So we deflected, diverted, and dodged that uncomfortable, nagging pull, steady in our resolve to do what we often did back then when faced with something that disrupted what we wanted — completely ignore it until it did our bidding and went away.
It didn’t go away.
Here’s a Soft Never I absolutely never saw coming: Selling our family home and embarking on a very unexpected adventure I’ve dubbed our Residential Gap Year(s).
My husband bought this simple, cape spec house as a bachelor almost 20 years ago. Just over six years later, my then four-year-old son and I joined him there. Together, he and I remodeled every square inch of the original design as well as oversaw every last detail of several additions.
After five continuous years of home improvement projects, we were exhausted by our efforts but elated by the results.
More importantly, that house proved a worthy testament to what the two of us could accomplish when we worked together and moved in the same direction. For years, I would tell people that, God willing, I was never moving out of that house.
I was convinced we had found our final destination, and death was the only force strong enough to tear me away from what was, at the time, our tiny, personal slice of heaven.
Silly me.
We started to feel the slightest of tugs a few years ago. It began as a faint whisper, a gentle stirring, a quiet unease, which we quickly dismissed because this was not part of the plan.
Or, more specifically — this was not part of OUR plan.
So we deflected, diverted, and dodged that uncomfortable, nagging pull, steady in our resolve to do what we often did back then when faced with something that disrupted what we wanted — completely ignore it until it did our bidding and went away.
It didn’t go away.
Instead, that faintest of feelings gained both momentum and volume throughout quarantine until it became an undeniable, unavoidable roar in early 2021. God was calling us into deeper, unknown waters. As much as it didn’t make sense on paper, we knew — it was time to sell and see what God has planned next for us.
Some Homes Really Do Have a Heartbeat
Sage advice warns us to never love something that isn’t alive and doesn’t love us back. But, my husband always says that homes can absolutely have a heartbeat — and my gosh, that house has loved us well through so many seasons. It’s where we:
- Started our life together as husband and wife
- Became a blended family
- Brought our youngest son home to after he was born
- Hosted countless events for family and friends
- Built community within our neighborhood
- Welcomed an endless rotation of our children’s classmates and teammates
- Loved each other through loss and lauded each other through victory
Most importantly, that house is where we shared our deepest secrets, greatest fears, and boldest dreams throughout all of the last 13+ years.
We’ve Pulled Up Anchor To Let Our Residential Gap Year(s) Unfurl
Yet still, we know — it really is time. This past Friday, we closed on our tiny, personal slice of heaven, entrusting it to its new owners and praying that they will enjoy it as much as we have.
Where will we go next? Only God knows. We’ve pulled up anchor and are letting the winds guide the ship.
For now, we’re renting a small home in the district to get our oldest through his senior year of high school. We still have our place in the mountains as a reprieve when we can get away on weekends. But much of our daily living over at least the next 12 months is going to happen in our tiny rental, which we’ve lovingly dubbed “The Flat” because:
1) Our shared living area is essentially a single, open, flat space sans basement, attic and closets
and
2) The four of us always appreciate a little dramatic European flair.
Navigating Without a Plan — or Sufficient Office Space
Space is at a premium at The Flat, so my work desk is now located inside our walk-in closet and doubles as my clothes ironing board, which will likely not bode well for my client Zoom calls. My husband does have a designated desk spot, but it’s smack dab in the center of our one shared living area, which will likely not bode well for my unfortunate habit of inadvertently wandering on-camera during his client Zoom calls — while in my pajamas and coloring my hair.
We’ve purged more than I ever imagined possible and still have far too much stuff to ever successfully cram into our community room. To date, I’ve shoved approximately four katrillion candles and six bajillion mugs in virtually every available cabinet space I could find.
I stub my toe on my footboard every time I make a midnight bathroom run because there’s barely any room to walk between the wall and my bed, and there is approximately zero privacy for any of the four humans and three dogs that now reside here.
But.
Yet.
Still.
Last week, we officially unpacked and decorated our single, open, flat living space, which is a family room/kitchen combo. We displayed framed photos, fluffed sofa pillows, and arranged some of the personal items that survived the great purge. That first night, we sat around our picnic bench table, said our first grace, ate our first meal, and shared some of our very first laughs together here.
The next morning, the bustle and hectic pace of our new and old routines collided as we attempted to catch our groove here. I lit one of my katrillion candles, and I poured freshly brewed coffee into one of my bajillion mugs. I took in the entire room as well as all of my favorite two- and four-legged creatures in a single glance and just felt well, peace and, dare I say it…excitement to have precisely zero clues about what God has coming next for us.
We’re navigating without a plan, allowing our Residential Gap Year(s) to simply unfurl. It’s not so much about trying to figure out where we want to live when we grow up — but more about listening to where God is calling us to grow into as we move forward.
