After that fateful backyard morning, we booked a trip.
(If you’ve followed this blog for long you know travel is our love language. It's the character of God on vivid display that always brings clarity in the midst of life's chaos, and it changes us for the better with every stamp of the passport.)
We had planned a trip to California the end of May. San Francisco, Lake Tahoe, Sonoma Valley. For the weeks leading up to the trip, I had such a difficult time seeing past it. It was like there wasn’t anything beyond it, at least nothing that made sense. I didn’t see us spending our days as usual. It just wasn’t there. Like blank space.
One sunny Dallas afternoon gazing out at sailboats on a blanket by the lake I said to Josh, “The clock is officially ticking down. Our time here is limited. I don’t know when, but I can’t see us being here past summer. It’s like this trip is a bookend to this whole 10 year season in Texas.” I could feel it in my bones.
Two weeks after we returned from California, Josh got a call. It was an offer we couldn’t refuse, one that left us stunned. I distinctly remember standing at the window talking to Josh on the phone and I couldn’t stop my teeth from chattering despite the triple digit summer heat. The presence of God was tangible.
* another domino clinked forward *
A hiring process that was supposed to take up to 6 months had us both on a plane to Nashville 2 weeks later for a final ‘spousal interview.’ It was shocking and yet resonated deeply all at once. There was no question this was the hand of God.
We listed our darling yellow cottage which had appreciated so dramatically in the two short years we’d lived there we still couldn’t get our brains around it. (But knowing we wouldn’t be in Dallas long-term had only purchased the house as an act of obedience in the first place.) And with the ‘give everything away’ instructions still resonating in our hearts we got rid of everything from furniture to my beloved flock of chickens, and set off to Tennessee.
My in-laws welcomed us into their guest suite for the time of transition, and we immediately began scouting out the area. We knew what we were looking for. God had given us plenty of detail over the years, clear vision down to the peach trees we’d find there. (Although I have to admit that particular detail seemed a stretch, even for me). Much to our dismay after weeks of searching, we couldn’t find anything even remotely resembling the image God had seared into our hearts.
I was gradually becoming discouraged. Houses were sitting four mere hours in our old neighborhood in Dallas before being snatched up, and despite countless showings and open houses we’d had not a single offer. We had long lists of compliments and post walk-thru dreamy faces to cheer us on, but no serious bidders. We began to get antsy.
To add insult to injury we couldn’t seem to find a real estate agent willing to work with us in Nashville. Over the course of a few days we contacted a company who refused to return our calls, a second company who’s owner had a ‘reaction to cats’ and never got around assigning an agent, and lastly an agent so clueless she couldn’t help us even if she tried. I would have been frustrated except it was so strange it almost felt eerie, as if God Himself was silently and deliberately holding us in place.
No offers on our house. No property on the market resembling the dream. No agent willing to work with us. But then.
* another clink *
A quiet Wednesday only a few days after all the realtor drama, Ev and I met Josh at Whole Foods to grab lunch. I was loading up plates while Josh enjoyed a few minutes with his girl, and as I walked across to grab drinks I noticed him chatting with some random guy. Something distinctly told me not to approach, so I busied myself browsing while they wrapped up. As we sat down to eat I asked who he was.
“Oh, just some guy. He kept asking if we knew each other. Kept telling me I ‘looked so familiar.’ He thought maybe we went to church together or something…”
A familiar sensation ran thru me, “So he’s a Believer? And he couldn’t shake the feeling that he knows you somehow….”
Josh glanced up as the realization struck him. He stared at me silently for a long moment. “Yes. And he’s a real estate agent.”
He went on to share that he failed to get the guys card. He did however, give him his own. And as fate would have it, sitting at his desk the very next day wrestling with frustration over our lack of forward movement in the real estate department, his phone rang. It was the guy from Whole Foods.
The following Saturday morning we sat down with Clayton at a local coffee shop. After two solid hours of laughing and sharing I had decided that even if we didn’t use him as our agent, we were all destined to be friends. Kindred spirits, no doubt. We had even felt at ease casting our entire vision for the land we were searching for to accommodate the dream seared into our hearts.
Just as we were getting up to leave, I thought to ask him a final question about area taxes. He pulled out his ipad to show me a quick example, and then went silent. Slumping back against the wall he pushed the device across the table, “I’m just telling you right now… this doesn’t happen.”
I looked at him quizzically and began flipping thru the photos, my heart rate accelerating with every flick, “No way. You must be kidding. There’s no way!”
There it was, the farmhouse. It sat tucked down a long winding drive on 15 plus acres situated on the side of a low mountain, half in timber and half open field and meadow. It was precisely where Josh had hoped to be, only minutes from the stunning vineyards that serve as one of our favorite picnic spots in all the world. And it was shockingly in our price range.
I sat silently mouth agape, as Clayton leaned forward and almost whispered, “And by the way, that property just came on the market this very morning. While we were sitting here.”
I locked eyes with him, “What. You must be kidding.”
“Want to go see it?” he offered. My heart was racing, “Um, yeah.”
Half an hour later we pulled down the gravel drive to the farmhouse. As we climbed from the car we were met by the owner’s husband. A call to the listing agent to approve our showing had already warned us this was quite the emotional ordeal for the lady who built this place. It made me a bit nervous, but curiously she was nowhere to be seen. As Josh and Clayton began asking their questions I wandered instinctively up to the garden area. Birdhouses on posts, a darling garden shed and expansive area for beds that looked down and out over the farmhouse, horses grazing in adjoining pastures, wide open meadows ... I stood there with Ev on my hip, a late summer breeze rustling the tree limbs overhead, and I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that I knew this place somehow.
As Clayton and Josh approached still chatting with the owner’s husband, we strolled down to the barn and then across the pasture to the edge of the woods to see the now vacant chicken coop. This woman hadn’t actually lived here for many years. I didn’t know the entire story, but clearly there was a lot more to it. I just kept shaking my head in wonder.
Strolling back thru the garden Clayton pointed off in the distance as he asked the man, “Are those peach trees?” My head snapped to follow his gaze. “Oh yes. There’s a whole orchard. Peaches, plums, apples. Best cherries I’ve ever eaten, too.”
I locked eyes with Josh and mouthed, peach trees?! What?! His expression mirrored mine.
Approaching the darling Victorian farmhouse it occurred to me that I was already insanely in love with this place, and we hadn’t even stepped inside the house yet. We had a very specific idea of what we needed for the sake of ministry and had assumed all along we would have to build to see those details realized. And we had zero interest in renovating. I took a deep breath and stepped inside, bracing myself for disappointment.
What we found was nothing like I could have anticipated. Just inside the front door it became obvious, this place had never been finished. Bare floor, a lot of beautiful woodwork like a stunning coffered ceiling and trim work… but little else. Walking into the next room was even more surprising, nothing but open studs. Upstairs, more of the same. One gorgeous vaulted room functioning as a nearly finished bedroom, but nothing else. We actually had to crawl thru a window at the top of the stairs into the ‘new part’ of the house. It was like an expansive vaulted ballroom. No walls, no flooring, just a huge open room and widows with gorgeous views in every direction. The whole house was 90% unfinished.
“So basically you can make this house whatever you want,” Clayton offered. “And it isn’t a full renovation. It’s just a finish out. You get to do the fun part.”
An unfinished Victorian farmhouse on glorious acreage tucked away in the hills just outside of Nashville. And it had been sitting vacant for the last many years, only to hit the market this very morning as we were meeting with a spirit-led man of God who just happened to be a real estate agent. What were the chances...
A bit later as we pulled down the drive, I was processing thru the reality that until our house sold in Dallas, we couldn’t even make an offer. Even if this was God, and it certainly seemed to be, we were still in a holding pattern. Unless, I thought, how crazy would it be if we got home and finally have a call from our realtor in Dallas.
Sure enough. A few hours later, I silently and wide-eyed handed my phone to Josh with an exuberant text from our realtor. We had an offer.
In less than 24 hours we had met with Clayton, the farmhouse had gone on the market with us the very first people to see it, our house in Dallas sold, and we’d made an offer on our dream place.
What in the world was happening.
{Up Next: When the story is better than you dared dream...}