It was the summer of 2015.
I was tired, I was hurt, I was lost.
I was 27, newly divorced, and looking to buy a home.
It was this summer when I was introduced to the concept of Prayer Circles-the idea of praying circles around your biggest fears and greatest dreams, and letting God do the rest. The author, Mark Batterson, described walking the plot of his future church, praying literal circles around the physical space as he raised funds and petitioned for the land, and letting God handle the rest.
I found out on my half birthday that my offer was accepted on Fairmount. The house was mine, the direction for my life was made clear, and the concept of redefining home was up to me. I was given the solid foundation on which to rebuild my life after heartache, after the plans I had made for myself didn’t come to fruition.
I had big dreams for my home, in both the physical space and emotional attachment, as well as the intangible life moments that I longed to happen here.
So there I was, in late summer, praying circles around my home, murmuring/longing/pleading to God for this space and what it represented. I’d love to tell you that I looked like Jericho, marching around confidently and triumphantly, but it more so resembled the scene from The Proposal with Sandra Bullock chanting around the fire as Betty White looked on. It was 2015, I was fresh off a divorce, and I would’ve tried anything if I thought it would help.
I imagined this space from the moment I walked in. The colors, decor, lighting. But more so, the meals from the kitchen, the friends gathered around my table, the conversations late night on the couch or back deck. A home that reflected both style and story. Rustic charm with modern influence. I wanted it to be sumptuous, inviting, cozy, classic, fresh. More than that: safety, connection, peace, rootedness.
Soil meant for staying.
A place to know and be known.
Well lived-in and well-loved in.
I could’ve never imagined so many dreams to come true within these walls.
In this house, I fell in love.
In this house, I got engaged.
In this house, I became a mom and brought home my first son.
I love stories, and this house told one. From the clawfoot tub to stained glass windows, three porches, and high ceilings, the character and charm of this house was predominent. More than that, I love the stories that were created here. The dinner parties, fires in the backyard, our friends and my family dropping by, and all the “firsts” that happened here. Somewhere between the meals with friends, authentic conversations, projects and renovations, disappointments and failures, holidays and celebrations, we became a family here.
I came into Fairmount 27, single, and newly divorced, and will be leaving this home 30, engaged, and a mother to my son Leo.
And I’m trying to let that sink in.
Now we’re off to the next chapter of our lives as a family: from Fair to Grand. We have a vision for our next home, and a vision for the next years as a family: hopefully another baby, hopefully marriage, hopefully domestic adoption. We’re praying circles around this next space, these new walls, and this next chapter as well.
I’m surrounded by boxes: organizing, packing, discarding, all in preparation to move into our new house. I’m awake with to do lists, my thoughts, and renovation bills. Scattered among the random items left to be boxed, it occurs to me: I don’t want to miss the magnitude of these past 2.5 years for anything.
I want to always look back on this time, this house, this chapter with the utmost awe and gratitude, a true testament to faith in Christ and life after loss. The plan, the checklist, the direction he has for me is always better, more significant, filled with tiny moments that connect the plot lines of my life beautifully. But I only notice if I stop. If I slow down. If I breathe. If I look around me.
There is movement happening around me, and the best things could never be contained to a box, a label, or a checklist.
It was the fall of 2017.
I am loved, I am found, and I’m looking to create a new home for my family.
I am 30. I’m engaged. I’m a mother. And I’m excited for the future.