I haven’t been able to write for the past few days. Too many things have been happening. Changes not just in my own life, but in the lives of people I deeply love. And in the middle of all that, I was reminded, once again, that God has a way of removing people from our lives when they no longer belong there.
He hears conversations we never hear. He sees intentions we cannot see. He knows what people hide behind smiles and silence. And because of that, I am learning to trust Him more. Truly trust Him. Because no matter how carefully we plan, our plans will never be greater than what He already has prepared for us.
Case in point.
I just finished cleaning and organizing the house we’ve been living in from October to December. Finally, it felt about eighty percent the way I wanted it to look and feel. I let go of so much clutter. Broken things. Items we were keeping “just in case.” Things that stayed purely for sentimental reasons, but no longer hold meaning for me. If I’m being honest, I probably got rid of half of what was inside the house.
And it felt good.
The space became functional. Intentional. The way I like it. Condiments on the counter where they’re easy to reach. Knives and chopping boards together. Food staples are visible, so I know exactly what we have and what we need. Everything finally made sense.
And then, just like that, the landlady came and told us they needed the house back.
It was for a valid reason. That’s why I wasn’t angry. I was sad, not mad. Suddenly, we were faced with the reality that we had to move again.
I didn’t panic, even though I felt it creeping in. I reminded myself of something life has taught me again and again. Everything happens for a reason.
A few days ago, we looked at five houses for rent. None of them felt right. They didn’t have the energy I was looking for. So I prayed and told God I was going to be specific.
I asked for a home that feels right the moment I walk in. A welcoming space. No dark corners. White floors that are easy to clean. No overly high ceilings, just enough space to move and breathe. A place that feels light.
And then yesterday, we looked at just one house.
From the outside alone, I already felt it. This is nice. This is different. It was within the maximum budget we set. The garage was spacious. The house was well-lit. It sat in a quiet neighborhood. The floors were white and marbled, practical and easy to maintain. The kitchen had plenty of cabinets. Enough space to finally organize properly.
There was even a dirty kitchen that could be screened so insects wouldn’t come in. Something I specifically wanted so I could actually use and maximize the space.
It’s a three-floor house, though only two floors are livable. The third floor is a roof deck. A space we can turn into something meaningful. Small dinners. Barbecues. Quiet nights. Mini camping for the husband and K. A place where friends can gather. A place we can make feel like home.
And I felt grateful. Truly grateful.
As for my sister, who is going through her own life-changing season, I feel hopeful. I know things will get better for her. Every ending always carries a beginning. I hope she finds herself. I hope she learns to love herself. I see so much of my past in what she’s going through now.
And while our mom is no longer here, I am. I can tell her the things our mom once told me. I pray she listens. Not because I know better, but because I know how much those words mattered to me when I needed them most.
So these past four days have been about change. About surrender. About trusting God’s perfect timing. About not rushing. About letting go. About believing, even when things feel uncertain, that there is always something better waiting.
And that, to me, is a perfect life.
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