Of Our Little Home

As a good blogger, I shouldn't apologize for any absence or lack of updating on daily living, I should just jump right in, as if we've never been apart, leaving the topic of my silence to stand alone in the corner, as if it didn't even exist. Clearly I'm no good blogger as I've just started by inviting that awkward wallflower out in the middle of the floor to dance. That's ok. At least I'm not indulging in topic-snubbery. Because I do recognize, it's been awhile.

Frankly, it would have been longer, but I'm sitting in an empty house - like E.M.P.T.Y. Me. Alone. No kids. No husband. And this is maybe the second time this event has occurred in over five years. Which is apparently all the motivation (or loneliness) I need to actually pick up the keyboard and clack away on meaningless subject matter.

Truth be told, I wish this house were a little more empty, being packed away in boxes, ready to move on to our next abode. We've been trying to make that happen for nearly two months now with little to no interest happening in the housing market (at least regarding this particular house which, let's be honest, is the one I care most about right now). It makes me sad, not only because this season of waiting is trying, but also because I'm starting to feel a little defensive of our precious home.

I like this house. I really do. And if I were looking for a home and weren't 36 weeks pregnant with my fourth child, I'd totally want this house. And I just want to give it a big hug and assure it that it really is still pretty and those stupid buyers out there telling us "It's just not what we're looking for" wouldn't know a good house if it fell on their ruby red slippers. But instead I'm waiting impatiently for the day when it's not my house anymore. I suppose that's not very nice, either.

But it's not the house's fault. It's not the house's fault it only has three bedrooms and we're starting to feel that might not be enough for this family that's only getting bigger. If this home could magically sprout a few extra rooms with a few extra bunk beds stacked along the walls we'd stay in a heartbeat. We'd spend our summers in its backyard and we'd continue gathering with those neighbors we love so much. If the dining room could handle a table for twelve (or at least more than six since we'll be maxing that out in a short month or so), we'd be thrilled to enjoy a few more birthday dinners cooked right in that open kitchen.

In either case, it appears that's what we'll be doing for awhile longer, anyhow. And we're okay with that. We trust in a God that knows our needs and knows us. We are disillusioned enough in the American dream to understand that a bigger house isn't the solution to a perfect life, or even necessary for happiness. So, while we wait to see if this thing will pan out or not, we trust in Him, holding tight to our firm belief that His will is perfect - even if it means a family of six cozying up within these four walls - because we know others have done so with far less space and we don't even deserve the blessings we already have, nor do we deem to look on them with contempt.

So, here I sit, in this little home with a for sale sign in the front yard, waiting for the day it's taken down, but waiting even more anxiously for my three little blessings and their bigger blessing of a wonderful father and husband to walk through that door so we can celebrate life here just a little longer.

Until next time (which will, hopefully, not be nearly so distant) . . .