The short version is: we still don't have a house, and I'm mad, sad, and trying to let myself be comforted.
The long version... well, the long version is going to be quite long. And even longer if you want some of the background here.
For the last two months or so we had been keeping our eye on a house. A fairly large house, with a nice size yard, in our dream neighborhood. It was out of our price range, but not hopelessly so. And there was a decent chance it would be well within our range by the end of the summer (if it stayed on the market around long enough).
Before we came out to Lincoln we decided we should try to see it, just in case we needed to/were in a position to make a move while we were on vacation. After a few scheduling snafus (chrome says that is spelled correctly, but it looks awfully strange) we were able to see it late Tuesday afternoon right before driving out to Lincoln. We even delayed our departure time by several hours to fit it in (which is probably what threw Liam for such a crazy loop sleep-wise, but that's neither here nor there).
And it was perfect. Not perfect as in "too good to be true" perfect, but perfect as in "we can absolutely see ourselves living here and making this our own and being thoroughly happy and comfortable here" perfect. After we replaced the pinkish tile and magenta carpet in the master suite, of course.
So we got in touch with our mortgage broker to see how close we were to being able to make an initial offer. And again, perfect. Because of Alex's raise for next year due to having his MA the asking price was unexpectedly within our new price range. So our wonderful realtor put an offer together and we had it in the next day.
We started out a little low--because that's how you play the game, right? We figured we wanted this house at all costs (more or less), but you never lead with your highest bid. (Do you?) The seller came back fairly quickly with a high counter offer, and we decided to essentially meet her halfway. All seemed to be going--you guessed it, perfectly. Then the response deadline for our counter offer came and went. We sent another offer with a new deadline to give her more time. She was considering it, that had to be good news.
Well, a week and a half went by before we found out the seller had accepted another offer without ever countering or rejecting our counter offer. If she would have just given us any sort of answer we would have paid her asking price, but we didn't get the chance. As far as we can tell it wasn't illegal, but it sure seems unethical.
So our offer is on the table as a backup offer should the current buyer drop out for some reason. But as mad as we are (throwing rocks through the windows may or may not have crossed my mind once or twice or a dozen times in the last two days) we can't pray for something to go wrong for the buyer. And if the inspection reveals something so seriously wrong with the house that the buyer backs out, will we even be able to afford to buy the house and fix it?
I'm mad. I am so, so mad. We were so absolutely sure this was our house. It was perfect. We have waited so long, and we now we're still waiting. Still waiting, but not quite able to bring ourselves to look at anything else yet. I know we can't afford to mourn this one for too long, but it still feels perfect. I don't feel like we're supposed to be anywhere else. I guess I need to get over that. I'm mad and heartbroken. And heartbroken. And mad. And, um, rocks, anyone? No, not really. But kind of.
But Ashley, even though this is truly disappointing and frustrating, God does have a plan and a house for your family.
Yeah, but what if the owner of that house messes it all up?
Okay, so that's the update and the negative part. Now for the (attempt at being) positive part.
Today at Mass the second communion hymn was "The Lord is My Light," based off Psalm 27. I've always loved that psalm (and song). So I was singing along, and having a bit of a fight with myself over whether or now I was going to let myself be comforted by it.
The Lord is my light... my help... with God I fear no one... Yes, God will get us through this. He has a plan for us, we are prayerfully seeking his will, and nothing will "ruin" what He has in store for us.
There is one thing I ask of the Lord that I long for... all of my days with God to be dwelling... The literal meaning of the psalm is longing for God's presence in his Tabernacle/Temple; the spiritual sense points to Christ as the new Temple and Heaven as our ultimate experience of God's presence. It's not about us getting a house. Eisegesis (reading into the text) is bad, stop it.
Trust in the Lord, be strong and be brave... wait in hope for God, our salvation... Oh just shut up and let yourself be comforted and encouraged.
While I'm right that the literal meaning of the psalm points to the Temple, and the allegorical sense points to Christ as the new Temple and the anagogical sense to Heaven (here's a great article on the senses of Scripture), I'm also right that I need to just shut up and let God comfort me a little (or a lot).
And the more I thought about it, the more I thought that maybe this psalm--and the many, many psalms that express such a longing for Jerusalem and God's sanctuary--actually does pertain to us getting a house.
We're familiar with the idea of the family as the Domestic Church, but what about the family home (be it apartment, house, or a couple bedrooms at one's in-laws' house) as a sort of temple? The Temple in Jerusalem was the locus of God's presence; it was the place of worship and sacrifice; it was a place of teaching and living the law. Alex, as husband and father, is the priest of our Domestic Church. I think he's also the priest of our little Domestic Temple. God is present in a special way within the family as our marriage (very imperfectly) images the love of the Trinity. The home is a place of worship and prayer, as well as the place where we learn and live out sacrificial love and God's law. Obviously this is all true of our family "home" even as we are still, sadly, houseless. But it is also fitting that we long for our own home to transform into our little domestic temple, and not only so that my gracious mother-in-law can have a toddler-free house again! It is fitting to desire our own house in which we can bring order out of chaos, direct physical space toward the spiritual goals of prayer and love and learning, and surround ourselves with beautiful (but child-proof) things to adorn the physical home of our Domestic Church. This is fitting and good.
And so with the psalmist I will continue to ask of the Lord "that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to inquire in his temple" (Psalms 27:4). I will strive to trust in him, "For he will hide me in his shelter in the day of trouble; he will conceal me under the cover of his tent [Tabernacle?], he will set me high upon a rock" (verse 5). I will "wait for the Lord; be strong, let [my] heart take courage; yea, wait for the Lord!" (verse 14).
We may still be houseless, but as I see the love in Alex's eyes as we face this disappointment together, as I listen to Michael's boisterous laugh, and as I can't help but return Liam's infectious smiles I know: we will never be homeless.
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