schizophrenic spring…again

It was on April 23rd, 2012 that we here in upstate New York were hit with an unexpected snow storm. Four years ago it marked the first school snow day of the year. It marked the first day our house went on the market as well: You can see the photos here.

Four years later, on April 3rd 2016, we are hit with an April snow storm again. Today marks the first real snow accumulation all year.  Once again our house is on the market.

Ever feel like your life is simply on repeat and you have the task of trying to keep the loop interesting without loosing your mind?

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It is not so much the snow on new lilac blossoms that will probably abort my favorite flower…

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It is not that I recently pulled out the deck furniture and draped them in my quilts like I always do…

I don’t really mind that the girls enjoyed bikes, roller blades, and scooters on Friday and Saturday, and went hunting for snow pants in the attic on Sunday…

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I will admit however, the sight of my husband scrapping his car for five minutes before he headed off to church early for worship team practice, was enough to push me over that teetering edge of: should I skip church or not?, to a rousing affirmative.  I simply could NOT muster the energy to get dressed, motivate my four daughters to do the same, and then scrap the ice of my van before ten in the morning today…

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As melancholy as these images are that floated to my mind’s eye today I will tell you that the snow in April is not what drove me over the edge.  No. It was the reminder of the repeat cycle of our house on the market, off the market, once again that had me yelling and ordering daughters to help with laundry, swearing in that crazed shrill piercing scream, and being overall unbearable to my family members before  collapsing on our couch in front of the movie Pride and Prejudice.  {the Keirra Knightly version}.

People sell their houses every single day.

I know people who have moved numerous times.

But we, for some inexplicable reason, cannot.

I am tired of finding the Biblical silver lining for our inability.

Waking to observe the snow crushing our spring bushes this morning reminded me of that “schizophrenic spring” post I did.  I was amazed to discover it has already been four years, when I could of swore it was only two years ago.  Time has a way of whizzing by faster as we get older. And so I admit; reading that first line of: “is it a bad omen that we have our first snow day on the first day our house is on the market?”  broke me.

Four years.

For four years we have know God wants us somewhere else.

For four years we have searched other locations and homes.

Twice we thought we had found “THE” house.

Twice it all fell apart.

No one has put an offer on this house that I love dearly.

This house that Tim and I have put tens of thousands of dollars in, and probably close to a thousand hours on.  I am a bit of a prejudiced snob I am afraid, when it comes to my home.  I go to other people’s home; nice homes, more expensive and manicured and tidy homes, and the thought always crosses my mind:

“Nice. But, not as nice as our home”.

Because it is just that: a home; not a house to me. It is us.

Every showing that has garners non interest or complaints feels like a cold stranger critiquing my child.

And I get pissed.

“Who the hell are you. You daft, blind, idiot?  Clearly you know nothing. Thanks for wasting my time, moron”.

That statement, in short, is the visceral mental dialogue that will not quit for every single showing we have had. And today, I was done.

Half my house is boxed up. Teetering brown towers taped and labeled in each room and walk way.

This house that is home first, that I love, I can not relax in. It is no longer mine, but someone else, whom has yet to walk though the doors. We are waiting on tedious lawyers and contracts and bank agreements to move into a new house to rent while we wait for our house to sell.

Every step has been a faith walk to do the nonsensical.

I hate real estate.

I hate painting.

I hate placating the modern consumer market trends.

I hate waiting.

I just hate.

And that makes things not nice around here.

Beneath the hate and annoyance and ice killing my lilac and forsythia bushes is something else bubbling and rising, like the scent of a good meal after a long day:

God’s faithfulness. Christ’s affection.  The Spirit’s leading.

“The spirit is willing but the body is weak”

Today was crappy, but I can not help but to hope because of Him and His ways and His promises.

 

He blooms in forsythia yellow in hollowing winds of icy blue.

sanguine yellow

Cheers.

 

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One thought on “schizophrenic spring…again

  1. Waiting is so hard isn’t it? I hope the snow melts soon and pray the perfect family will come along to buy your house and your family finds the perfect new place to settle. ❤️

    Like

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