Someday Came

I said goodnight to the boys, wandered into my room, and plopped on the bed. Time to decompress. My phone buzzed. My cousin texted a Zillow link. I knew the house.

Twenty-plus years ago, my great-aunt, an artist known for her dollhouses, took on a life-sized project. She decided to subdivide her land, move a 100-year-old rental house onto a new foundation, completely renovate it, and sell it. I remember touring the home while under construction and thinking it was just like her dollhouses (one of which my sister Anna and I proudly owned). She planned and executed each detail of the project with an eye for beauty and practicality. She spent hours designing the kitchen and insisted on custom cabinetry. She installed octagonal windows, a signature look, in the stairway and bathrooms. 

Aunt Billie’s real life dollhouse was for sale a mile from our farm. Gasp!

“Kirk, look what Beka just sent me!” 

I handed him my phone. He glanced at it and handed it back. No reaction. He didn’t know the house. 

***

When we joined the farming operation, my uncle suggested a 2-to-3-year trial to try farming without strings attached. Would it be a good fit for our family? Would Kirk be a good asset for the farm? Would I adjust to rural life? I sighed with relief at the suggestion. It released the pressure as we made this huge decision. I was game to try but unconfident. Remember, I am a city girl.

After a two-year trial, we planned to purchase land and build near the farm. A home that worked for our family was unlikely to come up for sale in the neighborhood. On one hand, I can count how many houses near the farm have sold in the last two-and-a-half years. All were large acreages, double what we could afford.

We moved in December 2021, inflation hit, and building prices skyrocketed. Our build timeline moved into the distant future. Someday.

***

Planning to build in a few years, we viewed our first Nebraska home as temporary. We needed it to be within 20 minutes of the farm, have three bedrooms, and fit our homeschool materials. Ideally, it would not be a fixer-upper. So in November 2021, I drove solo to Fremont to spend 24 hours house shopping and toured the only eight houses that met our requirements on paper. Only one had the space we needed and was move-in ready. We prayed, made an offer, and breathed a sigh of relief when the sellers accepted it. 

“Thank you, Lord, for your provision.”

We called that house our Pacific House, named for our street. It was smaller than our Overland Park home. We tripped over each other in the galley kitchen. The acoustics made ordinary kid ruckus overwhelming. It was far from what we would have chosen for long-term housing, but it worked. It gave us exactly what we needed to settle into Nebraska life.

We learned the new lifestyle and saw it working for our family long term. I wore earplugs when I got overwhelmed, reminded Big that the kitchen was too small for dancing, and tried to wait patiently for Someday. 

Last winter I drove along Broad Street, admiring the gracious, old homes lining the road. I breathed perhaps the most off-the-cuff prayer I have ever prayed, “Lord, I would love to live in an old house someday.” And then, I promptly reminded myself that despite the charm of old houses, we didn’t want one. Kirk had no desire to deal with old electrical and plumbing and basements. Besides, I have allergies, and old houses tend to have mold problems.

***

“Kirk, I think we need to tour this house. It’s in our price range.”

He pauses and starts asking questions. How much? How big? How many acres?

I launch into all the reasons – an acreage in our price range, much bigger than our Pacific House. 

“And Kirk, it was built in 1900, but this is the house Aunt Billie renovated. The plumbing, electrical, and foundation are new as of 20 years ago!”

He thinks for a long moment.

“Yeah, I think we better go see it.”

***

We toured Aunt Billie’s house on the first day of Spring and submitted an offer the next day. We asked friends to pray, knowing multiple parties were vying for the property. The Lord answered yes.

We discovered a leaking sewer stack at the Pacific House two days later. Repairs, painting, and decluttering concluded after two weeks of little sleep. It sold quickly. Planting started. Baseball season began. We attended band and orchestra concerts. We closed on the new house a month after we toured it. 

My parents came to help. We had one week to get ready to move. Dad and I painted and cleaned the carpets. Mom kept school humming and chauffeured the kids to their activities. We packed.

We scheduled our move for Friday, but the forecast called for storms. We delayed until Saturday. A large crew of family and friends helped. We finished by lunch. I paused amid the boxes, admiring our new view – flowering pear trees and a verdant alfalfa field across the creek. Beautiful. 

That afternoon, we drove to Omaha for Big’s dance showcase. Life didn’t slow just because we bought a house.

***

I’m emerging from the whirlwind, tired and grateful. 

This home is the sweetest gift from the Lord. We love so many things about it — things we said we wanted if we ever built — a walkout basement, a deck that faces east for shaded evening meals, and a range hood to disperse bacon haze. I received my charming old home with a proper front porch and Kirk his new mechanicals and foundation.

It is an answer to prayers, whispered and unsaid. The Lord knew what we needed. He knew our desires. And he gave us both. We are so grateful. 

Someday came…two years and four months after we moved to Nebraska.