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Over eight years ago we bought our Faithful House. I wrote about this on my blog … about how this house taught me about weary bones and being brought back from the brink of the edge. How I felt, driving aimlessly around our town looking for a home we could afford to purchase, that this home would hold something so essential, so completely life giving to our family that I could trust God. That what I had dreamed of, what I had heard in the whispers of my soul – I hadn’t made up. I hadn’t heard wrong.

This house was our Faithful House. God is faithful. These walls, this foundation, this fertile ground we grew up and out of – it bore so much fruit in our lives. Memories and being woven together as a family and sleepovers and friendships and the gift of hosting. We’ve shared this home with so many people, whom we love, this house knit us back together after the storm of life ravaged our hearts. This home held us together through life crises and helped me flip decades from 20’s to 30’s. This house was a dream maker, a hospice for our souls. And we have loved her so much.

In April of 2020 we made a list of the Must-Haves and Nice-to-Haves for a new home in my journal. We very much wanted to buy an existing home that we could do some (not a ton of structural) work to. We wanted the same amount of yard, or more, and more room inside the home. The kids each got to give us their input and then we kind of laughed at each other and were like, what now?

I’ll tell you: months of looking. Seeing every home we thought might fit the bill, our rock star Realtor was always available. We started looking at land to build, because, as it turns out, we were very serious about moving. But we started to feel weary in the search. It’s definitely a sellers market, so homes we would look at inevitably had multiple offers within days. We were ready, but we just couldn’t justify any of them as the place we wanted to fight for.

I had to wrestle all kinds of demons about what it meant to find the house we wanted, if I was “allowed” to have a home like this or if we “deserved” it.

But now it’s time to move. So we sold this faithful house. In a whirlwind 29 hours from listing to signatures. The house we bought is another blank slate that we can’t wait to pour into.

Since I can remember, I’ve never pictured my life beyond the age of 36. That was just the number for me. My mom’s life changed dramatically for her at age 36 – and I think it just stuck with me. If I can make it to 36, I’ll have lived. We’ll be closing on our new home days away from my 37th birthday. God. He writes the most beautiful stories.

He let me do it all. He let me write life lists and cross off items as if I was the author of it. He let me have my babies, and He let me heal from the pain of my past. He let me have a beautiful marriage and a man who never saw anything but beauty in my mess. He let me go, and watched with wrapt interest in my love for this world as I came running back to Him, enamored with what I saw. What I had learned. He held me as I wept over loss and healed my broken pieces with compassion and understanding. He never told me I did it wrong, He never told me not to. He waited for me to walk – and then He went with me. EVERYWHERE. God. He writes the most beautiful stories.

This new home is the home my children with leave from. They’ll leave as adults, carrying their wounds, accomplishments, their tender hearts and their future hopes and dreams.

They’ll leave my nest and return to me a beautiful creature in flight.

Thats what this new home is.

It’s next.

a thought

Yesterday I was running some errands which had to do with moving. Getting boxes, going to the bank … running around town. As I was pulling out of the bank I thought to myself “Man it’s fun to be an adult.”**

**Actual thought that went through my mind.

Then I decided I would treat myself to one of McDonalds’ chocolate dipped ice cream cones. Which I never did, by the way. I just decided I could and then I drove away.

That was yesterday. Today I stood next to my washing machine and cried while my two year old boy was watching Sesame Street. I was crossing things off my To-Do list of the day which happened to be “Price garage sale items, basement” … so I was being an adult and staying on task when it hit me.

When I could feel the panic rising I called Aaron and started to sob on the phone while he was in the car with 2 other professional folks. I could hear them through my sobbing – on the other end, sitting near Aaron, having a normal conversation and I am losing my fucking marbles.

It was not fun to be an adult this morning. I got overwhelmed. We are so excited and so very terrified at the same time about moving. Yes, we’re done with this house and have done what we can to it without doing too much and we’re not, in fact, in the school district we thought we were – we’re ready.

But it’s easy. It’s complacent to stay here. To just go on living here, shoving things in the cupboards we don’t use and putting the garage sale off another year. And it’s comfortable. We know the neighborhood, the kids have only ever known this house, we started our life as a family here.

And there’s so. much. to. do. to move.

It didn’t help that Aaron was out of town for a night and I had to carry on conversations about mortgages and banking with people he was originally having the conversation with. I had to jump in and assume that I knew the details of what was already discussed, the ideas that were swapped. It didn’t help that I was solo parenting 2 children and trying to pack up a house, get ready for a garage sale and set up times to see rental homes for the interim.

None of it helped. It was all too much. I caved. I cried. I sobbed.

This house is somewhat of a band-aid for me. The last house my (step)dad saw before he died … he walked through it weeks before he passed. Gave us his blessing, in a way. He got to see where the baby (who is now a 5 1/2 year old female) would be sleeping, she was only 5 months into being formed in my belly.

We went from 900 square feet to this house, 2,400 square feet and all kinds of ideas and dreams. Our income has only changed once since we’ve lived in this house – and that happened within the first year of being here.

We were building our “5 year plan” on the fact that we only ‘planned’ to be here for 3 of those 5 years. We’re going on six. We had another baby here, who is now a 2 year old male and sleeping in what was the office when we bought this house. He is named after Him.

This house, to us, was a stepping stone in the journey of being mortgage free. Buy, fix up and sell until we accrued enough equity to own a home scott-free.

This House.

Just goes to show that a plan is really just an idea – something to be considered. A fluid situation.

I am ready to tear off the band-aid and get going with all of this, but we’re not really changing much other than an address when we leave here and it’s really really difficult to see the silver lining when I’m knee deep in old flatware and pillow forms that I no longer need.

We’re still on a journey, just happens that this leg of it is the Roller Coaster.

If I ever write a book, my goal is to get on Oprah

Yesterday I watched Oprah. Thats right. I. Watched. Oprah.

And she had Greg Behrendt as a guest, he’s one of the authors of “He’s just not that into you”.

Now this book caught my eye, the whole show was really interesting because this Greg guy is super nice and made every woman in that audience feel like she’s worth it all. They featured a small panel of dating men who gave away their secrets too and, in all, it was just really interesting.

Now you see – today, the DAY AFTER the Oprah show aired … I check it out on amazon to see what normal people and other readers are saying about it. And already in the remarks there are women mentioning the Oprah show … from YESTERDAY.

This, my friends, amazes me. So I’ve come to the conclusion that if I ever decide to write a book – say on being pregnant (because we need more of those) or raising kids or something, anything really … I need to get on the Oprah show. Holy Moly. I’m just blown away.