“So, honey, I went shopping for a pair of Keds and I bought a house instead….” Wouldn’t it be nice if life were that simple? You see a house. You like it. You buy it. There you go. That was not how my house journey went. I think I could compare it to an episode of The Walking Dead… You know the part of the show where a zombie grabs some unsuspecting dude then literally starts to eat his heart out of his body. While he is still ALIVE. Okay well maybe it was not that bad……but I know that it hurt my heart. So let’s start from the beginning. This time last year I had no inclination whatsoever to even look at houses, in fact, the thought of buying didn’t even cross my mind until one night I was in Kentucky. My family and I started talking about my apartment lease that was about to end and out of the blue the words (literally, I had no clue it was coming out of my mouth! That happens often) just shot out of my mouth, “Well maybe I should just buy a house.” What I expected next was: laughter. disbelief. jokes about the hundred reasons why I couldn’t buy a house. What I got from my Dad was, “yeah! that’s a great idea!” So I picked my jaw off the floor and started house hunting. In all honesty, house-shopping maybe shouldn’t be compared to a gory, zombie, flesh eating fest, but it is not for the light-hearted. I was house hunting in Charlotte, North Carolina, and the market there is hotter than Hell and half of Georgia. It’s hot. And every time I found something decent for my “first-time buyer’s budget,” it shot of the market. I finally found a house that I loved, and if you are a frequenter of my little blog space you will know that because of circumstances that are bigger than my little five-foot-four self… I lost it. I was devastated. I continued to believe that it was my house. I knew that it would fall through, and my time was running out. My lease was ending and I had no place to go. I knew that if time grew too short I would have to find another apartment. So, I became the neighborhood stalker, and I would drive past my little house once a week and imagine the people who had signed the initial contract pulling out, and my real estate agent calling me up to tell me a miracle had happened. A miracle had to happen. I continued to believe until I saw the moving vans pull up. And yes. that really happened. And no I am not a really a weirdo stalker, I just believed that was my house. Until I knew it wasn’t, and I watched the excited couple drive up to their house, and I wondered where my miracle was. I had less than a month to go to move out of my apartment, and one last time I drove around my favorite neighborhood, and for the hundredth time I lifted my head to the sky and I told God about my broken heart. I said, “God, I really don’t think I can do this anymore. So if you want me to live here… If I am supposed to be here in this place, you need to let something come up for sale, because my heart literally cannot take it anymore.” I said that prayer and I looked up, and to my left was a for sale sign. The first new for sale sign in months. I bought that house less than a month later. And let me tell you, all of those houses before they were never my house. I couldn’t see it because I was too focused on what I thought was best for me. I knew what was best for me. Until I could see that God knew what was best for me, and it was better than anything I had seen before. So I will shut my trap here and show you all what you really want to see: Pictures!!!
I hope you enjoyed looking at mi casa as much as I do! I will be posting more pictures as time goes by as I go all “Joanna Gaines” on the place. You know what they say!! Little house… Big Dreams:) Speaking of dreamin’ Have sweet dreams tonight. I know I will. I am just plum exhausted from fighting off all of those heart-eating house zombies;)