Awaiting

We went house hunting today. We saw seven houses total, two we loved, and we're thinking we'll make an offer on one - it's definitely not the kind of house I've always imagined living in, but I have to keep reminding myself that it's not our forever home. This is our starter home, our first purchase together. We didn't want to rent and feel like we were throwing our money away, so we've been taking steps toward purchasing.

Through this whole process the word "awaiting" has been running through my head. I've been feeling like we aren't going to find "our house" right away - like it's going to be a process we have to be patient for, but that the right one will come along. We had some that felt like "the one" but were too expensive, some that were the right price point and had the kind of character I look for in a house, but would need too much work to be livable, etc.

I'm figuring out that what I want in a house is not necessarily what's best for us right now. I love old houses with yards that need work and corners and crannies and narrow staircases; these things aren't really feasible for us in our stage of life. We're young and busy; we need a nice, small place where we don't have to do a ton of upkeep and where the cat can have the run of the house.

Awaiting. Awaiting the right time, the right house, the right price. And trying not to feel like I need to keep waiting if we really have found the right one, just because it's not what I pictured when I thought about my first home.

What do you do when your instinct is to wait, but you're not sure if it's because it's not the right house or because you just want your way? Because you really want a dog but you couldn't have one in this house? Because you really want a garden but with this one, you won't have a yard? Because you really want to have a baby, but the thought of a child learning to walk near THAT staircase is terrifying to you?

At any rate, I'll be updating soon on what we decide to do.

Lord grant me the optimism to see past the things that bother me, 

and the courage to say yes to a town home.

An Ode to the Old House of my Dreams

By Emilee Shindel

Oh house, that you in all your aged splendor

might come to let me be your sole possessor

With musty smell and hardwood floors

With leaded windows, quirky doors

With creeping ivy, whitewashed sides

A high fence privacy provides

Oh that I, in your crannies, may discover

a place to read, for I am a book lover

Oh, that your walls may ever deign to be

a refuge for an introvert like me

To intruders, may your doors be ever closed

so I may be left the heck alone

Perhaps someday you will belong to me

On that day will I smile so cheerfully

Til then, dear house, I must still be resigned

in modern, cookie-cutter houses to reside.

Now I must depart from thoughts of you:

Our budget is yet too small to be of use

in purchasing so fine a piece of land

Blessed be the place on which you stand.

I love thee, dreamy house, and hope to be

enveloped in your aged majesty

Next to a fireplace, alit with leaping flame

Our friendship will be kindled, nurtured, claimed

Until that day, dear friend, I say goodbye

Away from dreams and fantasies I fly

For a town home in a development calls us now

Await me, I will come, this is my vow