Our realtor called.
"I have to advise you not to make any improvements on the house," she warned.
We already have. Sigh.
"If the seller's short sale isn't approved, you could potentially lose the home," she informed. "If it moves into foreclosure, you will have seven months to find another house."
Seven months? If the worst happens, we will have to be gone before Christmas.
I collapsed into IronMan's arms, weeping.
I don't want another house. I want this house. This house is HOME. This house is perfect for our family, for ministry, and for IronMan's growing business. But here we are, again, in this seemingly endless swirl of feeling homeless. My soul is in angst.
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On February 14th, we heard from the seller that our offer was accepted on this house, and I shared on Facebook to announce this amazing news.
When this "Mary Bailey" was a little girl, she threw a "rock" in the Ol' Granville House window, and **THIS** is what she wished for. Today, Valentine's Day 2015, my childhood dreams are coming true!! This is my "Granville House" and we are going to fill it with family, friends, memories, and love. It's been a very long journey, but we are coming HOME!!! Thank you, God!!! This is a miraculous **GRACE**
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I, honestly, feel like we have been naive and foolish, but I replay our circumstances over and over in my mind. We didn't know this was going to be a short sale at the time, and I don't think we would have or could have done anything differently. Our house was set to close on Friday, February 27th, the day the first moving truck was going to pull out of my parents' Colorado driveway. We had tons of help lined up for Saturday, February 28th to clean the house (a monstrous task!) and unload the truck (another monstrous task!). We received word on Thursday, February 26th (the moving truck was already loaded) that the house wasn't going to close until Monday, March 2nd, but the seller graciously understood our circumstances and invited us to move in on Saturday, anyway. In good faith, we trekked in a Budget rental truck from Colorado to Indiana, 1,100 miles, 21 hours of brutal straight driving. IronMan flew back to Colorado, packed a second truck full to the brim with the remainder of our belongings and his entire business, and drove another 21 hours straight to Indiana exactly one week later.
In three weeks, we had every box unpacked (two moving trucks full!), our homeschool set up, and IronMan's business organized and ready to go.
I have no idea how we went from the offer being accepted on the house to being in the house, unpacked, and set up for living in five short weeks. We were all utterly exhausted and bone-crunching weary. It seemed worth the deep sacrifice, because we were finally HOME.
...or not?
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We are now 46 days past the original closing date. Other set closing dates have come and gone. It seems there is very little information for us, the buyers, in this circumstance. For the most part, this feels like a silent, excruciating wait.
EXCRUCIATING.
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A couple of years ago, my mom overheard Sunshine Girl talking to the neighbor children. She wasn't sure what the context of the conversation was, but she saw Sunshine Girl put her head down and hesitantly say, "We don't have a house."
For the last two years, our son has asked for a house for every birthday, every Christmas, and every holiday in-between. I found this picture in his school notebook not long after we moved here.
He is so glad to have a house and be HOME.
I see it in all four of my kids. They are in their own space. They are relaxed. They are free.
FREE.
This spring, hyacinths poked up through the thawing spring ground. They whispered to me that there is life waiting here in this house for us. Inside this house, my family is that life.
We have been doing just that. Life. Living.
We have taken home-baked cookies to our neighbors, and my kids are getting acquainted with the neighbor children. We have had meals, games, and learning surround our family table...our FAMILY TABLE!
Lives have intersected inside the walls of this house as our life-space has been filled with dear friends. We have broken bread together, sipped coffee, shared meals, shared hearts, worshiped, and prayed together.BEAUTIFUL.
I can tell you, unequivocally, if we have to move from here, we will all be devastated. I'm worried what it would do to my kids' hearts. I'm worried what it will do to ours. We have each other. We have what truly matters, but after a very long line of lousy things happening to us over and over again across two decades, at some level it really does matter what happens here...with this...with what is supposed to be our home. We are having a difficult time believing that anything good can happen to us. Our faith has been riding on an angry ocean for far too long. We thought this house was a gift. I want desperately to believe that it still is.
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We have been through SO MUCH leading up to now, and it's very difficult for me to receive encouragement or truth from someone else if I don't know that they have been through war like we have. It's not arrogant, it's about being authentic, and trusting that someone else is authentic, too. I share on my blog, transparently, so you know that what I share is not just words, but backed by experience. I want you to know you are not alone, because I also know what alone feels like. I want to share drops of encouragement, too, as one who has been tested in many fires.
Yesterday, I came to my blog, heavy-hearted, to write for the first time since November (it's been a long hard winter). I wanted to somehow share what we've been walking through. I've been wanting to write with EXCITEMENT that we have moved back to Indiana and we finally have a HOME, but I couldn't because of this senseless circumstance we are in. We are reserved in our elation, because there is a real chance that we won't get to stay here. Until we know how this is going to turn out, we are in limbo.
If you've never known what it's like to feel that your living place isn't secure, it might be hard for you to understand why we feel such a deep ache. That's okay. I'm truly happy for you if HOME has never been threatened. We haven't owned a home for fourteen years. Our sense of home has been displaced for a very long time, and our three youngest children have never experienced it at all.
I have been praying and crying out to God. I told Him, honestly, that if I knew what His plan was, maybe I could have some measure of peace. Maybe I could go to bed and not cry myself to sleep. If I just knew. Sigh. Obviously, I want to know that this is going to be okay, and the best thing I could hear is that we are here and we are home.
Should I let this go? Or can I plant my heart?
My heart is burdened for my whole family. I am longing for this to be resolved. I am longing for some sign that this will be okay.
When I signed into my blog yesterday (REMEMBER...THE FIRST TIME SINCE NOVEMBER...WITH THIS HEAVINESS IN MY HEART), it took me to the blog navigation page. The first thing that showed up on my blog, right in the middle of the page, was a link from a fellow blogger that I follow. There was ONE picture on the entire page. It was a chalkboard with three words on it. THREE LITTLE WORDS. The words?
YOU. ARE. HOME.
I immediately went to my own chalkboard, tears streaming down my cheeks, and wrote the three words.
YOU ARE HOME.
Can it be?
Has God heard my heart's cry? Is this the answer?
I wrote it on the chalkboard, and on the chalkboard this is going to stay until this is fully resolved. This chalkboard is going to be my encouragement, my reminder when days are hard and doubt and dread press in.
HOME... or NOT?
I have to choose to BELIEVE this is HOME, until I know otherwise. God, please move and answer on our behalf, and answer quickly. Amen.
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Always grace,
