Updated: Feb 4, 2019
Back before I had much interest in genealogy or knew anything about my family's history, I was invited to a backyard party/barbecue in my hometown. I had moved out of state and had some family who still lived in the area but none of my immediate family lived in the town itself anymore.
While I was at the party, I met a friendly young woman who chatted with me for a while. When one of her kids needed a change of clothes, she said she had to go back to her house and asked me if I wanted to go for a ride with her so I agreed to go.
We drove to her house, which was on the other side of town, a small city with a population of about 18,000 at the time. I didn't know the city well, but I did know the hospital I was born in and it was a block away from her house.
Her home was on a dead-end street with a dozen houses on each side of the road. We parked in front of the second house on the right. It was duplex and she lived in the left half of the house as we faced it. Inside, it was a tidy home with features like crown molding and built-in book cases, which I appreciate so much in old homes. We went upstairs and into her daughter's bedroom. It was the first room on the left and I glanced around the room while she gathered what she needed. All I really remember is seeing the crib and it gave me a warm feeling. She got what she needed and we went back to the party, thinking nothing more of it.
A few years later when I became interested in my family's history, I started searching for records. I found my birth announcement in the town's local newspaper while browsing the microfilms at the library. The brief notice gave the address of where my parents lived at the time. I recognized the name of the street and remembered that was the street the house I went to was on. I called my mother and asked her which house it was and she said it was the second house on the right! So I asked her which half of the house, and you guessed it - the left half of the house. I was amazed. The icing on the cake was when she told me that bedroom with the crib in it was my first bedroom. I share it with my big sister. She explained that we didn't live there long.
How is it that of all the houses in the town, I was taken to that house? And why? When does a complete stranger invite someone they just met into their home? What if I had decided not to go to the party? What if I had declined her invitation to go with her? So many variables could have stopped me, but everything worked out perfectly. I'm convinced it was a little gift from God. He put me at the right place at the right time, with the right person under the right circumstances to show me my first home on this earth. It's the little things that mean the most.