Movin' and Shakin'

This last weekend we took a little trip all the way up to Bakersfield (now a good 3 1/2 or 4 hours away) and spent it kind of like this: 

Packing and unpacking

Admiring the large windows

Wishing for this kitchen

BBQing (and admiring the nice porta potty)

Eating the first meal to be eaten in my parents new home

Taking a late night jaunt to Dewars (I've been promising to take Adrian for a while)

Clearly enjoying Bakersfield's best ice cream

The last couple of days have have looked a little more like this:

Taping

Testing the paint -- just to see what it would look like and imagine that purple wall covered up

Admiring our work

Man, so pumped about this room. (Sorry for the horrible night time lighting)

That's it. More taping and painting to come. We've got some road yet to cover. But it's so nice to be working on our future little home.

Heaps of Blessing

Well, I just uploaded a bunch of pictures from the last couple of weeks and found an assortment of memories. Thought I'd share a few:

Summer sunset...can't get enough

Front porch

It's a nice place

Friends (with wild looks about them)

Our 4th of July wear :)

Across the street one morning!

Adrian called me to tell me to look outside :)

It looks farther away than it was

Sarah having some birthday relaxation

The Hunt

Our car struggled to make it's way to the top of hill, i.e. incredibly steep driveway. We still couldn't see the house, just as we hadn't been able to spot it on our drive-bys. As the front of the Honda crested the driveway, we stopped. There before us sat what one might term shacks. They looked wooden. They looked...tilted. They looked hilarious. "We have to go back," Adrian decided. "Too late," I said, pointing to what we assumed was the owner standing at the top of the driveway, waving.

Struggling not to be consumed by laughter, we drove slowly towards the man, wondering how we could seriously do this. Turns out it was a bit difficult. We climbed the rickety stairs (the hand railing moved in my hand), up to the apartment above the garage. It was large, something several of the places we had seen had not been. But it was not much of anything else.

We quickly looked through the bedroom and bathroom, as I evaluated things in my mind. It could work, I thought, with some help. It needed paint, new blinds, new light fixtures, (new stairs)...I walked into the kitchen and noticed the stove was duct taped (duct taped!). I worked to keep a straight face as I asked, "Does the stove work?" "On and off," was the the reply. "But I just bought this new microwave grill," he said as he pulled it out to show me. Much to my surprise it literally was a microwave and a grill. "But does the oven work?" "Well...there's this grill...And let me show you the storage area!"

We followed him down those stairs once more and looked for some sort of storage unit. "It's right there, hold on," we were told. Waiting, laughter was struggling not to explode from my lips. It couldn't wait much longer once I turned around and the man was holding a cordless drill, going to town on the screws holding up large pieces of plywood on the side of the garage. Turn out they concealed the "storage unit" and he could even "lock it back up" for us, by re-screwing the plywood I assumed. This, friends, is what you get for going to look at places listed on Craig's List as "rustic."

Thankfully, our story has a happy ending. But it set us up to be a bit cynical. We had been praying for a little place we could live that would be affordable, would have a place I could garden and have a piano, would have enough room and storage for all our things, would have places for us to go on walks, and would let us have people over to our house. We had seen several places off Craig's List that were fine, but not quite right either in terms of price or size or location. We had also looked at apartments, which seemed like they would work.

And then one night we went to look at yet another random Craig's List posting that couldn't send us pictures, but wasn't too far from us. We drove up and, again, Adrian said, let's turn back. The driveway was beat up, the house looked like a mobile home. It wouldn't be what we wanted. But it was. It turns out, even though the house is older, it's clean and kept up (necessary repairs are made and things have been replaced!), it's got a good amount of storage (cupboards, shelves, laundry room storage, bathroom cabinets), it's on two and half acres (there's a place for me to garden, there's fruit trees and animals), and most of all, the lady who owns it is extremely kind -- and a Christian!

We're quite excited as we have picked out paint and are going to paint the place next week and move in at the end of the month. We have no idea what it will be like to live there, but we know God has kindly heard our prayers and we look forward to seeing what he has in store for us here. Thankfully, the hunt is over.

P.S. Feel free to come help us paint or move if you have some extra energy! :)

Sometimes

Sometimes grace is full and sweet, like the first bite of a ripe peach where you find your teeth sinking deep and look up sheepishly with juice trickling down your chin.
Sometimes grace is sharp and salty, like the way tears cut their way across your flushed cheeks and your tired mind can trace their path and taste their deposits at the corner of your mouth.
Sometimes grace is both, twined together, entangled.
Sometimes you look up and you think, The goodness of God is too good. And it stabs itself into your stomach and makes you gasp, even as tears rush down your face because you know, I don't deserve it.
Sometimes you wonder how God could really have answered your prayer, simply because you asked it. And sometimes you wonder why he didn't answer your other prayer, the one you wept and slept.
Sometimes you open your hands, slowly, weakly, tired of clutching them and squeezing--suffocating--the flame of joy because you're so intent on holding on to it--protecting it. Like the little girl who smiles ghoulishly into the fish tank, anxious for her next victim.
Sometimes you stand on the top of the hill, gasping, aching, looking at the sun meandering its way behind the hills and you know fire--grace--gifts.
Sometimes you hug someone and you think Redeemer, we need you.
Sometimes redemption is deep waters, enveloping, swallowing, dragging to the bottom claiming Him for their own so you could stumble, collapse on dry ground. Taste sand and know joy. Wild.