It is official, we signed a contract on our “dream home” last night. It’s a rambling farmhouse that was once part of a larger parcel of land, whittled down to a couple acres.
It needs work. But when I look at the house I don’t just see the things that need to be cleaned, I hear the laughter that will happen in the house once we are fully moved in. I see the meals that will be served in the dining room at a table with friends and family.
The story behind the house has been a story of secret prayers. My husband and I saw this house when it was on the market last fall but we knew we had six months before we could put a bid on it when suddenly it was taken off the market. So we handed it off to God, trusting that if it was still available when it was time to officially look then we would put a bid on it. We have never found a house similar to it since we trusted the situation to God.
In a wild step of faith last week, my husband sent a letter to the owner to let him know we were still interested in the house if the owner still wanted to sell. We were contacted within days of the letter being sent, and now just days later, we’ve signed the papers.
The other secret prayers I’ve had since leaving the farm in Illinois have included things I miss about living there. The wide, open spaces, the sound of the wind in the trees, truck tires crunching on gravel as the truck comes up the driveway. A porch to watch storms come in and to listen to the birds chirping in the trees. Weather-worn red barns, cows feeding while their calves nurse, all sorts of common place things that go with farm life.
This new house has these things. A huge cornfield waiting to be planted in a few weeks is just behind the house, a barn sits at the end of the drive, just like the one I left. There is even a windmill near the barn. Pine trees frame the property and the day we went to see it the wind whistled and howled through them.
When we had our walk through the house I stepped into the kitchen and it reminded me of my great-grandmother’s kitchen. It even had the washboard sink like she did. There was a screened-in porch like she had off her kitchen where my grandmother kept her plants.
The second floor bedrooms also remind me of my grandparents’ farm house. So much like the farm we left, so much like the farm I loved.
I never made a list of “have-to-have” items for our house. I never told God He “had to” make sure these things were there.
And yet, my heart tucked these things away and God saw them and He responded.
I am not a proponent of God as a genie, He is not moved by a wish or a whim. And yet, He is the same God who delights in His children, like I do my sons. He heard our secret prayers and answered them– even before we ever uttered a word out loud.