A turning point with a street address

Two years ago today I moved into my house. I’m a big fan of marking important events other than just birthdays and wedding anniversaries. It’s a way to remind yourself of blessings, and an opportunity to share them with others. The best celebrations involve a deliberate remembering process—of where you were in your life before the event, of how the event affected and changed you, and of where you are now, because of it.

This is the 10th home I’ve ever lived in (not counting dorm rooms in college), yet it represents much more than any of the other nine homes. The story of this house begins in the spring of 2004, with the selling of another house—the one my ex husband and I bought when we came to town. He had moved out of the house a year and a half before; I continued living there, even though I didn’t want to keep the place long term.

When the house sold, the girls and I moved into a two-bedroom duplex apartment in the same neighborhood—a nice place, but small, and difficult to love after owning a lovely home. I was resolved, though. I didn’t want to own anything! I wanted to be free and flexible, and to see where life took me (my hope was that it would somehow take me out of Champaign-Urbana). Owning a home would mean, symbolically if not technically, that I wasn’t going anywhere—that I was rooted and settled and OK with being boxed in. And I wasn’t!

A year later, my life had begun its subtle shift. I finally knew with all my heart that a relationship I was in was going nowhere, even though I had, for nearly a year, hoped it was my ticket out. I finally knew I couldn’t continue going to my church and resenting it, but that I couldn’t abandon my faith, either. I also knew I didn’t want to manufacture a reason to move the girls away from their dad.

Letting go lets things happen

Just acknowledging these things changed me. When I began loosening my grip on all of my shoddy plans, I was suddenly OK with my life and all that brought me to that place. More than OK, really. Things began happening. I met Ellen. I resolved to find a new church. And on April 26, 2005, I got this email:

Hi Kristin. Saw this and thought of you — sounds like a sweetheart of a house:

2-story with front porch
oak floors, lots of natural light
craftsman style oak woodwork
3 bedrooms, 1 bath (with original hexagonal floor tile)
extra large yard with fenced backyard and grrrrreat climber
central air/basement
2-car garage with new cement driveway
2 1/2 blocks to Leal School, 2 1/2 blocks to campus

The email came from another mom at my daughters’ school, who had heard me complain on the playground that I didn’t think I could afford anything near the school that was big enough for the three of us. Earlier that month, I looked at a two-bedroom on a busy street corner that was just outside of my price range, so I was pretty much resigned to signing a lease for another year in our rental. Then the email arrived and everything shifted.

I looked at the house, loved it, and began negotiating a deal with the sellers. As the next few weeks unfolded, a series of events emerged that astounded me and everyone close to me. The sellers, who had outgrown the house, were moving to the much bigger house next door. In selling their house, they were in essence choosing their neighbors and playmates for their kids. They chose us, so to speak.

Over the next few weeks, they proceeded to go about doing whatever it took to make it possible for me to buy the house. They asked for $1 in earnest money. They paid for professional painters to repaint four rooms, asking me only to buy the paint. They replaced the steps on the back porch, added safety features to the play structure, re-tiled the shower (with the tile of my choosing), and rewired the house, even though the inspector said it wasn’t absolutely necessary.

Nearly every day throughout this process I had an amazing tale to tell my friends, who shook their heads and repeated “You are SO lucky!” I knew what was happening, though. Lucky would have described my situation if just one of those great things had happened, but instead they kept coming, and adding up to something much bigger. That wasn’t luck. They were pure, heaven-sent gifts.

I know this kind of talk makes a lot of people uncomfortable, but what can I say? I honestly believe God had been waiting for me to let go of all the wrong things in my life. The moment I was ready to relax in him, where I was, he began overwhelming me with good things. They began at that moment, with my house, and because I could feel his love and care for me in that, I opened up more and the blessings kept coming. A new church. A new community. And, eventually, Jason. (Here’s a post about how we met.)

Knowing what you’re turning from and toward

At our small group meeting this past Wednesday night, we talked about how we get ourselves turned around, headed in the wrong direction, and what we should feel and do when we recognize it. The discussion stemmed from some verses in Acts about repentance, an unpopular word. One of our pastors, though, recently defined repentance as consciously turning from something negative in your life and turning toward something redeeming. If you’re trying to go to Chicago, for instance, but realize you’re heading south, you don’t keep heading south. Nor do you pull over and sit on the side of the road, overwhelmed by sadness and regret. You get yourself pointed in the right direction and start moving.

For several years I had been trying (but mostly failing) to do the turning from part, without considering what I might turn toward. That’s a nowhere’s land, and I was stuck in the void until I became overwhelmed by its emptiness.

What I finally turned toward, I think, was an acceptance of how things in my life had turned out, despite my dreams and best intentions. I turned away from fighting every circumstance I couldn’t change, and turned toward something new that God had for me—a life rooted in him, at this particular street address.

Similar Posts:

• Exhibit A: The less-intentional party
• A lost and found friend
• What do you call that thing that’s not a coincidence?

Tagged as: blessings, divorce, home, hope, lucky, moving, repentance, rooted, turning-point