This is part of the driveway to our house, and where I take my walks now.

 

This is a final installment of finding our home. You can read part I here, part II here, and part III here.

 

Our realtor wasn’t happy. And he said the seller with whom we have an accepted offer also wouldn’t be too happy. Nor would their realtor. Unhappiness all around!

The next day, our own realtor and I met at the old cedar house to talk with the owner. At this point, she encouraged me to show the house and land myself. “It’s YOUR house,” she insisted, “show him around!” I appreciated the opportunity to do so; Tom and I needed someone objective to help us have our heads on straight.

Arnie asked the seller all the right questions, gently interrogating her about potential, and real, water issues. About the roof. About any pest problems. About wiring. This little woman was both businesslike and jovial, not only answering questions, but offering information we didn’t yet think to ask about. I could tell our realtor was softening up a bit.

By the time Arnie and I meandered outside to the woodshed, the gardens, the greenhouse, the forested areas, the lawn, the workshop, the cider press storage room, past the fenced pastures and then to the pole barn, I sensed his discomfort with the predicament we were in. “Keri…this (waves his arms all around his head)…is what you and Tom have been wanting!”

“I know…but what about the other offer?”

He sighed and put his hands in his pockets. “Write them a letter. And allow them to keep your earnest money. And…we’ll see what they say.”

******

It took two days to hear that we were released from our other offer. I felt bad for those sellers, especially because they chose our lowest offer to begin with. But they sold the same house a week later for far more they were going to get from us. So I was relieved. And as soon as that was done, the four of us (myself, my husband, our realtor, and the cedar house owner) signed all of the required paperwork in the large kitchen with the vaulted ceiling above and the red brick floors below embracing me into home ownership once again.

Before we left, the seller pulled me into the living room and asked for my full attention.

“Keri, you listen to me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said (she was the sort of woman everyone should “Yes, ma’am”).
“Now. I’ve talked to my husband and all three of my kids. Everyone is on board with this deal and no one wants or expects any more of an inheritance. Our family is all FINE. I don’t want you to give this deal even one more thought. God blessed us with your family buying this home and we couldn’t be more pleased. Ok?”

“Ok,” I sort of choked out, and we hugged and praised the Lord together.

The truth was, I was still worried about the money part. Maybe it was a fear-o-man thing, but I worried others would think we were trying to take advantage of an elderly woman. But I also knew our bank account, and that what we could offer was what we could offer. There were no more pennies to throw into the pot! Our offer—in fact, the entire last eight years of roaming around renting and moving— was something akin to casting our bread upon the waters…and the Lord gave it back many days later.

******

We’ve been here three months now. Last week, we hosted an open house. Both our realtor and the seller joined the dozens (and dozens) of people who filled this house in celebration. All three fire places on the main floor were burning and crackling, our shelves were up and full of books and photographs, and all of the stainless steel and cast iron pots and pans were hanging over the large island in the kitchen. Candles (balsam fir), an enormous pot of chili, teens and young adults scrambling to finish the 1000 piece puzzle in my office, and my son home from university happily playing barista for hours. Screeching toddlers running about with Matchbox cars, and laughter and conversation from all areas of house. Houseplants and flowers kept arriving, and we all sang Happy Anniversary to a grinning couple here. It was magical.

I don’t know how many of our friends greeted and thanked the seller of this house and property on our behalf. But before she left, she beamed and said, “I’m pleased. We’re all just real pleased.”

Thirty-four years from now–as long as the seller lived here–I’ll be about her current age. I pray and most wholeheartedly hope that I, too, will remember that the cattle on a thousand hills belongs to God. For neither of these two houses available for our purchase had anything whatsoever to do with our bank account. The real difference was our walk with God, and our family. That’s not something money can buy.

Also, I will testify: the joy of the Lord, unlike that elusive idea of happiness (and the mirage of what we think will bring it), is a deep abiding well within the soul, where no circumstance can ever touch.

No matter where God has you live.

Praising the Lord with you all,