On My Own

Thanks so much for being willing to read along this past week on my house adventures. It's been fun to tell this story! Just a couple more days and you'll be all caught up! :)

I rented Grandma and Grandpa's house from my sister for four years. I had a roommate for the first nine months...and then she moved out. I was on my own for three terrifying months...the first time I had ever TRULY lived on my own in my natural lifetime.

My friend Christi bought me a kitten and named him Kaegan, and while I knew in my head that he was 100% ineffective against anyone coming into the house to harm me, his tiny furry presence was calming to me. I loved that little guy, and in the quiet days and long nights {full of light, because I refused to turn them off when I went to sleep} he kept me company.

A new roommate moved in then...I'd met her in college and she came back to Marion to attend graduate school. She stayed with me for three years, teaching me all manner of things I needed to know. We had a lot of laughter in this house...and our share of conflict, too. She was training to be a counselor, and I was a perfect test case for her.

In those three years, we lived a lot of life in that house. Movie nights...experimental cooking {and subsequent MASSIVE failures}...trying to mesh the decorating styles of a foo-foo girlie girl and a Harley-riding tomboy...celebrating holidays...welcoming friends...and much more. 

When she graduated, she told me she needed to move out on her own and start her own life...and I knew she was right. We were still friends, but neither of us really did well sharing a home with another girl. We wanted things our own way...and our ways were mightily different.

I was eager for a seasonal change in life, but petrified about what would come next. I'd never lived on my own, and for the first time, the thought of actually living on my own wasn't as scary as paying for it. Admittedly not stellar with math, I stared at my budget sheet and wondered if I could swing not only a mortgage payment, but also the full weight of all the utilities and other bills. It didn't make sense in my head...but then not much about math did make sense in my head.

In addition to all these thoughts, my sister told me that she needed a change in her life - one that freed her from the role of owning a rental. She would be happy to sell the house to me if I wanted to buy it...or she would put it on the market and I could buy or rent something else.

So, one evening, while Angela was gone, I strolled around the springtime backyard, inhaling the scent of lilacs and new grass...and I prayed. I was terrified of making the wrong decision...buying a house I couldn't afford OR losing a house our family had worked so hard to get back.

Not many times in my life have I heard the unmistakable Voice of God giving me direction, but that spring night was one time I did. Right out there in the yard, with no fanfare or fireworks, my heart knew. I was to stay. I was to buy the house. I was to buy it - AND not worry about the money, even if I didn't have a roommate.

This news filled me with peace...and yet was heavily bittersweet. I'd never contemplated buying a house without a husband by my side. It wasn't that I thought such a thing was wrong, but in my mind it somehow felt like admitting defeat.  Conceding that a husband might never show up. Plowing ahead into a dream that felt like something I should share with him...but he wasn't there.

I jumped in...without really knowing how to swim. I talked to banks and lenders...appraisers and contractors...my parents and sisters...my co-workers. They showered me with advice, some of which conflicted and some of which was miles over my head. I begged God NOT to let me do anything ridiculously stupid that would penalize me financially for the rest of my days, and with shaking hand...signed paper...after paper...after paper.

The house was mine. Angela was still living there when I signed for it and she celebrated my happy-home-ownership-to-you day with me by breaking open sparkling grape juice and toasting my new adventure.

And then she packed boxes and moved out, leaving Kaegan and me with an entire house for just the two of us. A house that seemed empty - not just of laughter and conversation, but also furniture. We spread out what we did have and named it home.

I quickly learned that while I'd insisted that the house be Grandma and Grandpa's for all the years I rented it, the dry ink bearing my name on the house now brought a new stirring to my heart. It had been theirs...but it was mine now, and I needed people to recognize that. I needed to recognize that.

I'm the much-baby of our family and without a husband or child to declare me a grown-up, I hoped the title of home owner would do the trick. Life didn't look the way I planned, but I needed someone - everyone - to see that I was a capable adult. And in many ways, I needed to see a capable adult emerging in myself.

So I bought a house.

A house with a sure foundation...and one I could build on.