Category Archives: Selling a house and moving

On the Move

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Fall is a season of change. Children go back to school, college co-eds head back to campus, and many young adults sign new apartment leases. Each change involves packing up, rearranging all things familiar and, in some cases, making a major move.

Last week my sister and brother-in-law joined the relocation parade by moving from their suburban home of 40 years to downtown Chicago.

The buyer of their 5000+ square foot house was a young couple with a toddler and baby. After hunting in the area for a year, they toured Bervin and Mary’s home and fell in love with it the first time through. We puzzled over why such a small family would commit to such a large house, but gradually the pieces came together.

The young mother, on her second visit, made mention of the “Christian energy” throughout the rooms, commenting on the peaceful atmosphere. “It’s just what we’ve been looking for,” she said. Her husband asked if they could buy the 3’ X 4’ framed Scripture verse hanging over the front door: “Know thou the God of thy father, and serve him with a perfect heart and with a willing mind.”

At the real estate closing, the reason they chose a large home became clear. The buyers handed Mary a note of gratitude and described how they felt called to help missionaries and planned to use their extra rooms for that purpose.

It can be a challenge to leave the home where you’ve raised 7 children, but when the process became difficult, the testimony of these young buyers made it easier. As Mary said, “I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have living in our home.”

Last summer Bervin and Mary offered housing to missionaries from Ireland. This family of 6 needed a place to stay for a month, and also needed a car. Bervin and Mary gave a thumbs-up to both requests, proving to be good examples of the scriptural instruction hanging in their entry. Their buyers will continue in this vein.

All of us can look back on multiple moves, and it’s a good idea to search for God’s plan in the progression; sometimes it’s as plain as an architect’s blueprint. Over four decades of time, because of Mary and Bervin’s willingness to serve, God used their home for his purposes in hundreds of ways. As they left that address, he moved along with them and is preparing a fresh blueprint with plans for use of their new home.

Yesterday Louisa and her cousin Marta made a move of their own, from their family homes to an apartment just north of the Loop. After unloading cars and pickups full of boxes, bins and beds, we gathered in their small living room and Bervin prayed, inviting God’s involvement in their new home.

And we know the Lord is ready with the perfect blueprint for two 20-somethings living in the heart of Chicago.

“Know thou the God of thy father, and serve him with a perfect heart and with a willing mind. If thou seek him, he will be found of thee.” (1 Chronicles 28:9)

A Secret Society

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Although some people designate the month of April for spring cleaning, at my house we’re making messes.

When Nate and I moved into this cottage full time in June of 2009, the house was ready for a face lift. Its colors were the same ones we registered at the Marshall Fields bridal registry in 1969: psychedelic oranges, yellows, and greens. After we got married, we stuck with that color scheme for about two years, but the Michigan house was stuck there still.

Our 2009 summer as new Michigan residents was a mixed blessing. We were glad to be here, but Nate’s back was bothering him intensely. Neither of us knew that very soon we would learn of his cancer, and our plans would be permanently altered.

But before all that, I remember an evening when the two of us sat amidst the boxes and talked of fixing up the house. I was all about paint and throw rugs, but he was thinking bigger. He saw new windows, air conditioning, fresh siding, even a larger kitchen.

About a year after Nate died, I was finally ready to begin on the plans we’d made together. We painted the rooms and laid down the throw rugs. At Christmas time we tackled the windows. This month our goal was to get rid of the last of the musty cottage smell by way of pulling up the wild orange, yellow and red carpeting in the sunroom. Because of former roof leaks and wobbly floors, everything beneath the carpet had to go, too, an interesting combination of several layers of wood.

After the floor had been rebuilt and prepped for tile, Drew started on the back stairs. As he pulled up the old, carpeted boards one by one, an odd-shaped space beneath the stairway and its two landings became exposed to light for the first time. Although we found storage bins that had been shoved into that small area, daylight illuminated what had been a secret.

A  cramped, dark place we thought had been useless has actually been of great use to quite a few others. Sweeping between the stair supports, I found a stash belonging to chipmunks, carefully stacked piles of dry dog food. Spider webs decorated every corner, many of them occupied, and mice had used the area as a bathroom.

When I came to a cluster of acorns, I wondered if Little Red and his squirrel-pals had somehow snuck in there, too.  And all this while we’d been upstairs, blissfully unaware of the secret society below us.

As I swept, I thought of my own secret places where tiny sins can move in and live without me noticing. That’s the way Satan wants it, quiet and ignored, until a secret society of sins has taken up residence. By the time I become aware of the neighborhood of nasties I’ve overlooked, it ends up to be a major eviction project.

While Drew continues to make a springtime “mess” toward home improvement, it might be good for me to do some internal spring cleaning… right after I call the exterminator.

“How can I know all the sins lurking in my heart? Cleanse me from these hidden faults.” (Psalm 19:12)

Packing Up Possessions

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There are two seasons of life: collecting and dispersing. When we get married, bridal shower gifts and wedding presents give us a jump on creating a new home. Then as we travel through the years, we move to bigger digs and eventually add children. Along with them comes a new volume of equipment, and all of it needs space. Children grow, we age, and the pile-up of years can pile up enough possessions to threaten our sanity.

Every once in a while it’s good to take inventory, but most of us are too busy until it’s time to down-size. And suddenly we have a problem.

Because it took four years for our family to sell our big, old house, I had plenty of time to condense our stuff. The first year I set a goal to eliminate 1/3rd or every drawer, cabinet and closet as preparation for the move.

The second year I did it again, this time stretching for half of everything. Storage began to loosen up, and it felt better than going on a diet and losing weight.

More reducing was necessary to squeeze two houses into one, and now, two years later, I’m at it again. We’ve still got too much furniture in our small home, so I’ve made plans to ditch the largest piece, a big china hutch.

This cabinet has housed my beloved collection of glass items for 25 years, and in order to send it out the front door, I needed to eliminate more than half of what it held.

And it was much harder than I thought.

I struggled to decide what to let go of and needed some standard by which to measure each piece’s value, not in dollars but in sentiment. I decided to get rid of everything that wasn’t linked to someone special.

The process wasn’t easy, but that was an excellent reason to do it. I love my glass, but it was glass-gluttony for sure. No one person needs all I had. Scripture tells us to hold our possessions lightly and continually acknowledge that all of it is God’s blessing. Our stuff finds ownership in him.

Jesus told the story of a man who did so well at accumulating, he had to build bigger buildings to hold it all. The result was an identity in what he owned and an inflated opinion of his own importance. Because of those two things, Jesus labeled him “a fool.”

The Lord challenges us to find our riches in a bond with him. People say, “You can’t take it with you,” which is true of all earthly assets. But we can take the Lord’s relationship with us when we die.

And that’s the one possession I’ll never eliminate.

“Jesus said, “Beware! Guard against every kind of greed. Life is not measured by how much you own. A person is a fool to store up earthly wealth but not have a rich relationship with God.” (Luke 12:15,21)

Seven Birthday Trees

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On several occasions, we Nymans have been criticized for having such a big family. “Seven kids? What a giant environmental footprint you’re leaving.”

I have a friend who was walking into the Field Museum with her seven kids when she was approached by a stranger. “Are these all yours?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Then you’re breathing more than your fair share of the earth’s oxygen.”

It was rude and inaccurate, spoken like the disgruntled person she probably was, but it gave me an idea. Each of our children should plant a tree. It would give off oxygen and take in some of the carbon dioxide they breathed out. It would also provide a snap answer to a criticism, should another come.

Even though every human being would need to plant an entire acre of trees to bring balance to the O2-CO2 ratio, we could at least participate symbolically. We decided to let each of our kids plant a tree in the yard just as they were leaving home for college or other pursuits at 18.

Nelson was the first and chose a weeping willow. He knew they were fast-growing and loved the sweeping branches. His willow sapling had a trunk no thicker than his finger but true to its reputation, grew tall quickly. When we moved recently, it had grown into a healthy specimen of 50 feet, its “weeping” branches long and strong.

Two years later, Lars chose a sour-cherry tree, because he loved cherry pie. His tree also started small, and although it yielded a small cherry crop each year, the birds always got them before we did. Several years in, it began to suffer and eventually died. We quickly replaced it with a same-size, same-kind of tree, and it’s been growing well since then.

Linnea’s tree is a resurrection story. Because she loved apples, she chose a golden delicious tree, but our high-strung dog Penny spent hours gnawing its branches until only a stump remained. Surprisingly, after Penny died, the stump began growing again, eventually flourishing and producing apples.

Klaus chose a peach tree. The first spring it produced literally hundreds of peaches, too great a burden for such a little tree. We plucked off buckets of ping-pong sized fruit, leaving about 20 peaches to grow to full size. Even then, the little branches needed wooden supports, but the peaches were big and juicy.

Hans admired Nelson’s weeping willow and followed suit. We planted it in a sloppy downpour the morning he left for his Tennessee university, and after a minor set-back, his tree has grown quickly and flourished.

Louisa chose a decorative crab with giant white blossoms. Shaped like an umbrella with its branches cascading like falling water, it found a home in the center of the front yard where I enjoyed its beauty from the kitchen sink. Sadly, the week after we moved, someone dug it up one night and stole it. Only the hole was left, a bizarre end to a short story.

Birgitta chose a mighty oak no taller than she was but with the potential to outlast all the others. The day we dug its hole, we’d gotten two feet deep when we hit a rock. In a half-acre yard, we’d chosen the exact spot where a three-foot wide boulder was hiding. Digging a second hole, we set her oak in full sun, and it’s gaining steady growth every year.

Each tree choice reflects the personality of its buyer, and I hope as the years pass and the trees continue to grow, our kids will give God the credit. I also hope they’ll appreciate the variety in his creation and will point to him as they “show off” their trees one future day.

But we’ll have to come up with a better ending for Louisa’s story.

“The seeds of good deeds become a tree of life.” (Proverbs 11:30a)

You-Store-It, Part II

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The sad truth is, I’m attached to my stuff. I’m especially bound to pictures, journals and anything marked “memorabilia.” If I was younger, this wouldn’t be a problem, but because I’ve accumulated 65 years of mementos, I’m continually battling a storage predicament.

Three years ago as we contemplated a move, I was determined to eliminate at least one-third of everything we owned. One cold night in our garage, I sat on a short stool facing four loaded file cabinets, an eight-drawer challenge.

Pulling a giant garbage can next to me, I opened drawer #1, a row of alphabetized manila folders three feet deep. It was easy to toss out papers referring to cars we no longer owned or pet info about dogs long-gone. And it was clear I should keep health records, insurance policies and the passport file. But many of the folders shouted, “I’m memorabilia! Keep me!”

Passing up one folder after another, I knew I had to get ruthless. More files needed to go. Then I came to a bulging folder that took up 5” of drawer space. Its tab said, “Nate’s notes.”

Nate had been faithful to pen weekly notes to our older children on 3 x 5 cards, summarizing family news and offering encouragement. It was his way to stay connected when they were far from home, and the kids have kept most of their notes. But they weren’t the only ones getting cards.

He was an early riser, usually before 5:00 am, and I slept till 6:00. Often he left for work before I made my way to the coffee pot, and I’d find a note propped there for me:

“Remember to pick me up at the train, 6:37 — car is in the shop.”
“I love coffee, and I love you.”
“11 degrees – Do you know the whereabouts of my gloves?”

Each card was dated, and all were signed, “Love, Nate.”

That night in the garage, I lifted the overstuffed folder from its place and debated what to do. The space it took in the file cabinet would house a dozen other important folders, and I knew I should be ruthless.

Nate was in good health then, no sore back and no cancer. More notes would be written, I figured, probably many years-worth. Soon I’d have another 5” file filled with his meaningful words.

And in one swift move, I threw them all away.

Three years later, we learned Nate was terminally ill, and my mind traveled back to that night in front of the files. Realizing I would never receive another note made me ache to undo my mistake. Oh how I’d treasure those cards now!

So here I am today, in the basement with another garbage can at my side. What do I keep? What do I toss? I no longer trust my judgment. When I asked the Lord what to think, he brought Nate’s death scene to my mind. The sum total of what mattered then had nothing to do with pen and ink or any other earthly possession. It came down to Nate and God. And after those last breaths, the only “things” that mattered were the ones he’d stored in heaven.

I believe the Lord was telling me to let the notes (and my bad decision) go. He was reminding me that one day it’ll come down to just God and me, and on that day, nothing in my basement will matter at all.

“Store your treasures in heaven, where moths and rust cannot destroy, and thieves do not break in and steal.” (Matthew 6:20)