We drove by it today. The perfect house. The neighborhood is peaceful, the cul-du-sac sublime, every light and shutter clean and well-situated, the price is right, backyard fenced, recently built…it’s perfect. And we have to sit on our hands for 50 days before we can do a thing about it.

My heart aches. My kids and I have endured a difficult year in our apartment, luxurious as it is. Even gracious downstairs neighbors can’t eliminate the relentless stress of having to constantly tell a tantrum-prone 3-year-old and a homeschooled 6-year-old to use tip-toe feet, stop dropping things, and scream into a pillow when they’re mad. Even a lovely playground can’t replace a fenced backyard where my kids can spill outside and freely explore while I watch from the kitchen table.

I didn’t want to leave the street with the perfect house today. I kept circling, thinking somehow if I could just will it, time would magically pass and we would be pulling in on moving day. But then something stirred in my heart and mind. I think it was grace.

She whispered, “in stillness and trust you will find strength…you are loved.” Be still. Trust. Dare to hope. Make phone calls, pack boxes, and ask about earlier move out options, too. But above all, be still.

And this is the hardest work.

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