House Search

Chapter I: Anxiety

Last April, I had an idea to buy a house. It was a $40,000 junk-pile on a street named Benjamin.

My debt was eyeball-level, my income nearly non-existent, yet the elusive $8,000 bonus from the government proved to be a proverbial carrot in front of my eyes.

Along with it, I dragged my beautiful fiancé Emily into my perfect, greedy storm.

After months of relational strain, I was literally forced to call off my desperate search.

We went to work instead, and started sorting out our finances.

Chapter II: Contentment

Fast-forward five months later.

As a Christmas gift, we paid off all of my remaining personal credit card debt, and then, two weeks ago, the last of our company’s debt, in a wild season of business fury that can only be the creative movement of God—in connections, accounts, the energy to work diligently, the endless patience and support of our wives (especially my new bride).

On the other side of debt, we began looking for houses again, and more importantly, we started looking together.

We found some good options. Nothing was perfect.

We came close to compromising (and closer yet to overextending our finances), but the counsel and wisdom of others kept us in our apartment.

Slowly, we began to loosen our grip on the dream that now was our time, along with the government bonus (which, ironic enough, I had originally intended to pay off the credit card debt that I had paid off legitimately).

Perhaps most importantly, we recognized that we don’t “need” a house.

On Friday night, our realtor emailed us that two new houses hit the market, including a foreclosure in Eastown, the area we love and long to live, two blocks from our apartment.

Chapter III: Surprised by Joy

We saw the house on Saturday; Em said she knew when she got out of the car.

We walked inside and fell in love. Ironically, it is not a junk-pile, but is also on Benjamin.

“There’s going to be a bidding war,” I said. We’ve been down this road before. It was everything we were looking for, minus a large back yard. (We talked with friends with kids for advice, they cleared the way).

Saturday night, we put in our best offer, adhering to the advice of our real estate agent, who predicted that the first offer would win.

We had asked Pat and Jack, Em’s parents, to tour the house on Saturday, but they had dinner commitments. They came Sunday instead.

(Jack’s career is investing in real estate as a landlord, and has graciously prevented us from buying a few money pits, so I was anxious to hear his thoughts on the pad). Everything he said was positive.

Then, randomly, the real estate agent showed up to take photos. He and our realtor talked on the front porch.

“We’re no longer a piece of paper,” I said. “We’re humans to him.”

They discussed the offer, and everything looked promising, as well as other surprises (a bonus for the agents, a free 2-year home warranty for us).

We were feeling it. One night of rest, one sleepless night, then rest again last night.

Today, our agent called with amazing news: “The bank accepted our offer!”

In a nearly unprecedented twist, the bank received a cash offer today that was slightly less than ours, but they still accepted ours as a matter of policy.

(The conventional wisdom of real estate is to always take a cash offer, especially on a foreclosure.) This was an Orchestrated deal.

I called Em with a direct shot: “We got the house!” Of course, hysterics and shock ensued.

“They also want to close by June 11,” I told her. (June 30 is the final day of the rebate).

She’s out of town until Thursday, so we prayed over the phone. Almost immediately, I was overcome with emotion (that’s man-code for crying), as I recognized that this unfolding story is about much more than a house.

It’s a story worth telling, full of pride and greed and selfishness and love and patience and surrender and contentment and diligence and provision and blessing.

And as Em prayed, we hope this house becomes a blessing for others.