Scott and I had a very small very apartment when we were first married. And I loved it. I am not sure why? The bathroom and bedroom were on opposite sides. Good thing the place was so small. It was a very long rectangle. The kitchen was so tiny there was hardly any room for the dishwasher. Scott nicknamed it the bat cave because the lightening was so bad. And did I mention the roof in the kitchen leaked and eventually collapsed. Twice.
But when we moved I cried and cried. I felt like it was home. Scott tried to convince me that we were moving to a better place but I never bought it. Our next apartment was awful and we lived there only for a few short months. Let's just say the dirty gross hallway and the neighbors left much to be desired.
So we moved into an apartment in Bakerton, my hometown and I loved it. I felt home. Perhaps that is why I was pregnant with my 3rd child before I thought we may have to move. It was a 2 bedroom place, but it was home. I remember laying on the carpet in the kitchen. I loved getting the 2nd bedroom ready for Will and then Rachel. Not that they ever slept in there.
I hated looking for a house. Hated it. Everything was awful. We found this place. Scott liked it. I did not. But we were running out of time and options. It was big like we needed. So we moved. And I have never felt like this was home.
Our realtor comes tomorrow for us to put this house on the market. We have had two house meetings for building. I am so scared. I hate change. But I can't help but think this would be going home. I would find a place of peace. I am praying that God would open doors or close them. That we would be at peace with this decision.