The Rest of the Unexpected Story

There’s more to the story. More for a future blog post…

The thing is, I never dreamt I’d be telling “the rest of the story” in my very next post. Summer still on the calendar, fall in the air. I thought it would be next spring at the earliest, or sometime next year. I thought we’d have more time. Time to get back into our groove after a summer of caregiving and bunkhouse sleepovers. Time for holidays and winter and maybe another longish stay in California. Then maybe. Then it might be time for the rest of the story… 

Honestly this story has been playing out for Kyle and me for well over a year. April 23, 2024 to be exact. I wrote it all down in my journal… “a day when it felt like the Spirit-wind was blowing up a storm.” I wrote about praying in the morning, waking up with a sense of the the Spirit’s presence, receiving (it seemed) some sort of picture of the future. A move to my son’s neighborhood. My grandkids walking down the street, knocking on my door.

Later that same morning Grant called to talk about “childlike wonder.” My son talked about his own dream of generations of family doing life together. I told him about my morning vision. 

It’s all right there, on the pages of my journal. Dated. 

Several months pass. And then, out of the blue, Grant tells us about this crazy opportunity. He has a friend whose grandparents live on Oakwood Drive. Three blocks from my son, same street. The friend asks Grant, “Would anyone in your family be interested someday in buying my grandparents’ house?” 

What are the chances? 

We have more conversations. Together, and with Grant and Kiana. We ask our grandkids, “Which is better? The lake with the bunkhouse? Or Nana and Papi living right down the street?” We’re shocked at how quickly they pick Option B. 

Every time we’re in the neighborhood we drive down the street and we wonder. We watch the seasons change on Oakwood. We try to imagine living there. 

Seasons change at Green Lake, too, and we find ourselves clinging to every experience. Each taste of heaven. We marvel at fall. We walk the woods in winter. Spring comes early, and we put in the dock. We do some fishing. And then, again, it’s the end of April. Grant's friend calls us to check in. He says maybe his grandparents are getting closer.

One year exactly since I first saw it in my imagination, Kyle and I get to see the house, and it’s crazy. Crazy. I don’t know what I expected. But it’s exactly as if God takes my hand and He shows me. Every detail He’s prepared for me. I write again in my journal: 

“Grace-filled personal details. As soon as I got out of the car, I knew. I heard birds singing, and I knew. The landscape… the yard… the neighborhood… the river.”

Hardwood floors. 

A three-season porch. 

Wood-burning fireplace. 

A library.

A grand piano we could possibly keep.

I am amazed and confounded and overcome. What in the world is happening?!

We did not build our Red Oak lake house to sell it. We meant to live here… maybe not forever… but for a good, long time. We’ve poured our hearts and our labor into every detail. The houses is OURS. Our red oak floors. Our Dresser Rocks. Our Black Squirrel Bunkhouse. 

OUR NEIGHBORS. 

We love our neighbors and they love us. How could we leave?? 

For a moment I panic. None of us are ready. Not yet. We need time. God knows we need time, and in His grace He provides it. 

A whole summer to soak up and savor. And while we savor, we fill this lake house with people we love. Mid-June to early September we open our doors to extended family. Felipe. His friends. A family reunion. My brother and his family come and go from northern Minnesota, filling our bunkhouse at least four times. Nils, Brina and baby Quoia visit from California. The second day of their stay my mom comes home from the hospital. Six weeks Mom lives with us while Dad splits his time between lake and farm. Mom enjoys summer evenings on the screen-porch; she watches the eagles from picture windows. She regains her strength and makes plans to go home. 

School starts and the weather changes. And then. The last thing we’re expecting…the last thing on our radar…

The phone call saying, "It's time."

Our heads spin and our hearts ache and we pray and we pray. 

But the answer is obvious. It’s been obvious since the very beginning. This is God’s provision. Every bit of it—God’s provision. We trust Him, and we know what to do. 

And so. Next week. Thursday. Our Red Oak Retreat—our Black Squirrel Bunkhouse—will be up for sale. We’re letting it go. We’re giving it back. We’re trusting the One who gave it. 

It’s always been His. 

The day before yesterday I shared our news with my next-door-neighbor, Marlyn. “Marlyn, like the fish”—is how she introduced herself when we bought our lot, seven years ago. And every night as I shut my bedroom blinds, I thank God for giving us Marlyn. 

And now…here I am…stomach in knots, holding back tears as I tell her, adding—

“Maybe it won’t sell after all. Maybe we’ll live here forever.” 

Who knows? 

Only God. Our Father knows our future. And we don’t. That’s what it comes down to. God knows what’s best for us and our family. And our neighbors, too. 

And we trust Him. We do. We do. We do.