27/09/2022
It‘s so much easier to appreciate a leap of faith in hindsight; once the leap is complete and you are safely back on solid footing. Extolling its virtues as your feet leave the ground and you’re flying, unsupported, into the unknown is a tad more challenging.
I was acutely aware of that as we took the first load of boxes up to the “new house” last weekend. Built in the 1940s and added onto in 1953, the house is definitely not new. And, while it’s unarguably a house, turning it into a home is going to be a challenge, one that would have daunted me 30 years ago when I was, admittedly, more energetic and more likely to believe that anything was possible.
Last weekend, standing in the middle of the musty, weathered old homestead that has not known human habitation for over a decade, I felt a nagging knot in my stomach that traveled up to my throat and lay there writhing uneasily. I shook it off as I carefully measured out spaces for our sofa, recliner, wingback chair, dining room table, master bedroom set, grandma’s china chest, guest beds and assorted desks and exercise equipment. I sighed. Some of it won’t fit; then again, we didn’t expect it to.
I swatted cautiously at several long-legged wasps that dipped and danced across the knotty pine built-ins. I gazed blandly at the stained carpet and the faded walls and tried to summon some youthful optimism. There wasn’t much available in that moment. When it comes to home improvement, this isn’t my first rodeo; Indeed, I’ve been gored by this particular bull on several occasions. As a young adult, I worked with my then-husband to maintain and improve his family’s 200-year-old farmhouse. We also refurbished a cute 1928 two-story while I was pregnant. Hubby had struggled to finish the plumbing, wiring and drywall as my due date drew near. Bathing and washing dishes in a basement utility sink wasn’t fun but it was more enjoyable than trotting down to the same basement every 15 minutes to use a portable toilet nestled beside the water heater.
More recently, John and I updated a very timeworn and fly-specked Florida condo that was hopelessly trapped in the 1970s, painting, cleaning and refurbishing even as we were moving in.
But this...this is a new challenge, something unexpected. The pandemic had taught us we were not yet ready to be condo dwellers, that we missed the rural living we’d both grown up with, and that, well, maybe we just didn’t like living in such close proximity to other people.
The first step out of condo-hell was renting a well-hidden acre of land on the east coast of Florida. Despite being surrounded by a tangle of dense brush and trees, the home was spitting distance from a multitude of neighbors and walking distance to the center of town. Still, after living on top of and beside a mass of humanity during the pandemic, it brought a welcome sense of peace!
But we continued our search for more acreage and seclusion (the trauma of house-hunting in the post-pandemic era deserves a blog all it’s own…and perhaps I will tell a few of those stories on this one!)
Fast forward to the here-and-now, where we are a scant couple days from moving into a rural residence, nestled beside a 22,000 acre state forest and down the road from an isolated lake. What’s different this time is that we didn’t buy the property and we aren’t, exactly, renting it. This is the first time anyone has ever offered us the chance to live somewhere rent free in exchange for restoration work.
The offer came from a co-worker who knew that John and his father had owned a construction business (operated in between their two lengthy careers in law enforcement.) The offer came just as we had lost yet another “dream home” to a bidder with greater resources, liquidatable assets, or, just maybe, foolhardiness than we could muster. I was frustrated and ready to give up looking altogether, but still eager to secure the kind of land where we could truly spread out, expand our assortment of laying hens, maybe add a goat or two, perhaps a pony, put our non-profit dog rescue into action and build a sturdy backstop for our long dreamt-of shooting range.
When John told me about the startling offer of “reno for no rent,” I struggled with the perception that some of my dreams might have to be placed “on hold” if we embraced this opportunity. Afterall, neither of us is young anymore; the days of “we’ll get to that tomorrow” are visibly numbered!
But John wondered aloud how we could turn down this kind of financial opportunity, especially in the current uncertain economy.
“20 years ago I would have jumped at this,” I admitted. “But now...we’re seniors...we’re on the downhill slide. Are we putting our dream on hold to fulfill someone else’s?” I asked.
John shrugged. “I dunno, or are we following a path that God has laid out for us that will ultimately, somehow, lead us to that dream...or to an even better one?”
I sighed. He wasn’t saying anything I hadn’t thought about.
There have been far too many times in my life when I sensed I was being moved in a particular direction, but I lacked the faith or the courage to follow. I’m older -- and maybe a tad wiser now (Lord I hope so) -- and much more willing to listen to, and trust, that “still, small voice” in my head.
In the end, all my reservations couldn’t compete with the simple reality that God had dumped something into our laps that we had, in fact, been praying for. Not the exact thing we were praying for, but something that has the potential to be even better, or, at least, an exciting ride! Something that may, in the end, be what we need, versus what we want.
So, this weekend we will take our first step on this newest wild, weird journey. We are packing, prepping and running back and forth (a 2 hour+ round trip) between homes with cleaning fluids, vacuums, mops and brooms as we struggle to make the new place liveable for the days ahead of updating and restoring.
To say I’m not daunted would be a lie but I’ve always found myself drawn to the mountains in the distance versus resting in the shade of a familiar tree.
These mountains appear, at first glance anyway, ragged, imposing and much farther than I would like...but they are calling me, nonetheless. And I’m gonna take that leap of faith and, hopefully, learn how to fly on the way down!
