We’re at the stage of moving where our house is being shown to total strangers. Today the second set of prospective buyers will walk through our front door. We won’t be here, we’ll leave them to wander about our abode in peace, but it feels like an invasion of our privacy, our personal space. It feels like … we’re almost homeless.
First we had to de-clutter the house. That’s real estate agent speak for, “Hide everything that makes your house feel like your home.” The idea is that prospective buyers can picture their own homey clutter covering your space. The family photos are all packed in boxes. The treasured mementos are carefully wrapped and stored away. The counter tops are bare.
So this morning I’ll clean like a fiend, hide all aspects of our Easter celebration, and scrub the house of who we are. Then I’ll drive to town, maybe Subway for lunch, and try not to think about the people who are poking around in the space we’ve known as home these past 14.5 years.
It’s an odd feeling. Part of me hoping that the prospective buyers will fall in love with the house, the barns, and the land. Part of me hoping that they won’t because we don’t have another house to move into yet. Part of me just … well … very unsettled about the whole process.
“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys, and where thieves do not break in or steal; for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. ~ Matthew 6:19-21
I know, Lord. We should hold the things of this world loosely. But sometimes it’s just hard.