Surrender: Part Five

We got an offer on the house yesterday

I’m sitting at my Aunt Faith’s house with Natalie, Reverie, and Rune while our home has yet another showing. I’ve honestly lost count—is this number 100? 1,000? It feels like we’ve scrubbed and swept and mopped and made beds and refilled diffusers and wiped down every mirror, toilet, and tub more times than I can count.

But—this one could be the last.
If we wanted it to be… Because…

We got an offer.
Yesterday.

Isn’t that what you wait for when you list your house? The big moment? The relief, the celebration, the confirmation that you’re on your way?

But instead of joy or relief, it felt like a bit of a gut punch. Anticlimactic, even. The number came in lower than we hoped, and my heart kind of sank.

Especially because we know someone personally- who was going to offer full price before we even listed our home. But because they bought a car the day they came to see it, that drastically reduced the amount they were approved for and ended up having to find a different home.

When the offer came in, my knee-jerk reaction was panic and maybe even a little offense. We hopped on the phone with our incredible, beyond-amazing realtor—(seriously, she has been a gift in this whole process. Amy Loves Lubbock)

She gently told us, “Now guys, I know this is a lower offer. But we can counter.”

I was scribbling down numbers, doing math with pen and paper—heart racing. Because it didn’t feel like just numbers—it felt like my whole heart was on the line.

We’ve already dropped our price by $25K over the last month and a half. And honestly? I didn’t even really want to do that.

The honest truth is: Justice is ready to go. He wants to move sooner rather than later. Me? I could stay here forever. I love this house, I’m truly content.

Sure, our interest rate is insane and paying our mortgage each month feels like being raked over coals, but God has always provided. I figured when rates finally drop someday, we’d refinance.

Letting go of this home—this place that holds so much more than monetary value—isn’t just a financial decision for me.

It feels like…loss. Like a death.
A death I’m choosing.

Maybe my mind is just looking for an exit. Maybe I thought I had surrendered. I listed the house. I agreed to drop the price. I said I was being obedient. But now that we’re standing on the edge, I’m asking myself: How surrendered am I really?

This house is our only nest egg. Once it’s gone—it’s gone. This may be the single biggest financial moment we ever walk through. And I know all too well how quickly money can slip through your fingers, especially with a family of seven.

What we do with this—how we steward it—will be one of the most important decisions of our adult life.

And the weight of it is heavy.
Truthfully, we’re not financially literate.

We need to set aside some to live off of in the in-between. We need some to invest into Dawn Photo Co. so we can grow. We want to prepare for another home—maybe land someday. And we’d love to invest in real estate, or stocks, or something… but what’s best?

I wish I had a parent we could call and ask.

But no one has ever shown us the ropes of financial stewardship.

And once it’s gone… it’s gone.
So of course we wanted more.
As much as we could squeeze from the soil of this place that has held us,
cradled us,
carried the echoes of our laughter and loss.

Because trading in your home—
the walls that knew your babies’ cries, the floors that held your grief…
for a dollar amount that can vanish with one wrong turn?
That’s a kind of gamble that tightens your chest.
Especially when little eyes are watching,
searching your face for the answer to a question
they don’t yet know how to ask:
Are we going to be okay?

And they don’t mean tomorrow.
They mean:

Will we land?
Will we grow?
Will we have enough to build again?

I know that look.
I’ve worn it.
That ache of wanting stability,
of hoping someone has a plan.
Of praying they’ll get it right—
all the while knowing you’re just a child in the passenger seat,
and the adults are gripping the wheel with sweaty hands.

We’ve got a nearly-16-year-old who’ll need a car in a few months.

And four more kids who will need one someday too.
We want to help them all.
We want to leave an inheritance for them someday.

We want to break the cycles we’ve seen and be the parents we always wished we had—the kind you can call when life gets hard. We’ve never had a financial safety net… but we want to be that for our kids and their kids.

And this is likely the moment.

The moment we’ll look back on and say- had we not sold our house, we never would have changed the course of our financial trajectory.

---

Our realtor gave us space, and we took the rest of the day to just sit with it.

That evening, I poured a little Armagnac and sat on my tree swing—my favorite place to meet with the Lord. It was quiet. Still. No wind, no sounds. Just the dark and the crisp night air. I let the tears come.

I told Him everything.

“God, I feel like I’ve surrendered. We listed the house. We dropped the price—more than I ever wanted to. I’m trying to be obedient. I’m trying to trust You. But why don’t I feel peace? The joy?

Why this offer?

They didn’t even write a letter. ( I’ve always written letters to the home owners I want to buy from.)
I don’t know who they are. I don’t know why they love this house. Why should I drop the price again— AT ALL for someone who can’t even do the decent thing—tell me why they want it, why it matters to them, why we should say yes to letting go?

Honestly? I kind of want to raise the price again. Let it sit. Wait for someone who values it the way we hoped.

Because right now, the only balm this whole trade-off has to offer me is financial. That’s it. That’s the only thing that even resembles a fair exchange for everything I’m walking away from. And now I’m supposed to let that go too?

It doesn’t feel fair, Lord.
Please. I know I’ve asked You a thousand times before… but—can’t we keep it?

Can’t we move ….and keep it?
Have my cake ….and eat it too?
Have my faith built—
and keep the very thing You’re asking me to lay down in order to build it?”

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I shared it with Him, and then voice memoed with my friends.

Kelli—my sister in Christ and one of our main shooters—sent me a sermon. She said God put it on her heart to not offer advice, but just to send the Word.

The message? Waiting on the Lord. Reminding me that often we get frantic and take things into our own hands because we can’t see what’s around the bend and we won’t just wait for him to show up. He preached on 2 kings 6 and it touched my heart so deeply.

And that’s been the thread through this whole season, hasn’t it?

I realized the anxiety I felt—the pressure to respond, to act fast, to rush a decision—that wasn’t from God. God doesn’t operate like that. He rarely asks us to move in panic. He invites us to wait. To abide.

So…we’re waiting.

I don’t know what we’ll do with the offer yet.
Maybe we’ll counter.
Maybe we won’t.
Maybe we’ll let it go entirely.
But I’m asking God for that unmistakable peace. The kind that lets me move forward without regret.

I believe He sees all the small things—the details that would bring peace to my heart. I believe He cares about those details. Maybe we won’t get what we hoped for entirely financially, but I believe He’ll still show up with little “God winks.” Tiny reminders that He’s near. That He hears. That He’s walking with us.

He knows our story. Our needs. Our future. He knows the why and the when. And He’s not trying to rob us—He’s leading us.

After all, it was Him who ‘built this house’ (Psalm 127)
and provided the abundant financial provision at a time when I wasn’t even following him, knowing that the moment would come when I would—
and we’d need to release this.

He’s asking me to trust. To release. To surrender again. But not in a rush.

To. Wait. On. Him.

And to believe—that when the time comes—He will provide everything we need to walk out of this house with peace, with purpose, and with our heads held high… knowing it was the Lord Himself who led us forward.

And I think regardless,
He’s proud of the heart that was willing to let it all go, even when she had no idea what was waiting on the other side.

poor Reverie has no idea what’s coming with the sale of this home^^^