Springs of Hope

I almost didn't hear the phone ringing while I was trying to scrub chilli oil stains off the stove. (Why am I cleaning stoves in the house that isn't ours? Don't ask. It's just me. I'm restraining myself from putting all their plates and cutlery back and cleaning out the drying rack.)

I almost didn't want to answer the call. It was definitely going to be another estate agent offering properties and we're just so tired of looking! All we want to do is sign that damn contract this evening.

But I answered it.
"Are you still looking for a flat? Redfield Lane? 380 a week?"

I think my prayers have been answered. There are moments like these, almost insignificant, but for a split second you think - God hears prayers, prayers not spoken or recited Hail Mary's for. Or maybe He hears my mother's fervant prayers. For her daughter to believe in lifting burdens up and letting everything go. Only divine intervention could have made her hopeless daughter answer a call she didn't feel like answering, admit that she was still looking even though she thought she had decided, make an appointment to view yet another house even though Lionel was getting grumpier by the day.

And like a moment of epiphany, iTunes has chosen to play

"... there will be an answer. Let it be... let it be..."