Home Improvement – Part X (conclusion)

Posted on November 21, 2010 by Margaret

As I left our house for the last time on moving day, God let me hear him and sense his presence right next to me in a powerful way. He aborted a meltdown and energized me to leave our home on a cheery note. Even better, he rejuvenated my faith in him.

But the good stuff didn’t end there. God gave me a “double-dip” and let me “see” him twice in relation to the house sale. During the four years of trying to sell, we’d been on a roller coaster of irritation and uncertainty, wondering when the torment would end. Had we misheard God? Had we usurped his leadership? Why wouldn’t he bring the one buyer we needed?

In 2004 when we first put our home on the market, our plan was to downsize locally by buying a small townhouse. Birgitta hadn’t started high school and wanted to attend where her siblings had gone, so we planned to stay there four years and then put the townhouse on the market. Nate didn’t have spine problems then, and of course lethal cancer hadn’t crossed our minds.

By the time the house finally sold, Birgitta had traveled through all four years of high school, and the reason for buying a town home had evaporated. It was as if God structured the delay to save us from having to sell yet another piece of real estate in order to move to Michigan. So, the same four years we viewed as major setbacks were actually stepping stones toward our heart’s desire, which was to live full-time on the other side of the lake. And in this realization, I sensed God’s active presence again.

We had longed to move to a place of peace and solitude, especially after Nate’s back began troubling him, and the cottage offered that setting. God facilitated skipping the “middle-man” house and got us settled at our Michigan address just before the cancer became known. The work of moving and unpacking had been completed, and because of the house sale, our finances had been stabilized. If there is such a thing as being prepared for a crisis, we were.

I’ll never forget a conversation Nate and I had about two weeks into his six weeks of cancer. Although the discussion was punctuated with pain, he spoke with a deep peace in his voice. “I see now why God made us wait four years to sell the house. He saw all of this [cancer] and wanted to get us to Michigan right away. I also see that when I’m gone, you’ll be living here, where you love to be.”

Although I was crying, he wasn’t. He “got it,” and all his anger and frustration over not being able to sell the house had evaporated. He was glad to be where we were then, and I’m glad to be living where I am today.

In the process of our house changing hands, I had the thrill of sensing God’s presence twice, but Nate has outdone that. In the one move he didn’t plan, from Michigan to heaven, he didn’t just sense God’s presence but relocated into his actual presence! And I know he’s really glad to be where he is today.

“You have made known to me the paths of life; you will make me full of gladness with your presence.” (Acts 2:28)

Home Improvement – Part IX

Posted on November 20, 2010 by Margaret

When I was growing up in a happy home, I always enjoyed talking with Dad. He was born in 1899 (really!) and had a unique perspective on life. One day we got to chatting about houses and moving. He said, “It’s best to move only three or four times in your adult life. A small, starter house, one or two larger homes, and another small one for retirement.”

“Really?” I said.

A common model for Dad’s day, it isn’t the standard today. Our world is more fluid, and we change addresses often. There’s even a box on every utility bill that says, “Moved?”

Relocating can be traumatic. I vividly remember when Mom and Dad left their “bigger” home on one side of Wilmette for the small retirement ranch on the other side. The rest of us were waiting at the new house with cake, ice cream and a big poster that said, “WELCOME HOME!” All of us were anxious for the work day to end as the clock approached midnight, but where was Mom? Supposedly she’d been coming right behind us after saying goodbye to her beloved home.

Much later, her car pulled in, but she was a wreck. She’d been crying and later told us she’d spent time in every room talking to God, even going flat on her face on the carpet as if she was trying to get her arms around the house in a final big hug. Walking out for the last time had been a heartbreaker, and she was sad from head to toe.

The morning of our closing, I was eager to spend my last few hours at 103 Creek Court. We’d raised seven children there and had loved the house, the neighbors and the neighborhood. Would it be hard to leave? Would the new owners have to drag me out by my heels?

As I walked from room to room snapping pictures, tiny tingles of sadness began wiggling deep inside. Standing at the kitchen sink where I’d spent so much time, I looked out the windows at that familiar scene and knew I needed to quickly ask God for help.

“What do you want me to think right now, Lord?”

Immediately he made his close presence known. Although I couldn’t see or touch him, that didn’t matter, because he spoke words I knew were his: “Margaret, unless I build the house, all your labor is in vain.” (Psalm 127:1)

“Don’t dwell on these walls, floors, windows. The real building is not a noun but a verb. It’s what I’ve been doing at 103 Creek Court for years. Do you think that’ll stop, just because you’re moving? I’m moving too. With you! As you leave your house, remember that the Builder of lives goes with you, so step away from that sink, and let’s go…”

Happiness wrapped around me like a ribbon around a package, and I started laughing. God’s message to me was effective, but even better was getting a glimpse of him when I needed him most.

And I couldn’t wait for the next one!

(…to be continued)

“He is the radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint of his nature, and he upholds the universe by the word of his power.” (Hebrews 1:3)

Home Improvement – Part VIII

Posted on November 20, 2010 by Margaret

The sunset last night was spectacular. I was heading home after running errands, trying to repeatedly check the sky while going 70 mph. Every time I glanced west, however, an obstacle flew in between me and the beautiful sunset – a stand of trees, a semi truck, a hill, a sound barrier wall. It was difficult to get a good look, but when I got one, it made me want another.

Our journey through life can be much like a drive home. Instead of looking for the sunset, though, we’re looking for God. The trouble is we can only get a quick glimpse here and there, just like my staccato looks at the sunset. Obstacles seem always to be in the way. If we do get a look, however, it’s a strong motivator to keep watching for the next God-sighting.

Nate and I hadn’t gotten a glimpse of God for quite a while as we tried to sell the house that wouldn’t. The 2008 holiday season had come and gone, and although we had a live contract, both of us expected it to unwind.

The twenty-something couple wanting to move in had low-balled us by $60,000. The rapidly spiraling real estate market had devalued the house nearly four times that amount already, but getting something was better than nothing. As the calendar marched toward our closing date, they suddenly asked for an extension. I said to Nate, “See? It’s all unraveling.”

But he said, “Extensions are common in the real estate business. It’s too soon to panic.”

On the last day of the extension, the buyers asked for a second one, several weeks hence. On the last day of that one, they asked for a third. Where were those glimpses of God’s colorful, spectacular work “between the obstacles?” I asked Nate if he could press the buyers’ lawyer for the reason behind all the extensions. It turned out his clients had been on a ski holiday and then gone to the Caribbean.

But finally we got a firm closing date. Our realtor assured us it would happen this time and urged me to start packing, which I did. With help from unnumbered family and friends, in less than two weeks the house stood empty, and it was our last day there.

While Nate was handling the closing, I was at the house doing a final cleaning. The rooms had never looked better, every wall freshly painted, the windows washed, carpets pristine, wood floors gleaming.

Walking through the rooms for the last time, I knew the new owners were on the way, keys in hand. But “our” home was tugging at my heart strings, flooding my mind with nearly 30 years of memories. How could I just walk out the front door and leave it all behind? As always when in desperate circumstances, I asked God, “What do you want me to be thinking right now?”