We'd been saying for years that we wanted to downsize to a ranch house, that Brett was getting too heavy to carry up and down the stairs, that we didn't need all that house, all that upkeep.

We were forever looking, but never finding. Our friend was showing a home in our subdivision and told his clients that, eventually (when said ranch was found), our house would be on the market.  

Turns out, our house was exactly what they were looking for, in fact, they felt that our house was meant to be their house. We had nowhere to go, but they made us a really good offer...surely we could trust God to find us a home? 

As the closing date neared, I became more and more discouraged. Houses were selling before we even got a chance to look at them. Bob and I weren't agreeing on things and my biggest prayer had been that we'd be on the same page, that we'd both know it when we found the right place. Now I wanted to take it all back. I started asking what would happen if we decided not to sell after all. Could they sue us, would they sue us? 

 A few days before the closing, Bob was doing his usual crawl through neighborhoods looking for "for sale" signs. He pulled up next to a yard filled with furniture. He learned from a neighbor that the house had been sold, but the sale had fallen through and they were planning on listing it with a realtor in the next few days.  

Through pure determination, Bob was able to track down the attorney in charge of the estate and asked if we could come see it before they listed it. I wasn't enthused, but I was trying to be open minded. 

As soon as we walked through the door, I could envision us living there. I raced ahead of Bob, practically running from room to room. I was coming up from the basement when Bob stopped me and said that I wouldn't believe my eyes when I looked in the garage, there were tears in his eyes.  I seriously doubted anything about a garage could wow me that much, but whatever. I opened the door and there it was--a beautiful wheelchair ramp!  

I whispered to Bob that we needed to make an offer. I had little doubt in my mind that the previous owner had spent the last years of his life doing little more than smoking, urinating and installing shelves in the basement. 

The "finished" basement was divided into nine rooms, most of them large closets with wall to wall shelving. And what was up with all the electrical outlets? Oh. My. Word. There are 121 outlets in the basement alone. Seriously. I counted them just for this blog. We made a low ball offer; I tried to justify the offer by driving home the stench, the filth, the beyond weird basement. She thought it was ridiculously low, but agreed to present it and get back with us the following week.

We had a wish list of all the things we wanted. This house had all of them, even the piddly things way, way down on our list. I was afraid to get too excited about how insanely perfect it all was, how in awe I felt at God's perfect timing, because what if it wasn't meant to be? We didn't have to wait long, she called Bob first thing Monday morning to let us know they accepted our offer, they didn't even counter it. 

We never want to get over the miracle of finding this house, it truly is more than we could have asked for or imagined and we are very, very thankful.