Got a call one Friday. An agent wanted to show our house at noon on Saturday.
So Saturday morning we parked our child in front of a DVD and my husband and I cleaned like the dickens. We’ve been doing this for the nearly two years the house has been on the market. Have it down to a science.
We can clean 4,100 square feet top to bottom in less than three hours. That includes three floors, six bedrooms, and three and a half baths of restored 1918 colonial revival perfection.
All this can be yours if, say it with me now, the price is right.
Concerned friends ask have we lowered the price, marketed sufficiently, prayed? A resounding yes to all.
We’ve dropped the price, then dropped it again. Had so many open houses, our son declared when he grows up there will be “no open houses allowed.”
We estimate more than 500 people have come through. Been featured in local society pages, magazines and online.
God knows we’ve prayed. But the For Sale sign has taken root in our yard. Its thin stakes wrap around the iron water lines far below the ground.
We bought this house in 2008 because we needed another bathroom. Our house at the time, a darling 1926 model with a gambrel roof, had three bedrooms and only one and a half bathrooms.
Discussions ensued about adding on to the current structure. Then I perused the market to see what was available.
And there I found this house, a disheveled wreck of stale wallpaper, broken fixtures, and the evidence of cats. The former owner liked cats. A lot.
But ah, what good bones! Stone pediment, marble bathrooms, carved oak panels in the living room, sunrooms facing south and east. We were taken.
Little did we know what would have been a wise investment five years ago would be a quagmire today.
We bought the house then proceeded to spend more than anticipated restoring it. After a year of tussling with contractors and painting until our arms nearly fell off, we sat down and figured it out.
Our margins were running thin physically, mentally, emotionally, financially, and with each other. Our little family was lost in this house. The situation was unsustainable. We would sell.
In 2008 our agent sold our previous house in 10 days. This is a different market.
The economy is weak and uncertain. Buyers are scarce, empowered and picky.
Our agent is steadfast. It’s a beautiful house, she says. It only takes one buyer.
There is nothing more we can do.
So that Friday with trepidation I said to our agent, “I don’t mean to sound cliché, but this really is in God’s hands.”
God has been faithful to provide all we need. Why should it scare me to be in His hands when it’s the safest place?
Ultimately we are safe, but this is still a battle, baby. It’s messy. There are casualties. And only God knows how it will all go down.
Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. Hebrews 11:1 NIV