Selling Dreams

Eight years ago today, I woke up in my new old house. It had been a tumultuous ride, selling our dream home out in the country. Years of it on the market, struggling to survive during the downturn of '08 (and also the downturn of Lucent Technologies, the parent company Ken had worked for for 22 years). When it finally went under contract and we had a few weeks to pack up and process what our new normal was going to mean, I laid prostrate across my floor most nights and cried. My grown children were also grieving, even the ones that were already married. This home had been birthed out of our hopes, sweat and labor. When folks say they built their own home, I don't think they did it like we did. We actually, really, built it. On five gorgeous, rolling acres. It's where the thick of the years happened with our children: kids romping in the woods with their dogs and B-B guns, the advent of hormones, friends, possibilities. As they cracked open the world, their eyes opening to the future, we rode along together in both laughter and turmoil. Adulthood for our four children began to loom...there were jobs, college, sports, dating, the tug of the world, the tug of God. We had seen highs and lows, lost employment, extremes of health and sometimes the desecration of expectations. Such is life. I'm grateful we've done some, even in the ditches. So when it came down to letting go of this particular dream, our hearts were stricken. It seemed a failure, a defeat. We waved the white flag and had to let go, in order to save our ship. 

After our beloved Bonny Oaks farm went under contract, I hit the floor running to find a home. We had few requirements at that point, but one big one: it had to cost $125,000 or under. That's what we would have left after closing...our accumulated wealth in one felled swoop. There were no savings, no 401K anymore, no rich uncle. I would look at a dozen or so, pick out three or four that I liked, then haul Ken over to see them. We looked at scads of houses and nothing resonated, though in the end we were not going to be picky and one of them would have to do. After exhausting numerous searches one morning, I thought, "Where do we really want to live?" I tried to not look at anything above our means, but that day I put one criterion in the search box: Villa Rica. Up popped this darling Victorian that was above our price range. I went right over to see it. The lockbox was on the back door, a Renaissance Revival confection with carving and stained glass. It opened to the laundry room, where an Art Deco light fixture glowed down at me, for all the world like the Star of David. Every corner I turned, there was another surprise. Gorgeous mouldings, five fireplaces, highly-crafted hardwood floors, more stained and leaded glass, 12-foot ceilings and a front porch to die for. The garish, ugly wallpaper and colors were no deterrent...I'm the Paint Queen, dontcha know? 

I wondered what Papa would think. This house was on the corner of a busy intersection, right in town. He always relished the extreme privacy we had out in the country. I figured there was no way he'd go for this diva. That evening, I took him to see about three homes, this one last. I remained impartial in my heart, knowing it was a long shot. And besides, it was listed for a good bit over what we could pay. But the second Ken saw our Magnolia Rose, he was smitten. From the sweeping, park-like backyard to the craftsmanship and the delectable porch, there was nothing else to be had. We didn't have any grandkids yet, but he said this was to be our Grandpa and Grandma house. The offer was submitted: $125,000.00 cash. The seller came back and said sorry, no can do....(but I can owner finance the rest). We knew we had to stick tight to our numbers. There was nothing to do but dive deep and trust God. We let it go. He came back and said yes. During our due diligence period, he released another $2,000.00 for repairs. 

There was still a'grieving to be done. The next weeks left my stomach shredded and many tears shed. I actually ended up in the hospital two days after we moved in. Even the sweetest of blessings can carry heartache with them. I thought of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. I'm not comparing my little pity party to the Lord of the universe, but again, it says in the scriptures that He bears my sorrows and that He can relate to my trials. He sweat drops of blood and pleaded for the Father. What He did, for His peoples' sake, was the greatest gift of all, but it came with torture, bloodshed and death. And then I thought of Him in the boat with His disciples during that massive storm. He was taking a nap while it raged. But don't think He didn't know what was going on. With one word, He stilled the storm and fussed at them about their lack of faith. As I pondered these things in the days after our move, the light broke through. We are way too connected to our things, what we can see. Thankfulness, gratefulness, letting go of the temporal...these things will see us through. Yes, even now.