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A failed engagement and a failed house sale

I read this article the other day and thought I would share it.

The pain of being single; the love that holds me fast

I love Olivia's writing. At the bottom of this post I've linked to she shares the two other blog posts she wrote about grieving and healing from her broken engagement. All three are excellent. Though I don't claim to have gone through the same pain, her writing helped me work through some of the grief I was feeling over our failed house sale last summer.

Last June we found a nice, small log home to buy. The very week of closing, after putting a not-insignificant amount of money into the inspections, we found out the sellers had backed out of the deal without a word to us and were in the process of selling the house to someone else.

It seems like every grief is mourning the death of a dream. What about the birthday cakes I was supposed to bake in that kitchen? The meals around a table where my chair doesn't block the entrance to the kitchen? The slap of little feet in the hallway and seeing a tousle-haired, pajama-clad child appear in the living room in the morning?

We were supposed to have our very own fenced in yard for our kids to run outside and have fun in. I had a dream of a messy yard full of dandelions, a sandbox, a wading pool, and Tonka trucks. I was supposed to pull the weeds out of the neglected flowerbed by the side of the house and make it beautiful. I thought we would have cozy evenings by the woodstove in the living room.

We were going to be able to walk down the street to our favorite playground. Yes, this house just happened to be down the street from my favorite playground, and a short walk from my favorite coffee shop. "God is good," I exulted in my journal, reflecting on this bonus. When it got snatched away, I felt like he was cruel.

I was going to have my own bathroom. Do you know what that means to an 8 months-pregnant woman?

And what about the beautiful blue and gold September day when we were supposed to bring baby Eric home to our very own house? After 4 apartments in seven years, I thought we'd be settled somewhere of our own where we could bring up our kids.

Time marches on in our little apartment, and all those dreams of the house on Birch Lane are gone.

I've been surprised by the persistence of the grief. Sometimes it seems to get sharper as the months go by, not easier. I still get a big lump in my throat when I drive by what was going to be the turn off to our new home and wake up at night thinking about it and cry.

I've tried scolding myself and saying, "Just get over it already, you big baby." No one can do anything about what happened. The house belongs to someone else now. And there's a lot to be thankful for. Of course there is.

Olivia's articles helped me see that God loves and cares for us through messy and drawn out sorrow. I loved what she wrote about coming to God's table in your brokenness. He's not scolding us to get over it. He wants us to come and feast on Jesus, who was broken for us.

I will say of the LORD, "He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust." (Psalm 91:2)

Take, eat: this is my body, which is broken for you. (1 Corinthians 11:24)