In the two months since I last posted, the closing date for selling my house changed five times. Every time I made peace with staying in my house, things would start to look like I would be moving. And every time I made peace with moving, it looked like I would be staying in my house. It was quite an emotional ride.
But on May 28, everything came together, the paperwork was signed, and the buyers’ loan funded. And the fees that the buyers incurred for all of their delays allowed me to cover the cost of the movers.
I had envisioned selling my house and moving to a garage
apartment or to a rental house with a yard that would allow me to adopt another
Golden Retriever. My vision did not
match up with the market: garage
apartments are difficult to find, and rental houses near downtown are crazy
expensive due to what TCU students are willing to pay. The result was
that I ended up moving to a third-story apartment.
I lived in a third-story apartment for three years before I
bought my home, so this isn’t new territory.
And maybe that’s what has made it hard.
I’ve already done this before, and I wasn’t planning to do it
again. It feels like taking a step
back.
I know that it takes time, but it’s been difficult to make
this third-story apartment feel like something other than a hotel room that I
come back to at the end of the day. But
it’s kind of a catch-22: even though I
want to decorate or do what is necessary to make it feel more like home, I
don’t want to spend a lot of money on things for this space because I don’t
know how long I’ll be renting here. After living in a house with an attached garage for eleven years, it truly felt like home. The decorating was done. The rooms were familiar. Memories had been made there. I had spent money for a new refrigerator, a new dishwasher, a new hot water heater, new landscaping, and a new roof, as well as having the exterior repainted. All of that was left behind.
And yet, this apartment is serving a purpose. It allowed me to sign a lease at the last minute and enabled me to move only once, instead of having to store my things while I waited on a rental house to become available.
This whole process has given me a couple of great
reminders. For one, the only label I
should ever stand on is that I belong to Christ. No other label will stand the test of time. The other reminder is this earth is my temporary
home; nothing here—no matter if it is on the ground floor and has an attached garage—will truly ever feel completely right because my soul was created with
a longing for Heaven.
And so I’ve tried to retrain my mind to think about the
perks that this new season of renting an apartment encompasses:
--I no longer have a mortgage, a lawn bill, a gas bill, or
an alarm monitoring bill.
--The area feels much safer than the old neighborhood.
--The commute to work is about half of what it was when I
lived at my house; additional bonus: a tank of gas can last two weeks.
--Maintenance requests are submitted online, taken care of
without my taking a day of vacation, and are not billed to me. I no longer carry around the fear of having to pay $8,000 to replace an air conditioner.
--There is no certain trash day; trash can be taken to the
dumpster every day, and thus raw meat trimmings and eggs do not sit in the
garage in 100-degree heat fermenting until Friday (my former trash day).
--UPS packages are delivered to the leasing office and do
not sit on the door step waiting to be stolen.
My prayer is that I will continue to see the gifts of this new season of apartment dwelling and that no earthly labels are necessary.
"This one will say, 'I am the Lord's,' . . . and another will write on his hand, 'The Lord's,' and name himself by the name of Israel." - Isaiah 44:5
My prayer is that I will continue to see the gifts of this new season of apartment dwelling and that no earthly labels are necessary.
"This one will say, 'I am the Lord's,' . . . and another will write on his hand, 'The Lord's,' and name himself by the name of Israel." - Isaiah 44:5
