where’s mine?

image courtesy of flickr.com/creative commons

Note: i wrote this a couple of years ago when we were trying to sell our house. the house is off the market, but the sentiment comes up every now and then.

Today, I’m really struggling. I’m trying to be happy, but I can’t help wondering, “Where’s mine?”

I’ve had my house for sale for seven months.

Seven months.
Seven months of keeping a house nice and straight every time we leave.
Seven months of being on standby for every random call of “Can we come and see your house?” and then having to scramble to vacate so people can look through our home (with our stuff), and avoid the awkwardness of us being here.
Seven months.

But it’s not the seven months that’s the biggest deal.
It’s what’s going on around me.
I have two co-workers who have sold their homes in the past two months.
I’m genuinely happy for them.
One of them is moving to a new state to be closer to family.
The other is finding a larger space so she can take care of her aging parents.

And there’s my family. All we want is more room. Sure in comparison, our situation seems, well kind of petty.

But there’s more going on than a for sale sign in the yard.

You see I don’t really expect a lot of big things from God. I learned long ago that God’s going to do what God’s going to do. And life doesn’t always turn out the way I expect.

So because of that, I’ve developed a lens through which I see the world—expect the worst and you’ll never be disappointed.

It’s gotten me through life this far.

But seven months ago, I allowed myself to do something that I normally don’t do—hope.

I called a realtor, put a for sale sign in the yard and a lockbox on the door, and dared to dream.

Seven months later, I’m barely hanging on.

I know in my gut, in a way that I can explain that this isn’t over. That there’s more to this story.
But I can’t help looking at the awesome things happening with my friends and wondering, “Where’s mine, God?”
I know. It’s kind of silly. Trivial even. But this is exposing another lens through which I see the world—that if something good happens to someone else, then there’s nothing left for me.

And while that may be true if you get home before me and eat the last piece of chocolate cake, well, it’s a little flawed when it comes to God. In fact, it’s a lot flawed.

You see God is really, really big. I mean really big. And He doesn’t run out. He doesn’t have a shortage of anything. He’s got things covered. And when I think that God can bless other people, but I’m just left out, well that makes for belief in a really small god.

I don’t know what God is doing right now in my life. I have no clue what is going to happen with my house.
I’m trying to hang on to hope.
I’m trying not to ask, “Where’s mine?”

And in the process, I’m uncovering some pretty crazy things I think about God. Things like I believe He can take care of someone else, but not me. Things like He has a limit.

And maybe this is about more than a house. Maybe it always has been.

But a new house would be nice too.

the contents on this site are © 2011 tim walker. all rights reserved. for permission to reprint or publish this content elsewhere, please contact me through this blog.

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