You may or may not have been following the housing saga that
our family embarked in last summer. If not, let me just summarize by saying it
was three months full of wave after wave of the uncertainty of transition.
Leading up to the anticlimactic day that we decided to take
our house off the market. But even after we made that decision, God had one
last crushing wave to drop on us, just to see how we would respond.
Two weeks after we made that decision we received a very
respectable offer. Two weeks after we decided the promise of transition was no
longer worth the emotional uncertainty. Two weeks after we said ain’t nobody got time for this amount of
crazy.
Two weeks after school started and fall activities caused my
schedule to implode. And there was nothing on the market we wanted to look at,
which meant that accepting the offer might have led our family into a season of
homelessness; a season of perpetual transition without a clear finish line.
But in my heart, refusing the offer would have been an act
of disobedience.
Saying yes = homelessness. Saying no = disobedience.
So here I am, staring down this wall of water that is going
to crush me no matter what I do. If I stay, I get soaked. If I run, I get
soaked. Either way, something bad about
to happen.
So we accepted the offer. Accepted the fact that Jesus might
want us to celebrate Christmas in a hotel room. Accepted the fact that our
special needs child might be out of school for a month and therefore a hot
mess-screaming disaster for at least two months. And even better, that our special
little boy who spent 7 years of his life being homeless was about to be
homeless again. If this is where our obedience leads us, so be it. SO BE IT.
We marched right up to that tsunami of potential disaster and
laughed in the face of its threats. Oh yes we did.
And then the annoying buyer backed out.
I have never been so thrilled to not get what I wanted.
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