The parameters were tight; I wanted us to stay within our church boundary and certainly in our school boundary. We have moved our children half way across the world but I didn't want to move them this time more than just across the street (at least that's how John saw it I'm sure!).
One Sunday afternoon, as we had become accustomed to doing (John's goal was to own a piece of land before the summer had ended) we drove past a little rental house with a realtor's sign in the front yard. It was exactly one and a half miles away from the Spruces: I know that because I often run right past it to get to my 1.5 turn around for a 3 mile warm up run. The house was tiny and clearly neglected. The yard also had been forgotten long ago. But the trees were not just mature but OLD, they had seen the history of our town and and grown strong over many years. I was intrigued, but not convinced. Though close to home by distance, it would require that we move church congregations (our faith divides itself geographically, we attend the congregation that we live among, so we can take care of one another and be ministers to each other). It also stepped us outside of our elementary school boundary, and I wasn't so sure my little 3 would feel super excited about a new school any time soon.
But the place tugged at me. And the price was right. We decided to take a look.
I called the agent and got permission to walk on the land. WE didn't need to go inside the home, we wanted to see what kind of lot this would be not so much what the walls were painted in the rental. John and I and Porter (who was with us so we could take him out on a special date to have 'the talk' with him...more later) stopped in front of the realtor's sign and walked back into the yard.
And I felt at home.
I cannot explain this. It just felt like we belonged. And I didn't want to leave. The shrubbery and undergrowth was dry and brittle. Cement retaining walls were crumbling around us. The back yard shed was literally about to collapse from age and wear. But this place felt like home.
I wanted to go back.
I called our friend and real estate agent, Carolyn Kirkham, to ask her to arrange another showing for me. This time I brought the little girls.
Molly and Lucy hopped into the car so I could drive us over (Molly is still unsure about riding her bike, and it was over 100 degrees in the July heat, so we drove instead of riding). I reminded the girls of the story called the secret garden. Of overgrown neglect giving way to loving beauty. Of something being made again where it once was glorious. I thought I'd found us a secret garden. I wanted them to see if I might be right.
I met Carolyn on the land. The girls went off exploring. I stood among the trees and two feelings came to me;
'You will be a good steward here'
'Porter will be blessed'
Now. You must understand. I have been fretting over Porter. My prayers have been rising often and fervently asking for help to raise our cute boy into a great man. This second thought felt like an answer, though how it would be I still do not know.
The first thought surprised me. A steward. Someone who is entrusted to care for something important. I feel that this word describes my mothering; I'm trying to take care of souls entrusted to me. The word means so much to me.
We made an offer. I felt joy and gratitude. My husband the handsome prince, handing his fair maiden her fondest wish. A garden to create, a home to build, a place to teach our children what stewardship can mean.
The offer was accepted verbally with little negotiation. We expected to sign an agreement and move forward with the process. The paperwork did not come for us to sign. The acceptance was withdrawn. The sellers backed out with no true explanation accept to say that they had made other plans for the property.
I felt crushed. I felt LOSS. I felt bewildered and confused. I felt sad.
John shared my disappointment. But my true confusion was my own. I thought that in those feelings had been direction. I didn't understand.
We had no recourse. Even a desperate phone call to the selling agent left me no sign of hope or explanation. It was a place we had to put behind us.
We had scheduled a family trip to the beach, our vacation for the summer. I asked John if we could give the home building dream a little rest while we spent some time with our kids, away from that special land and the sadness of losing it. Our trip was an absolute blast. We played and rested. On our way home I felt I could move beyond the unexplained disappointment of the secret garden that remained a patch of forgotten earth and looked ahead to different direction.
Upon our return we were given the chance to make an offer on a different property. This was in the heart of our church community. It was a simple straightforward lot-fewer trees and a flat yard. A lovely story of a family of 9 raised in 2000 sq. feet, with raspberries, chickens and a garden of peonies. Roses lined the drive. It was a logical and exciting choice. We prepared our offer and were ready to sign.
Only I could not feel right to do it. Instead of driving by the lot that could be ours, I lingered in front of the one that could not. The trees would not leave my mind. The before felt promptings nagging me in my dreams at night. The thought that though the second lot was a better choice, the first lot was the right one. Only the first one wasn't a choice any more. I didn't know what to do.
On a Monday evening I called an acquaintance who lived in the neighborhood of 'the garden'. I asked if she knew who owned the land. If she had any gossip that could help me understand why it would not be ours. I did not know when I dialed her number that her husband knew the owner well; at least one of the owners. He was a 93 year old man who lived down the street from the garden. My husband's friend had heard we had made an offer and he also wondered what had actually happened. He offered to pay the owner a visit. He promised to report back by the end of the evening.
I gratefully accepted his help and wondered what would come of it.
He called after he had been visiting with the land owner, George Quist. Mr. Quist had shared that he was sentimental about the land. It had been a special place for him in his youth, and he wanted to be sure it was cared for. He had been informed that the buyer's intention was to exploit and develop the land. he had been misinformed.
Our friend had asked Mr. Quist if I could come and visit.
I spent a night in humble thought. Did I want to meet him? Were those feelings and promptings so strong and real that I should extend myself like that and beg a total stranger to hear my longing desire to have something he possessed?
As I thought about it more I realized that what I wanted was to understand him. If I could know why that place was so special to him, then maybe it would help me know why I felt so drawn to it.
I woke up the next morning and dressed myself up. I knelt to ask for help to know what to say and how to listen. I went to Mr. Quist's house.
It was a sweet meeting. His hearing aids were not in his ears. I had to sit by his knee. I asked him about his lot, and why it was special to him. He called it sacred ground. He said he wished it could never change. He wanted to take care of it.
He said he had felt he was a steward over it.
I said I felt the same way.
Mr. Quist told a story of the home on the land. In an earlier day - when he was a young man of just 12 or 13 - he used to be assigned this home as a place where he would 'ward teach'. This meant that as a young priesthood holder he was assigned to visit the family in this home, to teach them a gospel lesson and to administer help to them when they needed it. At the time the area was much more rural. It was farmland just outside of Salt Lake City...it felt much like 'the country' back then. And the houses is in a farming community were much more spread out and sparse. This home was the last on his route. In winter the walk was long from family to family to do his duty. Mr. Quist would arrive to this last home. In the fireplace a blaze would be waiting for him.
They always had a fire burning for this young man. They listened to his message. I'm sure they ministered to him with kind words of thanks and encouragement. He never forgot the fire. Nor the family who had stoked it for him. And as he grew into success and the land needed a new owner he became its steward, its protector.
I told him I felt so grateful for his time and his explanation. I understood his fierce protection. I shared his love for the land. He told me I was persuasive. He suggested I give him some time to think about our meeting together. He promised he would pray.
I left feeling peace. I no longer needed the land. I understood its meaning. We made the offer on the other lot.
Within 48 hours a phone call came to our realtor. That special place, the lot I loved, was made available for our purchase. Papers were prepared. The offered signed. The second offer was amicably withdrawn. We could be stewards over this special place. The secret garden could be realized.
There have been several road blocks over the last 4 weeks-barriers to this land purchase, which are not useful for our story. Accept to say that sometimes when something is right there is opposition. We fight our way through it with faith that those feelings of right are from Heaven.
and in the end our fight is rewarded. And we feel grateful for the process. Because when the obstacles have been removed or overcome we see that we are stronger for the experience, the challenge brings the growth.
The day after we were in possession of the keys to the secret garden John and I were alone together standing in front of the fireplace that Mr. Quist had warmed his young self by the fire. My heart swelled with gratitude and I felt completely and totally content to make this spot our homestead and raise our family with new stories of duty and service, faith and fire to stoke the flames of our children's faith.
One week later, unexpectedly, I received a phone call from the friend who had arranged my meeting with Mr. Quist. She explained that Surprisingly he had passed away that morning. His signing over the land to us was his final" item of business" before his health rapidly declined and his time was ended.
Surprise, gratitude, awe, tenderness all were felt as I heard the news. If the land had not been sold to us before his passing it would have been mired in a very large estate, mixed with a partnership that had been difficult to navigate...the secret garden would have been impossible not only to acquire, but to preserve.
So, with such a turn of events, we can only feel more privileged and more responsible to maintain and honor this beautiful new family homestead.
No comments:
Post a Comment