As I shared here last week, we reluctantly decided to put our house on the market. And honestly, it’s been an emotional few days. Contracts. Disclosures. Pictures. Virtual tours.
Last night was our first showing.
My wife scrambled most of the day to get the place looking like a Good Housekeeping photo-spread, and then we vacated the premises for a nice long dinner with some CityCom friends. Coming home, I felt like one of The Three Bears: Somebody’s been walking through my house.
By the table where we share our meals.
On the carpet where my daughter took her first steps.
Through the backyard where we learned my son was a lefty.
Down the driveway where training wheels became two-wheelers.
And worse yet, these strangers were imagining themselves there. Living there! Creating their own memories there! In my house.
I felt violated.
And then I reached in my coat pocket and pulled out this:
Dinner was at one of our favorite downtown Asian restaurants. We don’t usually put any stock in these stale, eastern, after-dinner wafers, but this one left us wondering if God ever speaks in fortune cookie (you know, like He speaks through Tebow’s football stats).
Perhaps we’re stretching a bit, but as my wife and I shared our raw emotions standing in the kitchen that soon may or may not be ours any longer, this little slip of paper acted as a subtle reminder.
That God is with us.
That He knows our angst.
That what we feel isn’t wrong.
That He’s OK with our honesty.
And that whether we sell or stay, our deepest attachment must always be to Him.
It’s OK to wrestle with the unknown. To question whether you’re doing the right thing. To struggle with losing control. Anything less would make you inhuman (or a liar).
Just never hold onto anything tighter than you hold onto Jesus. That’s one fortune (or stat line) I know you can believe in.