Prior to three hours ago in the vitamin aisle at Target, I literally cannot remember the last time I cried happy tears.  It’s been months.  And I mean, months.  But today, I stood trying to find zinc and passiflora and I had the biggest, goofiest grin on my face, with tears streaming down, all the while – I’m pretty sure – talking to Jesus, outloud.  Security must’ve been otherwise occupied.
Let me fill you in on a little something that’s been for the most part under the radar for the past few months.  We’ve been house-hunting.  I haven’t wanted to say anything because there’s definitely something about planning a move that makes things – and when I say ‘things’, I think you know what I’m talking about – much more real.
So, thanks to my generous father and stepmother, my children and I are able to look for a new home.  And we jumped in full of excitement and complete uncertainty.  I initially narrowed it down to two lovely choices – one I was completely in love with, and one I was deeply in like with, both of which would have been absolute gifts and beautiful places to call our next home.  My children liked one over the other, so I put in an offer.  Thanks to the kindness of a home inspector, he told me fairly quickly into the inspection that the list of things on this charming old house that I would need to take care of immediately was long and daunting.  I walked away, sad, slightly discouraged, yet thoroughly relieved to have been spared a huge mistake.
We began this process with a lot of prayer and a few mantras, that I kept drilling into not only my children’s heads, but mine.  Things like, Jesus will be with us no matter where we end up, and God already knows where we’re going to live, and God will provide.  But I also had an experience that we were clinging to.  Twice in a matter of a couple weeks, I felt Jesus say to me pretty clearly, “I’m preparing a home for you that the three of you will love.”  My kids brought this up when I showed them a house that I liked a lot but they didn’t quite fancy.  As in, “What about what Jesus told you?”  Wow, hard to argue with that.  So we pressed on.
About three weeks ago, a house came on the market for a couple days, I saw it online and fell in love, and it was promptly taken right back off.  I panicked.  I prayed. I even dreamt that I went to an open house and bought it on the spot, having to tell my kids I bought it without showing it to them first.  (I never have dreams like that.)  But it came back on, and ten days ago, we went to see it.  We walked in and within moments, I had tears in my eyes.  Within five minutes the three of us decided that this was it.  We put in an offer, but of course, there was a hitch.  It’s a foreclosure, which means, possible multiple offers along with the bank being able to take their sweet time.  We decided to move forward anyway.
And then we waited.  I tried to keep myself from emailing my realtor (bless her heart for dealing with me) every single day, begging her for news.  I kept praying.  My kids prayed.  I had friends praying.  We waited.  My realtor even had a dream that we got it.  I dragged my kids to the house after church this past Sunday and we literally laid hands on it – throwing caution to the wind regarding the posted ‘no trespassing’ sign – and practically begged Jesus to let us have this house.  And did I mention that we waited?  That there has been really nothing to do but wait?
I got a call from my realtor yesterday.  The bank had emailed her letting her know there were multiple offers and we all had a chance to give our best and highest offer one more time.  The kids and I talked and prayed and I got advice.  She told me to get back to her in the morning.
As I laid in bed last night, this was my conversation with God.  “Lord, you know that I want your will.  And I totally wish that I wanted your will more than I want this house, but they’re kinda edging each other out.  I’m sorry for being so immature.  I’m sorry for wanting this so much.”  Then my prayer took a weird turn.  Sighing, “Could you just throw me a bone here?  It’s been a really hard stretch, you know.  I haven’t had really, really good news in a really, really long time.”  {read: whine, whine, whine}
I believe it was the Holy Spirit that nudged and said, “Did you just ask me to throw you a bone?  Want to hear some bones you’ve been thrown?”  I self-corrected almost immediately.  “Lord, I’m sorry.  You don’t need to throw me a bone.  I am not entitled to some good news.  I don’t need a break.  You never promised this.  I don’t deserve this.  In fact, I deserve hell.  And here’s some really good news if I’m so desperate for good news…you created me.  You gave me life.  You have not only sustained me for over forty years but other than a couple pet allergies I am a ridiculously healthy woman.  You chose me.  You saved me.  You died for me.  You gave me two amazing children that I love so, so much.  You have given me so many beautiful friends.  You have provided a fabulous home for us to live in right now.  I am grateful.  I surrender this house to you.  I really do want what you want for us.  And even though I am begging for this house, and even though I’ll be so sad if we don’t get it, I am choosing to believe that the bank’s no will be your provision for us.  Really.  I’m sorry.”
This morning, I told my realtor what to do regarding a second offer.  Fast forward to the vitamin aisle at Target when she called me and told me that we got the house.
Good, good news.  Sweet, sweet gift.  Undeserved.  Not entitled.  Call it a bone if you like.  But God would’ve been faithful and providing and good whether he allowed this house to be part of our future or not.  (I’m just so, so happy he is.)