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The Second House



 

Is it karma? Fate? Kismet?

Whatever you call it, this next house was meant to be ours.

I say this because it was across the street from our old house. The one we lived in when my eldest was little. The one I lost in a foreclosure. I made a promise to my little boy that one day we'd move back.

I felt like God had a hand in this. It had everything we were looking for.

A fireplace. A big backyard. A Florida room. A garage. A neighborhood we knew and loved. 

I was bursting with excitement. Inspired, encouraged, relieved.

I felt the happiest I had been in a long time.

I had prayed hard for this house. I was going to redeem myself for losing our cute little yellow house right across the street. I had so many good memories there.

It felt wonderful. It felt right. It felt like home.

I heard God's voice tell me I'd get that house. It was clear and reassuring, and I felt comforted and at peace.

I bid high. I bid all I had.

And then, I continued to pray with all my heart. I had others pray for me too.

It was days before we heard anything. 

And then.

"Someone bid higher"

I felt very confused. I could have sworn I heard God's voice tell me it was mine.

But it wasn't and we would try again . . .


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