Restore – Women of Purpose

For the past four and a half years, even though my rentals were decent, sweet little homes, I’ve felt like I live in a hotel room.

The place I left behind in Washington state was part of my heart and soul. I loved the mountains, river, wrap-around porch, and tall trees protecting the brown, gable roofed house where four levels were inhabited by happy children and guests.

Moving to the south east with four children had me praying a lot, asking God for answers, and wanting to feel at home. I had a down payment for a house, but not for matching sky-rocketing prices in the surrounding Charlotte area. So, I resigned to not buying a home.

But God had a surprise waiting for me, just around the corner.

My mom came to visit and one day browsed her phone for homes in the area. Knowing how much I wanted to settle inside my own walls, she looked for anything possible, and in five minutes God led her to the one thing that felt impossible.

A beautiful 118 year old Victorian style foreclosure stared at us from the screen and begged to be seen. So, we did—and miracle of miracles, that same “at home” feeling came over me as it had with my home in Washington state.

Before and after cleaning the front yard.

So began a series of phone calls with my dad asking his advice, and making multiple lower offers they didn’t accept until I finally offered full price as well as closing costs.

I expected them to accept the offer on my birthday but instead, they put it up for auction and I was devastated. Still, I knew there had to be a reason and I prayed that day, pondering life as I took the kids hiking, determined to make the most of my 44^th birthday.

A few days later I had my joy back and was moving on from the house idea when my realtor told me they were going to accept my offer and were merely missing papers because he hadn’t submitted the correct ones.

Thus began a journey of purchasing an ancient home with a complicated foreclosure process, a toilet with a copper pipe and water tank mounted close to the ceiling, and enough charm oozing out of old wooden floors to keep me fascinated for the rest of my life.

The house had been winterized and I didn’t know if there’d be leaks when the city turned on water. Cleaning day was set and water was figured out only the day before, but each time stress wanted to mount high, the Lord would powerfully remind me that He’s taking care of things and I just needed to trust.

It was almost like He’d speak to me in the car, telling my heart to quiet down because He had this. Thus began a beautiful process of God doing things.

Friends helped me clean it, and then, one of them sent her husband to take over my yard work. I’d been out there with gloves but after a few hours had barely made a dent in weeds and must have been bitten by a thousand mosquitos. Inch by inch, I knew I’d get it done.

My friends thought otherwise and before I knew what was happening, an excavator was in my yard along with a crew of eight men. All I did was come by after work, day after day, to watch the overwhelming task unfold into a beautiful, clean space.

I cried grateful tears in front of the whole crew.

My neighbor watched and said one day, “Sometimes God just does things.”

The kids and I have found home.

After the back yard process.

Every day, I feel like I’m living a dream. The peace is palpable here, and the feeling of home is in every corner. The toilet still stands and I am as determined as ever to keep and restore the ancient, rusted, leaking tank towering above me close to the ceiling.

A friend took a look at the rusty old tank, looked at me and asked, “You want to keep this toilet?”

I’d never felt so certain of anything, so the next words out of his mouth became, “Ok then, we’ll find a way to fix it.”

For now, water drips into a glass mason jar while I choose to focus on the joy of a freshly painted, white claw foot tub that used to be blue with gold feet before I took a brush to it. Some things have to be changed immediately, while other things take time and perhaps years, like room after room of funky paint colors and wall papers.

The furniture we already had fit like a glove inside these walls, all the way down to my son’s pool table creating a billiard room, and the table I’d brought all the way from my Washington state air bnb, creating a chess corner under stained glass windows.

Inside these walls, some colors I love, some I tolerate, and some I endure. We find most joy when life doesn’t have to be perfect in order to be wondrously beautiful.

I’ve always loved turning houses into homes, and I hope my story of this miracle in a difficult real estate world encourages you to trust God with your desires, year after year after year—whether you’re laughing or crying—keep trust, grow in faith, and know that doing the next right thing can only lead you forward, closer to His heart.

I don’t say God is good because He brought me a dreamy house that makes me feel at home. I would say He is good even if it hadn’t worked out—because here’s the wonderful thing about a heavenly God—He is always good even when earth is not.