Helping Women Move From Fear into Faith
“Better a neighbor nearby than a relative far away.”
It’s been nearly a year now since Shari invited all the neighbor ladies over for a party at her home. A party to say goodbye to me. I wasn’t the only one in tears that night. Honestly I was crying a lot last year. I didn’t want to move from our home or our neighborhood. But we knew God was pointing us in the direction of South Carolina, after a job offer had been made.
A few months ago, while waiting in a long line, I found myself listening to a conversation in a public place. There was mild irritation between a husband and wife who were disagreeing over a minor issue concerning a child. A mom, who wasn’t acquainted with the couple, commented to the wife that she was so glad she no longer had to endure arguing.
I stepped outside into a beautiful April morning and did a little trimming in our mini-yard. Compared to the acre we lived on earlier, this one is on the tiny side. I happened along into a small spot in between our house and Debbie’s. There, hidden away, is the most beautiful profuse light blush colored rose bush. I was reminded again that I’m reaping things I didn’t sow.
Today I took out an instrument of torture on the lovely path— the instrument I formerly referred to as my bike.
A funny thing happened recently. I looked in the mirror two days after my eye surgery and saw an unfamiliar face looking back at me. I studied my skin with all its splotchiness and thought, “The sedation meds must’ve had some weird effect!” I couldn’t imagine why my skin had taken on a different color and older look.
“Our house was not unsentient matter — it had a heart and a soul, and eyes to see with…. We never came home from an absence that its face did not light up and speak out its eloquent welcome — and we could not enter it unmoved.” Mark Twain
Recalling my childhood I don’t remember ever talking about feelings. The unspoken message was to be quiet and good. We knew our parents loved us unconditionally, but it wasn’t exactly in vogue to share feelings.
I like ruts. Sameness, ritual, routine. I don’t tire of the same coffee, the same neighbors, same food. I like living in the same house where our babies learned to walk. The house Tom built.
I really do believe in setting goals. With hands wide open. What I mean is this: “We can make our plans, but the LORD determines our steps.” (Proverbs 16:9)
What if you suddenly walked out of your home, never to return? What would your loved ones find? I’m regularly speaking to baby boomer clients about all their stuff, and what in the world to do with it? We were endowed with rare treasures from our parents and grandparents. Chosen to be caretakers of priceless antiques. “Keep these pieces in our family,” they said. I’m constantly saying to my clients and to myself, “Stuff is only (monetarily) worth what someone is willing to pay for it.”
The minute you decide to sell your home it becomes a house–a product to market to the public. Your goal is to make your house irresistible to buyers; to cause them to fall in love when they first lay eyes on it.