys, money, and clothes. And in the same dream, a friend of mine had just gotten a house. I later found out from another friend that it was true that friend had really gotten a house, just like I saw in the dream.

That dream was more than a dream. It was confirmation.
Because shortly after, during a church prayer meeting, someone prophesied over me and said,

“You will have keys.”

I held onto that word like it was oxygen. Because when you’re in the in-between, when nothing around you looks like the promise God gave you, it’s His whispers that carry you through.

Others around me were dreaming too, dreaming about my house. They would come to me and say, “God is going to give you a home.” It wasn’t just me holding onto hope anymore; God was confirming it through the people around me, too.

But right before I moved out, life threw me one of the hardest emotional blows I’ve ever faced: the heartbreak.
Yes, the one many of you have read about in my previous blog. That heartbreak.
So imagine this: I was living in a stressful, shared space that didn’t feel like home, battling heartbreak, and trying to finish a dissertation.
It was a lot.
I was mentally, emotionally, and spiritually stretched thin. Some days I’d just sit with the weight of it all, wondering if I’d ever get to exhale.

Around that time, a friend from work invited me to a church service.
I hadn’t planned to attend the evening service, I was just there for the day session. But she insisted. “It’s a testimony night,” she said. “You should come.”
So I went.
And I’m so glad I did.

There was a woman standing up, sharing her story. A mother with children. She’d been stuck in the housing system for years and had never been prioritised. That part shook me.
Because if she, with children, wasn’t seen as urgent, what chance did I have?
I sat there quietly, listening.
And then she said something that I’ll never forget. She talked about fasting with her church, praying, and declaring over her life:

“I am the head and not the tail. The first and not the last.”

That hit me deep.

In that moment, I felt something stir in my spirit. I may not have had the same circumstances, but the same God was present.
The testimony of Jesus is the spirit of prophecy.
And what I heard that night felt like a quiet nudge from heaven:

“If I’ve done it for her, I can do it for you.”

That night, I left with more than just someone else’s story. I left with hope. Because God was clearly in the neighbourhood, handing out keys. And maybe, just maybe, my name was next.

The Bible says in Revelation 19:10,

“I am your fellow servant, and of your brethren who have the testimony of Jesus. Worship God! For the testimony of Jesus is the spirit of prophecy.”

That verse has always stayed with me. There is power in testimony.
Just hearing what Jesus has done for someone else can stir faith in your own heart, can wake something up in your spirit. And that night, I received it.
When I went back into prayer, I carried that woman’s story with me. Her faith, her perseverance, her declarations, they stayed in my mind like a quiet rhythm, reminding me of what God could do.

And the truth is, I already had testimonies I could lean on, ones much closer to home.
Two of my friends had received council houses. One was the friend I’d bought a bed for (as led by the Lord, not knowing I’d one day sleep in that very bed), and the other was the one I dreamt about getting a house, a dream that turned out to be real.
And now, with this woman’s story added to the mix, I felt surrounded by God’s faithfulness.

My friend, the one I bought the bed for, shared how she had fasted for months for her housing. She was committed. She was spiritually focused.
But honestly? I hadn’t gone there.
Even after hearing this woman’s powerful testimony about prayer and fasting, I didn’t feel led to fast in that same way.
Not because I didn’t believe in it, I did, but because I didn’t want to do it just for the sake of doing it.

You see, I’ve always been the type that says,

“Lord, teach me first.”

Give me understanding. Give me wisdom.
Let me not move out of panic or pressure, let me move from revelation.
Because not everything is a copy-and-paste situation. Just because it worked one way for someone else doesn’t mean it’s my blueprint.

I’ve learned that when you rush, you can also run right into disappointment.
There’s something sacred about walking, about waiting, about asking God, “Is this for me, too?”

Those words,

“I am the head and not the tail, the first and not the last”, became part of my prayers.

Not to launch me into fasting, but to realign my posture before God.
They were reminders that God had not forgotten me, that I was still in His story.

And yes, I did fast, but it wasn’t months or weeks like others. Mine looked different.
Sometimes it was one, two, or three days. Other times, it was joining my church’s corporate fasts once a week or a month.
But deep inside, I knew my path with God was personal. I didn’t want to copy someone else’s journey.
I just wanted to be led.

I used to pray,

“Lord, make me a priority. Let me be first and not last with the council.”

Her prayer, this woman who shared her testimony of fasting for a house, became my prayer. I wasn’t just asking for a house. I was asking for favour with God and with man.

And then came the dream that solidified everything.
It was the dream that changed the pace of my journey, the one where I knew God was calling me to fast.
I remember waking up and thinking,

“Okay, Lord… the day has come. You’ve come for me. You’re collecting me now.”

In the dream, a family member of mine had this massive mansion. I mean, it was huge and breathtaking. I stood there in awe, not just of the house but of what it represented.
But what shook me more than the size of the house were the words that came out of my family member’s mouth:

“This was possible with prayer and fasting.”

That sentence hit my spirit like a divine instruction.
When I woke up, I was immediately reminded of Matthew 17:20-21:

“If you have faith as a mustard seed… nothing will be impossible for you. However, this kind does not go out except by prayer and fasting.”

I realised that if I wanted to see real movement, if I truly wanted to shift the atmosphere around me, then prayer alone wasn’t enough.
Some mountains need both prayer and fasting.
Some breakthroughs are waiting on a deeper level of surrender.

So I obeyed.
That dream came at the beginning of July 2022, and I began fasting during the last two weeks of the month.
It wasn’t easy, I’m not going to lie. Fasting tested me in ways I hadn’t expected.
But I trusted God.

During those two weeks, I kept praying those scriptures that had become anchors for me. I stood on Matthew 17:20-21. I declared Deuteronomy 28:12-13, because I remembered what that woman at church had said:

“I am the head and not the tail.”

The scripture says:

“The Lord will open to you His good treasure, the heavens… and bless all the work of your hand. You shall lend to many nations but shall not borrow. And the Lord will make you the head and not the tail; you shall be above only, and not be beneath…”

I prayed that Word into my bones. I declared it not just from my lips, but from the core of my heart.
I said,

“God, lift me out of the pile. Let me not be forgotten in this system. Don’t let me be buried under applications. Cause me to be remembered. Let me be seen. Let me be favoured.”

Because anyone who’s been through this kind of system knows, you can feel invisible.
Like you’ve been pushed to the bottom, forgotten, lost in a sea of need.
But I didn’t want to sit quietly and let that be my portion.
I believed the Word.
I believed my portion was higher.
Not out of entitlement, but out of faith.

And so I prayed,

“Let me be above and not beneath.”

Another scripture that stayed engraved in my heart during that time was John 14:2-3:

“In My Father’s house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself; that where I am, there you may be also.”

That verse became a gentle but powerful reminder to me that my Father in heaven has room for me.
If there’s a place for me in eternity, surely there’s a place for me here on earth.
If Jesus has gone ahead to prepare something for me up there, how much more would He go before me down here?

Those words calmed me when anxiety crept in. They reminded me that nothing was being delayed, only prepared.

And He had prepared a place for me. I just needed to walk in faith until I arrived there.

Even in the practical, I stood in faith. When it came time to bid for housing, I made up my mind: I’m only bidding for new builds.
It wasn’t out of pride, it was out of exhaustion.
After everything I’d poured into the emergency accommodation time, energy, and money, just to make it livable, I was done.
I couldn’t bring myself to do it all again in a home that had already been lived in, with hidden issues and emotional residue.
I wanted a fresh start.

So, I only bid for the new builds. And even though the rent was higher, I didn’t flinch.
I remembered the dream God had given me that He would give me keys, food, and money. He had promised to meet my needs.
So I held onto that.
I believed that if God said He would provide, then He would.

Some might’ve called it bold or risky, but to me, it was obedience.
It was trust.
It was me saying,

“I believe You, Lord. And I’ll act like I believe You.”

Before I got the house in August 2022 as I mentioned earlier, it all came together on a Friday: Friday, 19th August to be exact.

That same day, I was fasting with my church, and honestly, I was struggling. I remember asking God, “How long, Lord? How long do I need to fast? I’m tired.”
I was so close to giving up on the fast that day. But just as I was reaching the edge, the phone rang.

It was the council.

They asked, “Are you working?”
And I said, “Yes, I’m actually at work right now.”
Then they said something that shook me: “If you’re working, you shouldn’t be in Band B, you should be in Band A. We’ll update the system for you today.”

And no word of a lie, by 11:45 am, I received the official offer letter for a house.
Just like that.
I was told I needed to view the property on Monday, 22nd August.
I viewed it. I signed the papers.
And I moved in.

There was no hesitation. No delay. I didn’t need to “think about it”, not after living in an empty house before.
The moment I got home that Friday, I started cleaning, packing, and preparing.
My friend at the time helped me move, and by Monday, I was in.

God truly came through.

Everything I had dreamed of, He provided.
My family rallied around me and helped furnish the home.
People brought me food, and they still do, especially since I live alone.
I’ve been clothed not just physically, but spiritually, emotionally, and through others' generosity.
Even that good old rent is being paid on time.

He’s faithful. All I can say is: God is so, so good.

My house is called Bethel, which means "House of God."
And honestly, it truly is just that a house He prepared just for me.

This home didn’t even exist before.
It wasn’t on the map.
It was built from the ground up, about a year or so before I moved in. It’s like God was quietly constructing something behind the scenes, just waiting for the right time to say, “Here, this is yours.”

The name Bethel came to me during the time I was fasting. I had been watching a video by Cindy Trimm, “Declare Your Home and Business Blessed.”
She spoke about dedicating our homes and spaces to God as places where His presence, protection, and provision dwell. That word resonated with me.

She referenced Genesis 28:16–19, the story of Jacob, who fled from home after taking his brother’s birthright. He ended up in a place called Luz and had a powerful dream of angels ascending and descending a ladder from heaven.
When Jacob awoke, he said:

“Surely the Lord is in this place, and I did not know it.”
And he was afraid and said, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven!”

He then took the stone he had used as a pillow, poured oil over it, and renamed that place Bethel.

That passage stirred something in me.
I knew God had met me in my place of wrestling, just like Jacob.
I, too, had a dream. I, too, had run into hardship and waiting and heartbreak and transition.
But when I finally stepped into my new home, I recognised the feeling. That deep stillness. That peace. That knowing.
God had been here before me.

So, I called it Bethel. Because it’s not just a house.
It’s a sacred space.
A marker of God’s faithfulness.
A reminder that even when I didn’t know it, He was preparing this very place for me.

I had to face the reality of that emergency house I was living in, and as I did, I found myself echoing Jacob’s words, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God.”
Honestly, it didn’t feel that way at all back then. The smell of smoke, the shared bathrooms, and the noise it was far from perfect. But I had somewhere to live, and that was something to hold onto. You have to see the positives, even when things seem rough. I could have been on the streets, but instead, I had a roof over my head. That’s grace.

I connected deeply with Jacob’s story because, like me, he didn’t have a proper home at that moment. He was out in the open, using stones for a pillow. Genesis 28:11 says,

“And he took one of the stones of that place and put it at his head, and he lay down in that place to sleep.”

In that uncomfortable, uncertain place, Jacob worshipped God. Even in the mess, he encountered the Lord. His circumstances didn’t define his faith or his closeness to God.
I thought, if I make my bed in hell, there you are. So I, too, was stirred up. I began praying over that house, over my future. I declared that the atmosphere would be a holy dwelling place for God.

Dr. Cindy Trimm once shared about a woman who regularly prayed over her home and neighbourhood, anointing them with oil, blessing them despite living among challenges like drug dealers. I took inspiration from her. I would anoint my emergency home and later my new house, believing God’s presence would protect and fill these spaces.

Yes, the neighbourhood I lived in was dangerous, known for crime and drugs. But through it all, God kept me safe.

“No arrow by day, nor terror by night shall come near me.”

That promise held true.

Before I even moved into my new home, I prayed those same prayers over it. I longed for a place where I could truly say, This is God’s house. A place of peace and rest, not struggle and fear. And that’s exactly what I’ve found.

Whenever people come to visit, they always comment on the peace that fills my home, despite still living in an area known for gangs and crime. It’s a quiet testimony that God’s presence can transform any space. His peace isn’t dependent on the surroundings, but on Him alone.

I’m now coming into my third year of living in the house that God so graciously blessed me with. A new build, tailored and timed perfectly for me. Every corner still reminds me of His faithfulness. I genuinely love everything about it, not just the structure, but the peace that fills it.

Even though the neighbourhood may still carry its challenges, I’m no longer shaken. Why? Because the Lord dwells in this house. His presence is what makes it home. I no longer see just walls and furniture; I see answered prayers, I see protection, I see provision. I see Bethel, the house of God.

I truly hope that my story encourages anyone who is believing for a home, whether you're buying, renting, waiting, or praying. I know the journey can be long, uncertain, and at times painful. But I’m living proof that God is faithful. My testimony has already been a source of encouragement for others. I’ve helped friends with their housing applications, offered advice, and shared prayers, but I know this story still has more people to reach.

So if you're reading this, feeling stuck, discouraged or tired of waiting, hold on. God came through for me, and He can come through for you. My prayer is that He shows up for you in a way that makes it undeniable that He’s been preparing something just for you, all along.


with Love, 

Theophilia 🖤