I don’t outright talk about religion here–even though it is a HUGE part of my personal life–because I feel like it is something vastly personal and I never want any friends to feel excluded because their beliefs do not match my own. But since my word for this year is FAITH, I am going to share a few posts about how things are going with my word–and that means I am going to share some very personal, vulnerable aspects of my own faith and the journey I’ve been on this year. I hope that instead of feeling excluded or triggered, you can see your own personal journey in what I share and look for our commonality. If you are currently in a place where religion makes you feel offended or upset, you might want to pass on this series. My goal is to share in hopes that it helps bring joy and hope to your life. If you are not in a place where you feel open to someone else’s perspective on faith, this will be here if and when you are ever interested in the future.
So far I’ve told you about our puppy, the leap of faith to sell our house, the sure thing that turned out to be a completely unsure thing, and our hunt for the right house.
After our first discouraging rejection, I took a day or two to bounce back. It was hard to get so close only to get knocked back to the beginning. It was like a real-life, high-stakes version of a Chutes-and-Ladders game.
But we kept searching. And packing. And searching. And packing. Searching and packing were happening around the clock.
So were my prayers. I felt so desperate! I knew that I could not do this on my own. I couldn’t get our house packed up and I definitely couldn’t find this house without some serious divine intervention.
Our second rejection was a little different than the first. We offered more on the second house. It was in a great neighborhood, a short walk to the elementary school, and even though it was a bit smaller, it had some great walk-out attic spaces and a pool. We were very hopeful. It wasn’t the house of our dreams, of course, but it was a beautiful home and we could see its potential. That realtor must have had someone else in mind already, because she never really gave us or our offer the time of day. We didn’t even get the generic rejection email she sent out to all the bidders until a few days later when our realtor finally got through to her and she brushed her off, too. I took note of that realtor, because I was NOT going to go through that nonsense again.
We went a few weeks without anything promising coming on the market. We’d had a realtor reach out to our realtor weeks earlier saying that she had a client who was about to list a house. But then crickets. Nothing. She had said that her clients were just getting things ready to list the house and that they were planning to list it for a price just within our budget. It had the square footage we were hoping for, was at the end of a culdesac, and while it didn’t have a pool, it had a great-sized yard. We drove by that house regularly, hoping to get a feel for whether or not that house would be the house for us. And while I never felt a strong aversion to that house, I never felt any strong pull to it, either.
And through this waiting process, I began to relinquish my own will–my silly notion that I knew best–and instead, I had to just trust. I had to trust Him.
I have friends who want to go skydiving. They enjoy that feeling of adventure and that rush of adrenaline. Me? Not so much. I love a good adventure: let’s go hiking, rock climbing, kayaking–all great! But free-falling is not for me. Not even a little appealing. And this whole letting go and letting God idea felt like a free-fall. But it was actually just a simple trust-fall activity. And once I let go, trusting that God would catch me, a listing popped up.
It came on the market on a Thursday night. No showings. Ever. One open house on Saturday. The sellers would take offers through the weekend and planned to make a decision on Monday.
That same Thursday, we finally heard from the realtor of that culdesac property. The listing was going live. For about $40,000 more than she’d originally told us. And as we looked at the pictures, we were not excited. The house still needed a lot of work. And even though the yard was a good size, it was not a great layout and had random trees that would prevent our kids from being able to throw the ball around or anything. I knew it was not the house for us. The price gauging and the interior work sealed the deal for us.
We held our breath for the Saturday open house.
We had never actually even looked in this particular neighborhood. We’d been looking at the neighborhood right across from it! This house had the right number of bedrooms. It had the space we were looking for. It even had an additional “sunroom” just off the kitchen that would make a perfect writing room for me (a room! with windows! I’ve been writing in a converted closet for YEARS!). And it had a pool. Not much of a yard, but a pool. The street seemed quiet. And when we got there for the open house, there were LOTS of other people there, too, but otherwise, the street was quiet. As we walked through the house, my husband turned to me and whispered, “This is the house.” I couldn’t deny it. It felt right.
We met the next-door neighbors as we came out of the house. They were super friendly and even spoke with us. Yet another positive sign.
We decided to make an offer before we left the driveway and we talked with our realtor about what sort of competitive offer we should make. We offered even higher than we had on the other two. It made me feel a little sick. Our realtor submitted our offer and our letter to the sellers soon after we left the house that day. We settled in to play the waiting game for the weekend, resolved to accept any outcome.
Sunday afternoon we got a text from our realtor that began with the word “Congratulations” and my stomach immediately acted like we we’d just climbed slowly and were now plummeting downhill on a huge roller coaster. I re-read her text at least three times. Someone had finally accepted our offer! The sellers’ realtor reached out to our realtor to tell her that our letter was the thing that made the difference. I said a prayer thanking the Lord for that inspiration.
My husband jokes that it was similar to the New Testament account where Jesus tells his disciples to cast their nets on the other side of the boat. We had been fishing on one side of the street. He told us to cast on the other side and now a house looked to be–finally– in our net.
