No one else sees the hidden work he does. I do. The way he fixes tech problems at church events, at weddings and funerals. The way he guides people through the process of healing. I may never know the personal stories of his clients, but I get to hear the prayers, theology, practical tools, and existential philosophy behind his counseling approach.
He’s the one who remains calm when the house is in chaos and somehow brings that calm to everyone else. The one who serves in the background when nobody knows. But I know. I see the sacrifice, the secret labor, the invisible support.
He’s the one with the crazy ideas, and for twenty-six years I’ve been happy to be the armor bearer of the Trotter family (in the mold of 1 Samuel 14). The truth about us is that he has leadership skills I don’t have. He’s farsighted, farseeing, blessed with long vision. I might miss the forest for the trees sometimes, but once I catch that vision, I have implementation skills. And let’s face it, a leader isn’t a leader unless someone else is following.
I’ve said yes to a lot of crazy ideas not everyone would say yes to, and we’ve made it work. Together. Because he’s never once done something without me or my full support — and because he believes I’m his equal partner, à la 1 Peter 3:7.
We’re getting closer to the empty nest years, close enough that we can almost taste what it’s going to be like. This picture is of a recent road trip without kids. It reminded me of weekends with him when we were younger. We would literally spend the entire weekend together, walking, talking, eating pizza (back when I could eat gluten — oh the days), watching movies. Sharing our hearts. There’s something about spending long periods of time together that unlocks something in both of us, and we can go to the deeper levels of our souls with each other.
These days we try to spend as much time together as possible, but it wasn’t always easy the past few years. In the middle of launching our kids my brain and nervous system was so confused. I couldn’t see it at the time; I can only see it looking back. At the time all I could see was my former life—a life I had loved and poured my whole self into—disappearing. I couldn’t grasp what was next, and what had been was slipping away.
That middle period was incredibly discombobulating, and sadly I wasn’t the best partner to the oldest friend I have. I’d been so singularly focused while our children were growing up that I couldn’t see past that stage. I didn’t want to “grow old together” because that meant losing this precious part of family life, this defining part of myself.
But this guy. He waited.
He waited for my brain to settle and my hormones to normalize. He waited till the girl he fell in love with came back to him. This most recent road trip didn’t feel like we were entering a new phase. It felt more like returning to the early days of our marriage, to the way this family got started. In a curious mirror of our early years, this life still holds the hope of future babies — though this time they won’t be ours.
So, my dear Jonathan, I want to grow old with you. Who knows? In the end it might be more like growing young with you, just with more aches and pains. But wherever you go, I’m going too.
For more reflections on marriage and motherhood, read my book, The Hats We Wear.
Nine years ago this August my family slept in tubes. Huge culvert pipes, to be precise. We drove two hours from our row house in Phnom Penh to the top of Kirirom Mountain for a mini vacation before school started. A resort there had created separate sections with tent camping, the tube “cabins” we stayed in, and actual hotel rooms.
We only stayed one night, but it was a delight. There was a playground and a zipline/low ropes course for little ones. That night I read Ballet Shoes to the girls in our pipe. The pipe rooms were just large enough to hold a single 1.8-meter (king) mattress, so the guys slept in another pipe (which probably had less culture than ours).
The next morning we ate a combination Asian/Western breakfast under a canopy with plenty of breeze flowing, and I had the distinct realization that this was the good stuff. We were in the sweet spot of parenting. Everyone was potty trained, and they still lived at home, still liked us, and still liked each other.
After breakfast I sat drinking tea under the canopy while Jonathan played American football with our kids on a Cambodian mountain and soaked in the moment. I knew the moment wouldn’t last forever. I knew I needed to treasure it. My oldest was about to start 8th grade, and he wouldn’t be around forever.
Sure enough, fast forward to four Augusts ago, and I was taking our firstborn to college. Jonathan couldn’t come with us because he’d just tested positive for COVID-19. Thankfully both boys and I tested negative, because I don’t know what I would have done on that drive home without my other son nearby to contain the edges of my grief.
But family life moves relentlessly forward. Two years later, we took our second to college, and this August we took our third, our first girl — four years to the day after we took our oldest. Many of my friends were taking their oldest to college. I remember the grief well. Four years ago the farewell felt like a death.
I sobbed outside the dorm before we parted. I sobbed in the car before driving away. And when we had to stop for gas, the act of walking into a restroom and seeing my reflection in the mirror was enough of a pause to get me started sobbing all over again. We had to wait in the car for another round of tears to pass before I could safely pull back onto the highway. Just keep talking to me, I remember saying to my younger son. I couldn’t risk any stray thoughts, or I’d burst into uncontrollable tears again.
After we got home, I cried for weeks. Where was he? He was supposed to be here in the school room, studying calculus and physics. He was supposed to be here in the living room, playing Billy Joel’s “Piano Man” and Aeon’s “River Flows in You” on our upright. He was supposed to be here in the kitchen, washing the dishes. He was supposed to be outside on the trampoline, practicing flips. He was supposed to be near, and he wasn’t.
I knew the transition was going to be hard, and I didn’t plan on doing any work or school the first week after he was gone. I walked around the house in a daze, organizing things here and there but not fully present.
I couldn’t bring myself to throw away his old math and science notebooks, so I tossed them onto the top shelf of the closet instead. He would never look at those notebooks again, but in that moment I just couldn’t part with the reminders of him. I couldn’t pitch the evidence that he really had gone through my homeschool.
The truth is, it feels like a death the first time you launch a kid. And it is the end of something — it’s the end of family life as you’ve always known it. It’s the end of all of you being together automatically. It’s a real loss, and you should honor it and grieve it.
But death isn’t the end. Because somehow, there’s a rebirth. Family gets reborn, it’s just different from before. And it can still be good. It can still be precious. Family togetherness doesn’t have to disappear, but it does have to change.
They come back for the weekend, and you have a campfire or a movie night. They come back for Thanksgiving, and you reminisce about all those Thanksgivings together growing up. They come back for Christmas, and you still do all your old traditions.
Then another kid goes to college, and the schedule gets more complicated. But they still come back together sometimes, and of course there are the summers. But then one day your oldest graduates and won’t be coming back as frequently. Or someone brings home a significant other, and you start sharing your house with more people — and sharing your people with other families.
But by this time you’ve learned to roll with the changing schedules. You’ve learned to adapt to fewer people in the house, most of the time anyway. You’re watching all of your kids grow up and make big decisions. And you miss them, and you’re so proud of them for navigating these waters, and you still try to support their process.
You know that family will never look like it did when you had a bunch of littles underfoot and were stepping on Legos all the time and picking up sippy cups. But it doesn’t have to, because those memories are safe inside your heart, ready to be visited whenever the need arises.
And here’s another truth: Those years were good. Those years were worth it. But young motherhood always came with an expiration date, even if we didn’t know it at the time. Babies are supposed to grow. Children are supposed to grow. And teenagers are supposed to fly away in the end.
So first-time college mom, take heart. Remember the wisdom of Cindy Rollins, mother of nine grown children, who taught us that home isn’t a place to stay; it’s a place to leave. Our job as parents is to build a home that is safe enough and strong enough for them to launch from. And then to believe in them as they fly away (and sometimes come back to visit).
That picture of us outside the tubes hangs on the wall next to my prayer chair. Every day I can look over and see a family frozen in time — a family old enough to enjoy each other and young enough to still live together, a family old enough to sit still for read alouds and young enough to still appreciate them.
While those particular details of family life might not be true any longer, the family is still going. We’re still holding onto each other, still spending time together when life allows. More photos will be added to walls and phones and albums as the six of us keep tackling new adventures, but that one at the top of a tropical mountain will stay in my heart forever.
All of us around a campfire two years ago, after having launched half our kids.
For more of my reflections on marriage, motherhood, and all things Christian womanhood, read my book,The Hats We Wear.
I’m over at Velvet Ashes this week, talking about the pain of re-entry and how it affected my relationship with God.
My re-entry story began with an unplanned return in the midst of COVID-19. I wasn’t the only one—it turned out to be such a common experience. But at the time it seemed like just about the worst thing that could happen to me.
I loved my life overseas. I felt called to it. I found God there, amongst the power cuts, heat waves, dirty streets, and endless needs. Amongst the palm trees, rain clouds, frangipani, and deep sense of purpose.
We had scheduled a regular furlough that year but ended up leaving early, convinced we would be able to fly back to our Cambodian home in a few short months. Paperwork and the pandemic had other plans. And when our overseas life fell apart, I did too.
Pain permeated everything. It was in my heart as I bid farewell to a country and a beloved community without actually saying goodbye, without hugging people and crying in person. But it was in the hearts of others, too, as their lives were similarly uprooted, whether by relocations, pandemic restrictions, or tragic deaths. Why was an all-powerful God allowing such pain?
This God seemed responsible for the anguish and upheaval in my life. I was angry with Him, and in my anger, I refused to speak to Him. At different points during the next couple years, I even considered the idea of not believing in God anymore. If I no longer believed in the Person who caused my pain, the pain would go away, right?
I haven’t published a Favorite Things post for over two years – not since the pandemic began – and I wasn’t sure exactly how to begin them again. But there were all these little things I wanted to talk about. Things that might seem superficial or insignificant but that help me enjoy life more, and those things are important.
There’s so much heaviness in the world right now; there has been for quite some time. I’ve always tended to talk about big, heavy things, but I don’t know how to talk about some of these things. I want to acknowledge the distressing things going on in the world right now (the war in Ukraine, the gun violence in the States, the difficult economy, the unpredictability of the pandemic, the continuing political divisions in my country). They are big, and they are important, and they weigh on me – as I’m sure they weigh on you.
But while we can’t ignore the heaviness, I also don’t want to ignore the little joys in life. So today I’m going to inject a little lightness into this blog with some of the things that I’ve been enjoying in my life over the past year or so. Who knows? Maybe this post will be the thing that will inspire me write again more frequently.
SKIN CARE AND HAIR CARE
Differen (adapalene) gel. For years I’ve been using 2% salicylic acid to care for my oily, acne-prone skin. Then I read about differin gel, which is the only over-the-counter FDA-approved prescription strength retinoid. Retinoids are a form of topical Vitamin A that are good for both acne and signs of aging. Differin is designed more for anti-acne purposes than anti-aging purposes, but it still does double duty. Of course, I have responsibly paired the adapalene with a good sunscreen to protect from further sun damage and a good nighttime moisturizer to counteract the drying effects of the retinoid. (These are both from Cerave and are both designed for the oily skin that I have.)
Highlights. I walked into a salon in February searching for myself. That’s a pretty big statement, so let me unpack it. The whole time I was in Cambodia, I didn’t do much with my hair. I kept it long and put it in braids, buns, or ponytails. The heat made it necessary to keep hair off your neck (except maybe once a year in December), and the constantly blowing fans that were supposed to reduce the effects of that heat made it necessary to keep hair off your face, too. Result: boring hairstyles. Additionally, over the decade that I lived in Cambodia, my hair turned from a lighter blonde to what my stylist would call a “dark blonde.” (In my mind, it was sooo dark, but she assured me it really wasn’t.)
So I walked into the salon looking for something different, something new – or was I really looking for something old? I didn’t know what the lighter color and shorter length was going to look like or feel like, but when my stylist turned me around to look at the back of my hair in the mirror, I nearly cried. I looked like the me I had always known. (30+ years is a long time to stay naturally blonde.) I did the highlights for me, but it turned out that my husband loved them too. Score one for Team Trotter.
Purple shampoo. Purple shampoo counteracts the brassiness/yellowness of blonde highlights and keeps them looking fresh. I use this about once a week, and it makes me happy.
Lather/Rinse/Repeat. The bleach used for blonde highlights can damage your hair, and I did notice more dryness and brittleness after getting the highlights. Then I started double conditioning, and everything is soft again. I don’t know why this works or why one application of conditioner isn’t enough. I only know that this does work.
Heatless curls. This solves two problems: damage from heating tools and a lack of time (or lack of commitment to the time it would take) to style my hair. I just sleep in a curling ribbon (robe-curl-style), and in the morning I take it out. Voila! I have curls. They loosen up throughout the day and become waves, but I’m happy with both. I do this once or twice a week and definitely on Sundays!
Silk pillowcase. I bought one of these to protect my skin and hair from excess tugging and pulling. At first I didn’t notice that much of a difference until one night when I had to sleep without the silk one. Ouch! Everything hurt. These are inexpensive and are a nice way to pamper yourself.
HEALTH AND FITNESS
Tempeh. I hadn’t tried tempeh because I just couldn’t get over the mental hurdle of fermented soybeans. (And also I had seen some photos of it, ew.) But since it’s such a healthy, high-protein alternative to meat, and since my family had gotten tired of tofu scramble, I needed some new recipes. And you know what? Tempeh is delicious, filling, and easy. We do Tempeh Bolognese, Tempeh Tacos, and Sweet and Sour Tempeh (which tastes almost like my Cambodian helper’s Sweet and Sour dish).
Roastaroma tea. I go through phases of really liking this tea and then not craving it at all. I’m currently in a craving stage. It’s bitter, like dark chocolate (I go for 90% these days, by the way), and it’s what made me realize that I actually like bitter. I think it’s one of the flavors God made us to enjoy, but our modern packaged food culture, with all its salt, sugar, and unhealthy fats, has dulled our appreciation for its unique flavor.
I also go in for Chai Green Tea from time to time, which gives the health benefits of green tea without the flavor of plain green tea, which for some reason I don’t care for. My favorite flavors are still probably peppermint and spearmint (I prefer spearmint, but it’s harder to find).
Daily walk. I’ve realized that life in Joplin, MO, as a homeschool educator and freelance editor is not as naturally active as my life in Phnom Penh, where I climbed endless sets of staircases and walked the streets frequently. So about a year ago I added a short one-mile walk to my day (Leslie Sansone anyone??). I go through phases where I get busy and forget, but I always feel better on the weeks when I consistently take a one-mile walk in the afternoon, before doing a harder workout after supper.
Step workouts/heavier weights. About the time I realized I needed more activity in my life, I also realized I needed to level up my exercise regime. I already had a step with risers, and I bought an extra set of risers to increase the step height. I already had 3 kg weights (6.6 lbs) from Cambodia, but I bought a set of 8 lb dumbbells from the local sports store. Each of these things has helped me increase my fitness and reduce my stress – because, let’s face it, exercise is more about happiness than about appearance.
In fact I have quite the ritual for evening stress relief. I exercise, I take my magnesium supplements, I take a relaxing shower, and I read in bed. I don’t know why, but reading in bed puts me to sleep pretty fast. I need to read a few pages of fiction (I’m currently in a P.G. Wodehouse novel) to put my mind to sleep, even if I’m already physically exhausted. This of course means it can take me a long time to get through a novel.
FAMILY MOVIE NIGHTS
One of my favorite things to do is introduce my kids to the movies I enjoyed as a child. They’ve enjoyed this tradition so much that from time to time they ask if I remember any other movies from my childhood that they haven’t seen. Here I’m highlighting the funny ones in alphabetical order (because it’s hard to choose a favorite, though Bejeweled and North Avenue Irregulars come close).
Bejeweled. A 1990s Disney Channel mystery movie. So hilarious (but also hard to find).
Candleshoe. A 1970s Disney mystery with Jodie Foster. May have initiated my lifelong love affair with “Greensleeves.”
Follow That Bird. A 1980s Sesame Street movie. Cleverly written to be enjoyable by adults and children alike, and impressive in its inclusion.
Freaky Friday. The 1970s Disney version, of course.
No Deposit, No Return. A 1970s classic caper movie, also by Disney. Utterly unrealistic but tons of fun.
Savannah Smiles. A 1980s B movie that is absolutely hilarious. Shares some similarities with No Deposit, No Return.
The North Avenue Irregulars. Another 1970s flick. A bunch of church ladies on a crazy adventure. My children know that to make me laugh, all they have to do is quote a random line from this movie.
VOCATION Stories Set Free. A year ago I didn’t have a business. Now I’m booked a month or two in advance. I didn’t believe in myself, but Jonathan encouraged me to put myself out there anyway. I’m glad I took the risk! I love my clients. I believe in the work they are doing, and I love reading their words and working with them to shape and smooth their stories. It is an absolute privilege to work with writers, and I’m thankful.
A Life Overseas. I continue to lead the missions website that I’ve been leading for 7 years. I love my writers, both new and known. I love receiving their submissions and sharing their true and beautiful messages with a larger community. I love helping them craft their words until they are just right. Readers still talk about how much they appreciate the articles, and the journey continues to be an exciting one (for example I’ve added several new writers this past year, and I’m adding a few more soon). For me this has been a very fulfilling ministry, one that I enjoy and one where I feel that my gifts are being used for Kingdom purposes.
Biologos and the Integrate curriculum launch (this is the one where I got to meet Francis Collins!!!). We talked about our unforgettable trip to D.C. on Facebook, but I never wrote about it here. A few years ago, frustrated with the quality of homeschool science materials, I started googling. I found the Biologos site and their pilot program for Integrate, a program that seeks to integrate quality science with a Biblical worldview. The truth is, you don’t have to give up good science to be a Christian, and you don’t have to give up Christianity to be a scientist. I have always believed this. Faith and science don’t have to be at odds. In fact, some of my greatest moments of awe and worship happen when I study science.
I applied for the Integrate pilot program and began piloting sample modules with my older children. Later when the curriculum was published and Biologos decided to throw a launch party for it, they invited me to come be a part of it. I felt out of my depth – nearly everyone there was a PhD scientist, and I was just this little homeschool mom with a stale bachelor’s degree in engineering. I can’t tell you what it did for my soul to be invited to spend time with this special group of people. For so long I have felt so alone. I couldn’t bond over a shared love of science with my Christian community, and I couldn’t relate to non-believing scientists on the deepest levels of reality. I was always hiding a part of me. But when I was with the Biologos people, I didn’t feel I had to hide anything. All parts of me were welcomed and accepted. And when we sang the Doxology together, I cried. I felt at home with them, even if for just a little while.
(Bonus: I’m heading to a homeschool convention in July to support the Biologos booth. I’m so excited!)
(Bonus to the Bonus: I might even get to meet Susan Wise Bauer at this convention.)
SPIRITUALITY
College Heights Christian Church – especially the New Creation Sunday School class. The believers in this class showed me that you can be faithful to the Scriptures without being corrupted by MAGA nationalism. They have restored my faith in the people of God, and I will be forever grateful for that.
My spiritual life really suffered over the last two years. When we returned to the U.S., I looked on in horror as American Christianity became infected with MAGA idolatry. I questioned everything I had ever known. It’s not like I hadn’t questioned things before. I had. I’d had plenty of faith crises in my life (and I’d written about them publicly), but this felt entirely different. Had I devoted my life to a religious movement that was only ever masquerading as biblical Christianity but was actually founded on an insidious quest for political power? I wasn’t sure I wanted my name associated with this political movement. It was some of the most profound pain I have ever experienced.
Today, I still believe Christianity is true – when it is unfettered by the base desire for power. In many ways it was the people at this local church who helped me believe it was possible to uncouple Christianity from power-hungry political movements.
But in addition to restoring my faith in faith, these people have welcomed us into their family. I felt very bruised and battered after losing Cambodia so suddenly and unexpectedly. Cambodia was my whole life. I’d never wanted that life, but after a few years, I fell in love. I didn’t know how to live without it. These people have gently taken care of our needs and showed me how to belong again.
After 20 years of sitting separately from my husband in church, it has been a relief to sit in the back row with my whole family and just be. No need to volunteer or minister to anyone. Just rest and recover. At the same time, it’s comforting to know that, when I’m ready, our church family has plenty of ministry opportunities for me to take part in. It’s a good place to be. (Oh, and the youth group has been great for our kids!)
LIFE
My house. A year and a half after signing the papers, I still can’t believe I got this amazing house. The yard, which is always wonderful, is especially beautiful right now. I have my own office. I have my own workout room. I have my own bathroom (this wasn’t always true in Cambodia). And due to multiple small miracles, we can actually afford this house, even in this tight economy.
My husband. He is still my best friend, and after 22 years I am more in love with him than I have ever been. We have two standing date nights a week. (Note: Date night doesn’t mean you have to spend money, although we sometimes do. Date night can be a walk in the neighborhood and coffee on the porch).
Years 18 to 21 were a strain on us. I had multiple health problems which interfered with our marriage; we repatriated unexpectedly to the States in the middle of a pandemic; and we self-isolated for longer than most to protect Jonathan’s health, which led to painful social isolation. Add in a faith crisis, and well, those were hard years. But we have found ourselves and found each other again since settling in this house, and marriage is good.
My self. When I look back over this list, I realize that some of the things I’ve done or am doing are about finding myself again. You change when you live overseas for a long period of time. You can’t help it. And when you come back, you’re different. You don’t know exactly where you fit, and you don’t know exactly who you are. For instance, I found that being an overseas missionary had become wedded to my identity in a way I hadn’t expected (especially since I never wanted to go in the first place!). Losing the expat life was a big loss and a big shift in my identity that I had to grapple with.
I think some of the items in this Favorite Things post have been about trying to find my place in my new life, about trying to figure out who Elizabeth Trotter is in this context. I was so unhappy for so long. It took me 12 months to truly accept that this was my new life, and 18 months to truly love it. So I feel like celebrating the seemingly little things that have helped me on my journey to love my new life in Joplin, MO. In the end, I think that’s really what this article was about.
It takes nine months to birth a baby. Nine months, a lot of frustration and discomfort, too many emotional ups and downs, far more waiting than we’d prefer, and a lastly, a good birth attendant. This is not unlike our nine-month-long search for Home last year.
The two photos above were taken on Closing Day, the day we signed on the (many) dotted lines and became homeowners for the first time. We love this house. Love it. After four months, I still wake up most mornings and think to myself, “How did I end up with the coolest house?!” Many evenings I think some iteration of the same.
We knew this house was a good fit for our family when we moved in; we just didn’t know how good of a fit it would be. There’s something special for all six of us at this house. The kids have an in-ground trampoline and a basketball court. There’s a campfire pit, a bunch of trees, and plenty of outdoor space to read and relax. And it’s all enclosed in a privacy fence so that I never worry about the kids while they’re playing outside.
There’s enough room for all four kids to study quietly and privately. I have my own office – something I never thought I’d have. Jonathan set up his office in a detached building that has heating and cooling, which means he’ll be able to meet with people in person while also preserving their privacy. We have a space for exercise. And I can’t believe it’s ours. Often as I’m making dinner, I think to myself, “This is my kitchen! I don’t have to leave here and start cooking somewhere else.”
I didn’t expect to feel so settled after moving into a house of our own. After living as a global nomad for so long, I wrongly assumed that permanent dwelling places were superficial, unnecessary things. I didn’t know a long-term home could make such a difference in how I feel. I know I promised earlier that I’d tell the story of how we got this incredible house, so here’s the long version. . . .
Nine months passed from the time we landed in the U.S. to the time we moved into this house. And it was somewhat like a surprise pregnancy: when we first arrived, we didn’t know we would be staying. We lived a few ignorant weeks between conception and that positive pregnancy test. Then the realization hit, and as I’ve explained before, I woke up miserable every morning. Perhaps it was repatriation’s version of morning sickness.
But then we had to get to work figuring out what to do and where to go. We made many plans; most of them fell through. We thought we would live in one city but instead landed in another. We were grateful to be given temporary housing on a college campus. Shortly after moving in, we contacted a local realtor.
Jonathan told her how he dreamed of land. After living in a concrete jungle for eight years, he wanted his kids to experience some of what he had experienced growing up in rural Missouri. (His Kansas City suburb truly had a rural feel at that time.) I didn’t care about land, but I did care about his happiness, so we started out by looking for land.
There weren’t a lot of houses with land in our price range, but we found something we thought might work. The house was super cute and had some really great land. It was older and needed a few repairs, and honestly it was too small for us, but we were confident we could restore the house’s former beauty and somehow adjust to its small size. Looking back, I see that it really was too small for our large family, but we were somewhat in denial because of our desire for open spaces.
Then we received the septic system inspection, which basically indicated a system in need of total replacement — an upgrade we could not afford. I’m thankful now that the first house didn’t work out, but at the time it was pretty disappointing.
Next, we looked for smaller lots. There still wasn’t much to be found, but we saw four or five houses on Zillow that might work. By the time our realtor called to arrange tours, all but one already had contracts on them. That’s how fast the housing market was moving last fall, even in the small town of Joplin.
We walked into the one available house and fell in love. It had enough room for all of us to work and study, it was a split level just like I’d always dreamed of, and it had both a covered porch and an expansive deck for entertaining. It had a spacious yard with older trees. The color of paint on the walls even fit our family’s style.
We made an offer based on our realtor’s estimation of its value. The owners would not lower the price, but they were still willing to sell it to us for the original listing price. Seeing as how there weren’t many houses on the market — and none at all that fit our large family — we decided to accept their terms. We’d read that throughout the country, home prices had soared during the pandemic, so we figured we had no choice. We needed a house by the end of December, we adored this one, and though it was priced higher than we preferred, it was still in our price range.
The inspection went well, and we were excited. Then the appraisal came in, and it wasn’t good news. This house didn’t appraise anywhere near its listing price. (Apparently our realtor knew what she was talking about – the house independently appraised right at her prediction.) This new information suddenly made the financing untenable. With the requirement of a greater down payment and/or PMI, this fantastic house wasn’t in our price range anymore.
We tried to re-negotiate, but negotiations fell through. I was heartbroken. I had been in love with this house. (I had not been in love with the first house.) What were we going to tell our children?? They had been through so much loss already last year. And more importantly, how were we going to find a house in time? We only had a couple weeks to secure a contract if we were going to have a place to live when we had to move out of our temporary housing (which was a hard deadline).
Time was running out, and I was nervous. There were a few houses on the market that could fit our family; our realtor hastily set up a couple tours. Jonathan was out of town, so I had to go alone. It felt strange because we always do big things together — but time dictated otherwise. The first house didn’t look like it would work for us, but the second house did. It had enough inside space to homeschool, the yard was big, and there was a separate building where Jonathan could work.
And two other potential buyers had looked at it that day.
I sent Jonathan photos and a description, and he replied, “Let’s go for it.” He hadn’t even seen it in person, but we knew we had to move fast. Our realtor advocated for us, and these owners worked with us on both pricing and repairs. They were all a true delight to work with. We were excited but still nervous – would anything interrupt the buying process on our third attempt?
But nothing did. It proceeded smoothly, and in December we moved into a house we knew we would love. We’ve grown to love it even more now than we did then. And I now understand why my husband wanted land — having a large yard has been such a joy for all six of us.
I remember when I was giving birth to my babies, I had certain feelings for my birth attendants. I felt like they had truly made the birth experience special. I felt like they had tried to honor my birth plan to the best of their ability. It’s not that birth isn’t painful – it is. But a good birth attendant will make it as comfortable and safe as he or she possibly can. And when the birth is over, you feel a sense of indebtedness to them.
I don’t know if birth attendants feel a special connection to you – they deliver so many babies after all. But I know a birthing parent feels a special connection to their attendant. And it’s the same way with a realtor. Helping people buy and sell houses is their day job – they do it all the time. But a family doesn’t buy a house just every day. It’s a momentous occasion. You remember the person who helped you through it. Both giving birth and buying a house are things you do only a finite number of times in life. If your helpers were good, you remember them with fondness.
So nine months after accidentally leaving Cambodia forever, we settled into a house that seems like it was built just for us and our family’s needs — and hopes and dreams. For we dream of this home becoming a launching pad for ministry. That’s already true in the sense that Jonathan does his ministry from this place, but in the coming years we also hope to host lots of people in our home and in our yard.
