Because my husband spends two to three hours a day driving to and from work, we’re selling our home of fifteen years to move closer to his office and many of our friends, family, and activities. We last moved when our youngest daughter was six weeks old, the year after my mother passed away. For multiple reasons, that period was a mix of joy and sorrow blurred by sleep deprivation and the exhaustion of caring for and moving a family of ten.

After months of painting everything in sight (that’s me), carrying away a million boxes to storage or Goodwill (that’s my husband), and searching houses on Zillow like it’s our job, we finally put a “Coming Soon” sign in the yard and started scheduling appointments to visit available homes in earnest. 

I liked to imagine the other sellers, busily preparing our future home for us, just as we painted, cleaned, and polished ours for its new owners. The outcome was a mystery to us all but firmly in God’s control. He would know which house would become our home and the family that would live in ours.

At first, it seemed this buying and selling of houses would be easy. We initially put a contingency contract on a newly remodeled home with a private, wooded lot and received an offer on our home the day before it officially went on the market. But when the time came for the home inspection, we were surprised at what we found.

It began with comforting observations about the sturdiness of the exterior, the years of wear left on the roof, and the new kitchen cabinets and appliances. I felt pretty good about this potential home. But when we looked beneath the surface, things began to get ugly. Drainage issues and blocked ventilation had created mold and rotting wood in the crawl space. There was evidence of squirrels in the attic and snakes and mice in the crawlspace, and dirt and leaves filled the drains extending from the roof and the foundation.

At the end of two long, discouraging days of collecting estimates to resolve the problems, it was hard to believe this was the same house we had chosen above all others and put our earnest money on the week before. It suddenly seemed so flawed.

How could a home with so much promise be in such disrepair underneath?

The last two owners had been investors who had never lived in or loved on it. The first had rented it out, and the second wanted to flip it without concern for the condition it was in.

But I wanted to make s’mores in the outdoor fireplace, plant hydrangeas and azaleas around the mailbox, put a patio heater and our old couch on the side porch, and gather my children and grandchildren within its walls this Christmas and for years to come.

I wanted to take this lovely, neglected house and make it my home. I wanted to redeem it though there was work to be done and a cost to do it.

In the end, it wasn’t the house for us even though I wanted to provide it a redemption story that mirrors the one my soul loves. In spite of my brokenness, Jesus saved me with the blood of the cross and guaranteed me a forever home.

In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of His grace . . .
Ephesians 1:7 (NKJV)

Sometimes, I feel like that house — seemingly put together and painted over, but in disrepair. Chances are, you do too. And just like a fresh coat of paint and an interior remodel doesn’t fix a house’s underlying problems, no amount of primp and polish will heal us on the inside either.

But here’s the good news, sisters: Although the price of our redemption was high, Jesus offered Himself as the ultimate sacrifice and marked us “paid in full.” He secured our future home in heaven, where we will live forever with Him in glory, fully healed inside and out, complete and whole.

My hope in a heavenly home is sure, but just as we await that day, our family can’t wait to find the home God has prepared for us here.

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