WE SOLD OUR HOUSE!!!!!
April FOOLS!!!!
HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHA
^^^ bts footage me daily.
I feel like I’ve been holding my breath for a week. My whole body feels the tension of the ledge we’re standing on. My mind is restless and it’s nearly impossible to focus on anything else.
I guess when you feel you’re walking in obedience in what God has led you to… you have this expectation that it will happen fast.
Like Amazon Prime, 2-day-shipping fast.
Badaboom, badabang.
Put the house on the market, have a few showings- get multiple offers the first day. Rip it off like a bandaid. Quick. Painless. Done.
Instead we’re in the slow cooker of faith.
Marinating In The Waiting.
(Hmmm... plot twist: new cookbook/ devotional by Justice & I? Anyone wanna preorder:?? hahahaha)
Just kidding, no plot twists here. Just currently in an Airbnb with five kids- booked until Thursday. With someone asking every 15 minutes:
"Mom, when do we get to go home?"
"Mom, where are we going after our house sells?"
"Mom, what’s happening???"
MOM. MOM. MOM. MOMMMMMMMM.
And I have no solid answers. I just keep smiling through the overstimulation, nodding like a politician avoiding the question, and occasionally saying, "Let’s hold hands and pray!”
(To which they yell loudly “WE PRAY OUR HOUSE DOESN’T SELL” Over my prayers for a buyer- aaaand well it’s going great thanks for asking)
The truth is—we are literally waiting on the Lord. He has to move. He has to decide. He knows the buyer, the timeline, and what comes next. I sure don’t.
I’ve been holding onto Psalm 27 for years, and I’m chanting the last two verses like a survival mantra:
"I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living."
"Wait for the LORD; be strong and take heart and wait for the LORD."
I know the truth. I believe the truth.
Sometimes I know I’ve made such strides in my maturity as a Christian, and and yet… here I am, pacing this temporary living room and ever so often spiraling into a mental Olympics of anxiety.
I let fear grip me so tightly that suddenly I’m logging in bank accounts, doing math (never a good sign)- running worst-case scenarios, and within minutes, I’ve gone full panic at the disco:
"We will be homeless. The kids will hate me. We won’t sell the house- we’ll LOSE IT- We will live in a van down by the river. Wait, what river?? There are no rivers here! Why, God?! Why did You lead us here and then just… LEAVE?!"
By the end of this very productive internal breakdown, Rune is crying for milk, Reverie is screaming, the kids are fighting about being bored at this ‘dumb house’, and Emma walks in asking for a ride to work.
Naturally, I snap. I yell at everyone. Tears fill my eyes.
I fantasize about walking out the door, going back to the house, locking myself in our room and sleeping for a month. Somebody wake me up when it’s all over.
Wake me up when I can tie a pretty bow around the outcome.
(For reference, we’ve been in Airbnbs for 9 days and the house has been on the market for 6. So yes, I’m fully being dramatic.)
Want to know the hardest part? Walking this out publicly.
I trust God, I know He is good, but there’s this nagging thought: What if we fall flat on our faces? What if it all crumbles? Will people look at my life and think, “See? God doesn’t provide. What an idiot. She wasn’t led by God.”
But here’s the thing—God’s sovereignty is not fragile. He’s not sitting there worried about His Yelp reviews based on my life’s plot. He is working all things together for good and for His glory, and He’s not panicked.
…But folks, I am.
And I just want to be honest about what it looks like living out this refining process in real time, in all my humanness, one overstimulated, over-caffeinated, deeply exhausted day at a time.