Surrender: Part Two

Home Hitting Market

I’m sitting in a local airbnb, sipping on a cup of coffee listening to the birds chirp closely outside the windows. I hear the sound of lawn mowers and dogs barking, a firetruck that just drove by, and the sounds of Natalie & Reverie watching Tinkerbell in the living room.

These sounds are foreign & unfamiliar. Because this is not our home.
But foreign is a sound that needs to become familiar as we become true sojourners soon.

The house officially hits the market tomorrow.

I have been feeling disregulated, uncomfortable, chaotic and stormy inside my body these last few days.

Let’s just say: getting a house ready to sell is not for the weak. (Or for those with 5 children including a toddler and nursing infant with 3 different nap times and very little family support)

We have painted and planted and sewn and hung and draped and cleaned and swept and mopped and decluttered and depersonalized and scrubbed and cried these past couple of weeks, all while holding a toddler and baby on hips and juggled all it means to prep a home to let go of.

Two days ago I piled the kids in the car while Justice was finishing up projects at the house, let Emma drive as I sat passenger and searched airbnb to find somewhere to stay during this process of cleaning, taking pictures, and getting it on the market.

I had to swing back by later the same day to grab something I forgot. When I pulled up a for sale sign had been put up.

I guess I should have known there would be a sign in the yard, that is, after all, part of selling a home.

But for some reason when I saw it, it felt violating. As if someone had snuck in and was trying to sell my house without my knowledge. I felt like I was severed and my innie had decided to do this and I had no idea until that moment.

It caused a visceral reaction as I inadvertently wanted to kick it down and run inside, lock the doors and end that innie’s life.

I fell into Justices arms and wept. I went in and wept more. I walked room to room, gathering things, taking it all in, crying aloud to God. Laying it all at his feet as I have continually learned to do more and more over the years.

Are you sure?
Why?
Maybe this is mistake.
God, please.
Why are we doing this?
Is there no other way?
God why have you lead us here?
Why do we have to surrender this?

That was two days ago- and I’ve since driven up to the house several times to get things we forgot, water plants, feed Pippa, etc. And I’m fairly used to it now. I’ve wrestled with what it looks like to see the sign in the yard, and to walk through an empty, beautiful, clean house and know that it isn’t mine anymore.

I don’t know whose it is. But I do know our time is coming to a close ther- very, very soon.

My insides are experiencing a dissonance with a mixture of joy & sorrow, contentment and longing, excitement and dread, peace and anxiousness. I know it’s the human flesh warring with the soul.

(My innie & outtie are reintegrating apparently.)

I may know the truth about God, His sovereignty and trustworthiness- but I still must experience all the human emotions associated with loss, surrender, and an unknown future.

I feel absolutely insane walking through this with 5 children, having no clear plan. It quite literally feels like I’m pushing my own family off a foggy ledge not knowing how far below the next solid ground is.

Who does this? Why are you doing this?!
My brain keeps begging me for answers.

When Abraham tied his own son to an altar before the Lord provided a ram, I wonder—did he have doubts about God’s goodness? Did he secretly hope for a substitute?.

If God knows everything- He already knew the level of trust Abraham had in Him.
It was Abraham that learned something new, saw a new facet about God in that moment.
God is unchanging.
Abraham’s faith changed the moment the ram appeared.
(And of course- the ultimate metaphor in that story was that someday Jesus would be the replacement sacrifice for our sins- thank you theolgoians- I get that.)

There is part of me that still hopes at the last moment, God will provide a ram, if you will- Another way.
(A winning lottery ticket perhaps? That allows me to pay it off and keep the house in the family forever even if we move.)
(Problem is- we don’t play the lottery)
There is another part, that is completely at peace and knows this chapter is coming to a close.
(There’s another part of me that just wants 3 large margaritas and a nap.)

The thing I’m struggling with most if I’m honest is that we don’t know exactly what is happening even after the sale.

We don’t know if the house will sell in a week, a month, or a year.
We don’t know where we’re going next.
We don’t know if we’ll rent a fully furnished place, a long-term rental, or something else entirely.
We don’t know if we’ll immediately stay in Lubbock or leave the state.
We don’t know if we’ll travel for a bit, or if the right house with the right land will appear at just the right time, or the right land with the right chance to build something new-
Or heck, maybe we’ll just pick a local overpass, find a couple of stray Walmart baskets, and join the homeless community.

We don’t KNOW.
Because actually…
Everything actually hinges on one thing.

One thing we’re waiting on.

This one thing depends on:

• The timing of the home sale.

• The timing of this thing

• A miracle.

• Legal paperwork.

• Government paperwork.

• Trust.

• A lot of effort

And none of it is clear yet.

We are quite literally waiting for one thing to happen, and after that, we can finally step into the next season of finding “home.”

I know this is vague. I don’t want to necessarily talk about it publicly yet—not until I know for sure. Because so much hinges on this one thing, and nothing else will make sense until it happens.

And honestly? My heart is more set on this one thing than even finding a home.

And with five kids, that says a lot.