We’re selling our house.  And no one is buying it.

Each night I go to bed and ask God the same question: “Why won’t somebody buy our house?”  (I also stick with my “go to prayer,” the one I’ve been praying since I was twelve: Dear God, please make my chest bigger.)

I do everything you’re supposed to do for a house showing and still, nobody is whipping out their checkbooks and even worse, sometimes the potential buyers don’t even show up.

You do not even want to see me on a “buyers didn’t show up” day.  I’m usually out on our back deck carving a string of gibberish into the planks. It hurts knowing that we’re stuck in a home we’re outgrowing and to feel like we don’t even have an out.

But then I remember, we might not have an out, but we do have a home. I’m going to stop sniveling and count my blessings. Even though I sometimes think God’s not listening to me, I fail to realize it’s because He’s speaking to me and I’m not taking the time to hear Him.


Though I stomp and whine and moan
for my own idea of completion,
I see that You have already made me whole.

And so I praise you
for the body that sustains me
and the spirit that fills me,

for the friends that support me
and the family that guides me,
for the work that challenges me
and the play that thrills me,
for the knowledge that grounds me
and the faith that centers me.

You infuse my life with Your spirit.
Thank You for the kind of completion
only Your hands can design.

-Abigail Wurdeman



more from beliefnet and our partners
Close Ad