We’re Going Home

Right now, it’s 82 degrees outside with 46% humidity. A little more humidity, and I would call it the perfect day. (Not southern humidity, mind you.)

I’m sitting with our patio door wide open, letting the apartment fill with heat, because I. Love. This. Weather. These are the days that make the long, windy winters worthwhile. These are the days making you forget what it’s like in January. These are the days we spend months longing for.

In a few hours, Hubs will come home and I’ll have long since shut the patio door and turned on the AC so everyone can stay cool and content, but for now, this is my time, and this is how I like it.

A couple of weeks ago, I was not so cool and collected. I was not so grateful or blissful, or even one ounce of happy.

Our upstairs neighbors had north of 25 guests for several days and nights in a row, and the incessant noise and traffic was maddening. We had been declined on yet another home offer, and it seemed as though our apartment days would not only be infinite, but would be more annoying and disturbing than they had ever been.

Our son had caught a stomach bug, and we couldn’t leave to escape the upstairs ruckus. We were stuck, and it felt like we always would be. I may have shed a tear or two, because that’s what I do when I’m exasperated and upset.

After one particular upstairs dance jam, I shut myself in the bathroom and cried, “Why, God? Why didn’t we get that house? Why are we still here? Why?”

Poetic, isn’t it? Crying in the bathroom, just like in middle school. Except instead of crying over heartbreak or menstrual cramps, I was crying out of desperation to get out of our apartment. The place I thought we’d live for a mere six months when we moved in 28 months ago.

Memorial Day was low-key. We counted how many people were coming and going from upstairs and at some point that afternoon, I felt an internal nudge.I was supposed to search for homes one more time, but this time, I wasn’t supposed to set any search criteria. In this location, that’s a chore. I sat and scrolled through some 1200 listings.

Then, I gasped.

It was a new listing. New that morning. I scrolled through the pictures quickly and I knew. I just knew. I emailed our realtor and asked how soon we could get in for a showing, and truth be told, it took every ounce of willpower I had not to ask her to submit an offer that night, sight unseen.

We went to see it the next morning and made an offer that afternoon. There were a few things we tweaked right at the last minute, and while that’s another story for another time, it was for the best. When we walked inside, it felt like home. I was home.

I knew why we hadn’t had our previous offers accepted. I knew why the other houses we looked at weren’t it for us. I knew, because I was standing in the place God had hand-picked for us to move to. It was better than any we had seen, and any we had offered on. And it was made for us, to move into, this year. Not a year ago, not 22 months ago, but right now.

After an agonizing 24 hours, we got word our offer had been accepted.

The week prior, I had cried in my living room from sheer frustration and outright anger. That afternoon, I was on my knees on the living room floor in tears again, thanking God. Thanking Him for not letting us get the previous homes we saw or offered on, and thanking Him for being so gracious with my impatience.

Let me tell you, I have repented of my impatience many times since.

As we wait for closing and pray all the pieces fall in to place (and I have every ounce of faith they will), I am completely humbled. We’re heading into our promised land. Just as I swore I would never live in North Dakota (and we’ve been here 11 1/2 years), I swore I would never live in Minnesota… and we’ll be moving there in a little under six weeks.

Don’t tell God your “never”s. He’ll turn them into “told-you-so”s.

I was a less-than-model student, waiting for my exodus. I was no better than those whiny, sniveling Israelites. Thankfully, I repented. Thankfully, I get to cross over into our promised land.

And thankfully, I get to soak up some heat and humidity in the afternoon shade of our #littleapartmentontheprairie. This has been the place we needed for the time we needed it, to be sure. Make no mistake, however, I will be so glad to break up with that hashtag.

Thank you, Lord. We’re going home.

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