This is the first in a series of posts that I like to call, We have news to share and No, I'm not pregnant.
have a story. And it's good. It's a story of patience and faith and
prayer. It's one of those stories that only God can write. He writes all
the good ones.
6 years ago I bought this condo with my sister. We were young,
single, and eager to make sister memories, just us. After a ridiculous
amount of legalese, signatures, and initial-here's, we closed on our
first grown up purchase. The only thing missing was the reality show
Just as soon as we threw our first of what was supposed to be many
epic parties, something happened. I met someone. And it was serious. So
serious that I even told Grandma Hollywood about him. Because once
Grandma Hollywood knows, you can never take it back or else she'll
forever ask questions such as "What happened with so-and-so? He was such
a nice young man. Why don't you like him?" It's her way of saying,
"I was married at 19 years old. What's wrong with you already?"
Well, I liked him alright. I liked him so much that 11 months after
our first date, I met him at the altar. And bless my sister's heart. She
stood by me on my wedding day, tucking my hair into my veil, holding my
flowers so that I could kiss my groom, and without any hesitation, she
moved out of the condo so that he could move in.
And as if life wasn't already moving fast enough, my now husband and
I filled up those 1630 square feet with an 80-pound lab and 3 sweet
babies before we could even celebrate 5 years as Mr. and Mrs.
in all that we got the idea that condo life wasn't the best fit for our
growing family. Somewhere in all that we decided to sell the once
bachelorette pad turned honeymoon crib and find ourselves a real bona
fide house. With a yard and an attached garage and a place to dump your
shoes when you walk in.
Thus began the cycle of never-quite-selling the condo. It went
something like this: Touch up walls with Sherwin Williams Desert Sand.
Put condo on the market. Meticulously clean condo for a showing praying
through each stroke of the toilet wand that this is going to be the one!
Shuffle dog and kid(s) into the van and disappear for an hour. Receive
feedback stating that the condo is too close to a busy road (it is) and
the parking sucks (it does). Get pregnant and take condo off the market
because in a state of hormonal rage I declare that I just can't take it
anymore. Have baby. Acquire more crap. Curse under my breath as my toddler slips on ice walking out to the van while I lug a newborn
through the stupid why-do-we-live-in-Ohio mess only to find that the
automatic van doors are frozen shut. Call husband crying because I want an attached garage and I want one now.
Touch up walls.
This went on for 3 years.
3 years of wanting. 3 years of praying. 3 years of asking.
Finally, after the birth of our 3rd, before summer could turn to
fall and fall into winter and winter into the frozen tundra that freezes
van doors and ices over walkways, I told my husband that we needed to
pray and pray hard. Because I was starting to get the sense that selling
the condo wasn't God's plan. And I wanted to be okay with that. I
wanted to mean it when I said that I'm content here. Because I am. At
times. And then there are the times when my now-four-year-old son wants
to ride his bike and my exuberant daughter wants to pick dandelions in
the backyard but instead the best I can offer is a seat in front of the
window to watch the cars whiz by.
Please don't feel bad for me. We have 1600 square feet! We have
drywall and running water and appliances and a thermostat and the list
of what we have far far far exceeds the list of what we don't. But like
any good ol' fashioned American, my dream included more.
But God, in His infinite wisdom, knew better. He knew we could not
handle more. Not yet. He knew that more means more responsibility, and
He who has begun a good work in us had only just begun.
prayed. Specifically we prayed that if God did not want us to sell, that
He would make that clear. Because we were paying a mortgage with an
interest rate that did not make sense. So if we were to stay, we wanted
to save money with a refinance. I was so determined to hear God in this
that I told Matt, "If God wants us to put this condo back on the market,
He's going to have to speak to us through a burning bush."
Would you believe it if I told you that two weeks later I called my
husband at work and said, "God spoke to me through a burning bush
Part 2 tomorrow.