The Original Jacuzzi Tub

So there's this "thing"...it's a silly little "thing", but, still it's a "thing".

It's not "thing one", it's not "thing two". It's this silly little house "thing".

I'm having some sort of internal battle and I think the resolution involves a bathtub.

When Chris and I found the darling house we put an offer on, we not only learned about the spacious front porch or the two story family room with the cozy stone fireplace, we also learned a little bit about the owners. They are around our parents' age. They are about to lose their house to a short sale/foreclosure. The wife has MS. They have two boys.

We fell in love with the wooded back yard. We fell in love with the open kitchen. We fell in love with the idea of finally having a guest room (Hi Grammie! Hi Nana!). We fell in love with the neighborhood.

And I fell in love with the family who lives there.

We placed our offer and prayed constantly about the house. Every time I went to pray "God, please please please show us grace and mercy as we purchase our first home" I found myself praying for the family instead. Strangers. Complete. I don't even know their names.

For 4 straight days I prayed that God would give that precious couple exactly what they needed. Obviously we were the answer to their prayers, right?? I tried to pray for God to shower Chris and I with blessings. I tried to bargain with Him. "God, if you bless us with this house, I will never spend over $20 at Old Navy again. Never. Ever".

Each time, I fell to my knees in prayer over this couple.

So when we got the word that we didn't get the house, I instantly knew that we were not the answer to this couple's prayers. I had prayed so faithfully and knew God had answered my prayer by simply telling me "no".

So naturally, I did what any good Christian girl would do. I cried. And cried. And cried. The human part of me threw a classic two year old temper tantrum. Why? Whhhy? Whhhhhy? Oh the porch! Oh the wooded yard! Oh the open kitchen!

My mourning began.

Then in small group last night, we were asked to tell about where we go for our "quiet time". "On the ski slopes", Jesse said. "In my fishing boat, out on the still, quiet lake at 3am", John said. "In my car on the way to work." "Cuddled up in a blanket on the couch"...

Me? In the bathtub. Every single night. It's just me, the tub, and a glass of sweet tea. It's true, I don't miss a night. It's just me and God. No TV. No cell phone. No Facebook. No Blog. No nothin'.

When Chris and I toured the owner's suit of that darlin' house, my first comment was "oh my heavens, an original Jacuzzi tub!". Gold accessories and all. Waterfall spout. Room for 2. Later that night I commented to Chris "You know my nightly baths will have to stop when we move into our dream home". 673 gallons of water just to fill that sucker up. Yep, my baths will definitely have to stop.

So there you have it. It all came down to a bathtub.

God knew that if He blessed us that house, my quiet time would come to a screeching halt. And so he answered my prayer. With a Big. Fat. "No".

And I'm done being a 2 year old.