We moved in July.
After years of saying "We need to move to the country. Let's make a plan to get out of here." ... we actually did it.
We met with our realtor, who said we needed to do some painting, some decluttering, and put in a new driveway. We did it. We worked so very, very, very hard to perfect our house so we could capitalize on its value and launch out of it.
The stager came in, twisting furniture, moving lamps, complimenting my style (she was probably just being polite).
It was so beautiful. Every room felt just the way I wanted it to. Leaving suddenly felt unimagineable.
But far way, on a hill in Michigan, waited an old farmhouse. It needed a new roof, gallons of paint, and general love. It needed kids! Pets. Energy.
So on July 23, after a severe storm knocked out power to our whole neighborhood, a crew of close friends came over to help us load up the big yellow moving truck. Mom and Dad were there. Jake and Britney. Sarah and Marc. Peder and Melisa. Heather and Aron. They Worked. So. Hard. It was 99 outside, with 99% humidity. The sun never fell behind clouds. We had no power, no A/C, and no break from the heat. In the house, it was nearly as hot as outside. When the baby needed a nap, we turned on the van, ran the A/C to cool it down, and Heather held him while he slept.
Everybody worked without a single complaint. They didn't stop smiling, even when the sweat was actually running down their arms in rivulets. A gesture would fling droplets. Brushing up against a door left a wet streak. We were all disgusting and whatever is worse than that.
But the biggest thing I felt was love. My friends showed just how kind and true they were. I actually hadn't known. My default belief is always to think that I like people more than they like me. I can hardly believe people like me, to this day. It is something to work on. These friends showed me then, at what felt like their last opportunity, that they love me, and they love us. It was precious. Once again, leaving felt unimageinable.
But the house was under contract. The next day, it wouldn't be ours. And another one in Michigan was waiting for our signature. The grounds were waiting for children. The rooms were waiting to be ours. Sixty acres (60!) wanted to know what was next for them. That thing we had been saying for so long ... "We need to move to the country..." It was happening. Beyond measure.
The drive took two days. We slept in Iowa. We drove some more. We would have extended it into a third day except for the belief that a calf had escaped from my parents' fields. We pushed it and made it home around 1 a.m.
After two weeks at my parents' house, we finally moved into our own. Every day, something else happens here to make it more our house, and our home. It's noisy. It's energetic! It's huge. It's a blessing so big, I can hardly take it in. We expected to move to a few acres; maybe 10. In a small house. Not this - this huge Victorian farmhouse on a very large piece of property. This is a dream that I can actually see when I'm awake. A blessing I can now study in great detail. I hope I never stop seeing the beauty here. I hope I never forget how much I craved being home in my neck of the woods, next to my parents. And I hope I never forget that there are real friends in Kansas City, who love me the way I am. Enormous blessings in both places.
Lest we forget.
