I grew up in the country.  Our home was on a hill.  The first window one looked out in the morning was the one with a view across a valley with the sun rising over the hill on the other side and a wide open sky above.  Why did one look out that window?  To see the sun rise.  To see the day, each day a little different from the day before…

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“The Little House”  by Virginia Lee Burton was one of my favorite childhood books.  I checked it out of the library often.

That was many years ago.  It came to mind this past week.  The little house is a lot like me.  I’m happier on the hill top than in the city canyons.  I need to see the day.  I love to see the sun rise.  And to see it set.

There was a week between houses – between the last phone call regarding the house I had been pursuing for the last 6 months and the house I’m in the process of buying.  It was a busy week.  I had to come to some new conclusions before the new house came on the market.

On Sunday I saw a house that was “me”.  There was hardly anything I would change.  It was done very well and the layout was great.  It was beautiful.  And it had a view out the back of a natural area with a lake beyond.  The room I would use as my studio, my work, would overlook the woods and lake.  Except for the price, it was very appealing.  It was also the house that convinced me of what it was I was really looking for.

One of the things I came to realize was I really didn’t want a house that was “me”, that had little I would change.  How would that work?  How would I explain to others that I, a designer, had someone else design my home?  Would I have to give out someone else’s business cards?  It confirmed that what I really needed, even wanted, despite  the work and mess it would mean, was an ugly house – one I could do something with.  And one the woodwork police would not get hysterical about.

That house was also in a “good” neighborhood (white talk for a white neighborhood).  I’m in a “good” neighborhood now.  What would be the point of moving?  And why would I move there?  Anyone could live there.  I wanted to live where others would not or could not live.  I concluded the house needed to be in Minneapolis’s Near North – a neighborhood I have yet to have a white person, other than my realtor, encourage me to move to.   I want to be where I can possibly do some good,  to be in a Brian (from Louisiana) neighborhood, a place where there are kids struggling with things they need help struggling against and where the struggle is stacked against them.  It’s good to give one’s life for others.  I want to live good.

I also concluded  that I really needed a house to be where it had a view of nature, of a natural area like that one house had – for my sanity.  I realized that, for me, home is not just for being involved in other’s lives, it’s also a refuge, and a respite – a place to get away from helping others, from people.  It’s also where I work.  It’s where I live.  What I see from it can be all I see on a given day.  It’s “The Little House” in me.

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And it would be great to have a nature area for the kids I hope to help – kids feeling trapped, kids needing to get out of the city, kids who need a view.

Having fine-tuned what it was I was looking for I decided to take a different approach to looking. I decided instead of looking at what was available, to look at what I wanted, or more specifically, what I felt God wanted. I pulled out my chart, pulled up the internet and started eliminating – first neighborhoods, then blocks.  Eventually, it came down to one block.  And to just one side of that block.  Six homes.

None for sale.

I chose the house I liked the best – the best-looking one, googled until I found the phone number, and called to see if they were interested in selling.  The lady who answered seemed a bit upset with me, said no, and hung up.

I ruled out that house.

There were 5 other houses.  One had just sold a couple months ago so I knew that one was out.  I was down to 4 houses.  Two of these looked to be multiple floor living – I was looking for one floor.  Down to 2 –  one rather small and verging on ugly, and one that looked to be nicer.  I decided to talk to the owner of the nicer one in person rather than by phone.   But first I needed to get a haircut.

The next morning, for some reason, I decided to take a quick look at the MLS.  It proved critical.  There, to my surprise, on “my” block was a little green monopoly-looking house icon with a “NEW” flag waving over it meaning there was a new house for sale on “my” block.  It wasn’t there last night.  It was so new there were not even photos posted yet.  I had to go to the county records and google street maps to see which house this was.

It was the little almost ugly one.

Bummer.

Then it was as if someone whispered in my ear, “You goof, you WANT the ugly one”.

Hmmm…

There it was.

I hadn’t even gotten my haircut.

Having just reevaluated what I was looking for and having just done a city-wide search, the house that best fit my 60 plus list of needs/desires came up for sale – within hours.  It was instantaneous if one only counts business hours.

I didn’t even pray.  It seemed redundant.   What was there to pray about?   Show me which house?

I called my realtor.  She had not seen it on the MLS yet.  She was busy all day but was free after 6PM.  We set it up to look at it then.

I went to get a haircut.

Met my realtor  at the house.  The house proved to be what I’ve been looking for (just had not fully realized what I was looking for until last night).  It has a floorplan that works better than any house I’ve looked at.  The living room is on the backside with views of nature.   It has an entry that also leads to the lower level – a walkout – which will work great for having another(s) live with me.  It’s small, but small done well.  It has woodwork that has style and will look beautiful painted while staying under the radar of the woodwork police.  And it’s in need of a lot of work.  It’s perfectly ugly in all the right ways.

I noticed my realtor had a copy of the listing with photos.  I asked if the photos were posted on the internet now?  She said yes and then with a puzzled voice asked, “You didn’t see the photos?  I said, “No.”  She, knowing me, was a bit surprised I would want to see a house sight unseen.

As we were leaving, she said, “Look, you have a view of the skyline in the winter when the trees are bare.”  Wow.  Skyline view was on my list of desires but not a have-to-have.  Now we’re into bonus stuff.

I then went to check out the backyard. By the backyard I mean Wirth Park – Minneapolis’s largest park – almost as big as New York’s Central Park – 790 acres of woods, hills, creeks and lakes with every recreational activity possible.  This home actually consists of two lots,  It has a second lot behind it that adjoins Wirth Park – no roads or streets between.   The second lot is woodland and goes to the bottom of the hill. The home sits on top of the hill overlooking nature.  It is all one sees out the back which faces west – where the sun sets.

As I walked around “my” backyard I kept getting distracted by the wildlife that did not seem very wild. Two deer kept a watchful eye.  The ducks were dodging tree limbs as they explored the creek. The rabbits did their hopping thing. The creek, while not a lake, is a great feature of the park.  It flows between ponds through a wooded valley with white pine.

Home as respite.

I knew this was it.  And I knew I didn’t dare waste time. The most recent sale for a home on this block sold for asking price within days of hitting the market.  Called my realtor the next day and said I wanted to buy it.

Now to a realtor, especially to one who has seen me pursue a very elegant, classic home for the last 6 months, to see me switch to a house that is none of the things the other house is, and to decide, in what amounted to hours, to buy it, had to raise some questions as to just who it was she was working with.

When I arrived at her office the next morning to make an offer on the home, she said she had bad news – the owner’s agent had already received another offer.  She said, luckily, I still had time to make an offer as the owner was not available to accept the other offer for a couple more hours.  As long as we could get my offer to the seller’s agent before the seller and her met, I still had a chance.  I said let’s do it.

Having another offer on the table changes how one goes about this.  My offer could not be contingent on my house selling.  Price had to beat the other offer – an offer with an undisclosed dollar amount.  I asked how many chances I had to beat the other offer.  One.

I asked my agent what she thought I should offer.  She said to be safe I probably needed to offer asking price.  I thought a bit and concluded that if that was my realtor’s strategy, it would likely be the other realtor’s strategy also.  The other party would be notified that there was another offer and would be given a chance to raise their offer.

I said lets go $1,500 over asking.

The result?

Whew!  I got it, but not by much and not until I had secured some family financial backing (my house has not yet sold).  The seller’s agent said she didn’t know how I came up with the number I offered, but said it was just enough to be over the other offer.  Her words, “It was the perfect number.”

It’s the perfect little almost ugly house   …from which one can see the sun set   …with day following day   …each a little different from the day before.

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These were my thoughts two weeks ago, as I hung up the phone after another long circular discussion with the owner of the house I had been negotiating to buy.  I knew I would not be calling him back. For all that seemed right about the house, it wasn’t right.

Why?

It’s not like I didn’t know what I was looking for. I have a spreadsheet with 60 some items I desire in a home – each weighted according to importance. There’s really more than 60 items. I just stopped at 60 as …well …I got sick of weighing them every time I came across another possibility.  It also seemed like a cold way to determine “home”. But it does help to sort priorities when desires and needs get confused.

You see, I didn’t just start this search last fall. I’ve been searching, off and on, for years.

For a house!?

Well…  it’s a bit more than just a house.  I’m looking for a place with a purpose beyond home.  I’m looking for a place that is first and foremost for people,  a place that is safe for inner city kids, a place with a design studio, a gallery for photography,  a garden for beauty, a park for recreation and exercise, a place conducive to writing, a place I can just lock the door and leave for Russia or Louisiana or wherever, a place that is accessible for the handicapped and works as an assisted living home for one with Parkinson’s, a place that is a respite for an introvert, a place to spend time alone with God, and a place where I can be amongst the people God would have me be amongst.

Is this a house?

If it can happen in a house great, but I’m not so much looking for a house as I am a place to fulfill the purposes God has given.  I’ve looked at condos, lofts, raw warehouse space, auto garages, storefronts, industrial buildings, gyms, mansions, churches, and vacant lots. You name it, I’ve probably considered it.

I have found it can be a bit of a challenge to explain these things to real estate agents.   None of the things they use to market a property – hardwood floors, stainless appliances, granite countertops, made my spreadsheet.

Ultimately, there’s only one criteria that matters – God.  Where would he have me be?

And how would I know?

He could make this so much simpler by just taking a few clouds and spelling it out. I know he can do “t”s.

photo | Te

In the end, God didn’t need to write anything in the sky.  As events unfolded these past two weeks, it was pretty clear to me God was in control.  The orchestration had God written all over it.

What happened?   Coming in the next post.

I’ll tell you this:  No more open houses!!!  No more conversations like this one at a condo:

Agent, “Been looking long?”

Me, “A few years.”

“Do you have an agent?”

“God.”

“Looking for a condo?”

“I don’t know.”

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And yes, the ice melted – see previous post When Ice Melts – but I was mistaken about the homeowner’s heart. What I took his email to mean and what the homeowner meant it to mean were two different things. In short, nothing had changed. He was throwing me bones, but there was no meat on them.

While I was becoming less comfortable working with him, the actual reason we didn’t do a purchase agreement came down to one issue neither of us were willing to compromise on (an issue a real estate attorney counseled me not to compromise on).  Our last conversation ended with an understanding that if I did not get back to him the next morning that he would put the house on the market.

I didn’t get back to him.

While this issue was enough to let the house go, there were  a growing list of other reasons.

One day, as I sat with the homeowner in his living room and as he was going on and on about how meticulously he had restored his home, my mind drifted.  I thought, “What a shame that I was going to paint all this rather well preserved woodwork.”  I’m personally not a woodwork-to-die-for person. I don’t have to see the lines in the wood to appreciate wood. I can appreciate white woodwork for its form which I will argue is better appreciated without the lines.  Besides, why did God give us paint?

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And not just was it going to be a shame, it was going to be a pain.  The house had many windows, many mullions, many with leaded glass …and bevels. They were beautiful.  And would be even more beautiful framed in white rather than oak with its busy grain pattern.  But then I thought of how much life I was going to give to painting just the windows…

…And the ongoing need to wash them.  I’m not a big window washing person.  I can see through a lot of dirt before I see the dirt.  I like clean windows.  I just like a lot of things more than cleaning them.

And the wood floors he had spent weeks upon weeks refinishing himself?  Too orange.   I was going to refinish.  And the crystal wall sconces he spent 15 minutes telling me the story of how long and carefully he painted around them?  Too fussy.   They were going to be the first lights to go.  The crystal chandeliers in the living room?  Too much.  Too over-the-top.   The built-in buffet?  Was in the way of the too-small kitchen getting bigger.

I was able to convince myself that once I owned the house I was free to do whatever I wanted with it.  Yet the woodwork nagged me.  I knew I would have to answer to many for painting it.  I even tried to think of ways to get it painted before anyone saw the wood.  But I know wood people.  They will ask.  And I will have to answer to them.

What I came to realize is that I didn’t really need a beautiful house. In fact, what I actually needed was an ugly house.  I needed one I could do whatever I wanted with and stay under the radar of the woodwork police.

So, in the end, I decided to stay with the advice I was given and not compromise on a not-to-be-compromised issue.  While I will never understand why the homeowner  wouldn’t compromise – he, in reality, had nothing to lose, I understand a God who’s loving-kindness directs hearts:  Mine away from the house.  The homeowner’s away from compromise.

It took the homeowner 10 days to put the house on the market. It showed up on Monday.

Monday was the day the seller accepted my offer for the house I wasn’t looking at buying.

Makes one wonder what God thinks of painted woodwork.

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My realtor says we have a signed purchase agreement!

…it’s just not for the house I was looking to buy.

…it’s the house I want to buy.

Life is not dull.

No two mornings the same.

God’s lovingkindness new with every sun rising.

(Story to follow.)

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Friday morning I woke up relieved.  The negotiations with the owner had become more and more tense.  I was glad it was over.  I went back to surfing the real estate listings.

Friday afternoon I got a call from my agent who had gotten a call from the owner’s new agent wondering if there wasn’t a way to make this work.  We discussed a possible scenario, but I wasn’t sure, at this point, even if the owner changed his stance that I would go for it.  I was tired of negotiating.

I heard nothing back from the owner. I assumed we were done for good.

Sunday was our family Easter.  It was a great day of being away.

Monday I noticed the ice was going out of the lake.  There was a wind blowing over its face speeding the process.

I don’t recall the ice ever going out in March. The neighbor said the same.

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Te | Photo
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Late Monday I got an email from the owner via agents with new wording for the purchase agreement. It changed the owner’s requirement to fit with mine.  It kept what needed to be kept for me. He gave me till Wednesday, today, to accept.

It was like the ice – a rock hard unmovable absolute that had to be in the agreement had melted.  What one could drive a truck over had been transformed into glass – crystal  - cut and shaped into intricate forms reflecting light. A thing of beauty.

It seems that he who can direct a heart wherever he wishes, can also melt one.

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Last Wednesday was going to be the big day.  We were going to, hopefully, finalize and sign the purchase agreement.  We have essentially spent the last week going back and forth between curved lines and straight lines and whether or not they should be connected to reality visually or simply in one’s mind.

I spent time in the morning going over the agreement.  I wanted to go into this meeting with it fresh in my mind.   I knew the owner was going to propose some changes.   He had said on the phone we needed a blank copy.  I asked why.  He said his was too marked up to use.  Egads.

Well, going over the purchase agreement took longer than planned.  Legal mumpo jumpo.  Before I could leave he called.  I did not answer.  He left a message saying he’s been sitting looking out his window for 20 minutes.   Bad way to start a meeting.

We couldn’t sit at the dining room table because he has it full of stacks of papers related to the selling of his house.  I’m wondering why I only have one stack.

We sit down in the living room.   I sit down on the sofa that one falls into.  The view out the windows is of the park and the white pines.

We start where he wants to start – not at the beginning.  It’s a rather slow, ardeous, process.  A half hour goes by.  We have finished one line.   Over four hours later, we finally finish.

I head down to my real estate agent’s office to have the agreed-to wording put into a final document.  The real estate agents’ roles in this are a story in themselves.   Maybe later.

I’m comfortable with the agreement the owner and I have worked out with the exception of one thing – how it is determined the monies in escrow are released.  My agent agrees with my concern.  I call a real estate attorney.  She also agrees.

Now this may not seem a big thing, but it is the one thing the owner says he will not compromise on.  Instead of heading back to the house, I head home.  From there I call the owner and tell him I can’t sign it as he insists it must be.  I spend a couple hours on the internet researching more.  It all warns against doing what he insists on doing.

It’s now Thursday.  The owner and I have a long phone conversation in the morning.   We talk again in the evening.  We’re hung up.  We reach a point where there’s nothing more to say.  We say goodbye.

This walk we had been on has had its bumps and rough spots.  We had, however, gotten around and over them.  Now it seemed we had hit the wall – too high to get over, too wide to get around.

A walk that ends at a wall seems purposeless.  God says not.

My nose hurts.

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“Your sense of timing is impeccable.”  So began the reply to my offer on Monday.  It was followed by a list of 4 issues that needed to be resolved.  Issue 1 was about paying real estate agents.   Issues 2, 3, and 4 were not listed.  I knew why.

I first saw the house last fall when it was listed with an agent.  I was new to North Minneapolis.  I had been looking South.  I spent time researching.  The agent was very helpful.  At one point I made an informal offer. Too low.  In December the owner canceled the contract with the agent and took the property off the market for the winter.

In January, I contacted the agent and asked her what would keep me from going directly to the homeowner.   Nothing.

I contacted the owner and we started negotiating.  Last week I made an offer that included a stipulation for agent compensation.  I felt, even though he had no contract obligation to pay the agent, it was due to the agent’s work that we were even talking.  The agent had done much work promoting the property for the owner.  He replied with a price and terms beyond what I was willing to do.  He did not mention the agent.  Monday morning I dropped off a new offer that did not meet his terms.  He accepted  …but without the stipulation that he pay the agent.

I responded by telling him why I felt he owed the agent some compensation.  He didn’t like my sermon and I got a rather testy email back.

I now had a choice – to stand up for what I felt was right or let it go.  What was more important to me – the house or people?  I decided  to say what I felt needed to be said and  leave the consequences to God.  I concluded my reply with this:

“For me,   …its about treating people as you would like them to treat you.  It’s about loving others as yourself.  And its about standing up for what is right.  It’s why I’m looking at moving into North Minneapolis in the first place”.

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I doubt my reply followed any rules of good negotiating.  I shared my response with the agent.  She replied:

“If there is an award out there for “the most patient, reflective and fair” person, I would nominate you.  I applaud your ability to keep a cool head through this, and to stick to your principals…”

I did not hear back that day from the owner.

Wednesday I got a lengthy reply.  It started:  ”First off, let me say ‘congratulations’  just for the tone of yesterday’s e-mail.”   He said he had consulted a couple other realtors and they both recommended the same thing when it came to compensating the agent.  He did not say what that was, but he’s at least thinking about it.

Purchase agreement?   Not yet.

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This morning, I drove North to the house in North.   Rang the doorbell.  Wasn’t sure it worked as I didn’t hear anything.  Concluded it did when the owner opened the door.  I handed him the envelope with the three page letter I had edited down to one page and said, “A new offer.”  He took it and replied, “I’ll read it.”

I knew he would read it.  I doubted he would accept it. He had sent a rather firmly worded email last week stating his price and terms. I was meeting neither.

I wanted to get the offer to him yesterday.  I had finished the letter and was ready to head out the door, offer in hand, when I stopped.  Knowing I hadn’t really talked to God about this, and feeling uncomfortable having not, I decided to wait until this morning.

There was also this other pleasantly irritating issue that came up yesterday.  As I was raking the lawn, sometimes raking snow, once-in-a-while praying, I realized how rarely I actually ask others to pray for me.  I wondered why.  I wondered if I rely a bit too much on myself.

This morning before I left, I posted a “status” on Facebook.  I was not totally comfortable doing such, but felt it was what God wanted – others to be a part.  My morning Facebook “status”:

Dropping off an offer for a N Mpls house this morning. Appreciate prayers. Want to live where He desires, where there’s needs He, through me, can meet, and where my life will count. Thanks much.

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I got back in the parked car, drove a couple blocks, and parked.  I wanted to pray   …in the park.

As I walked, I crossed the park’s basketball court.  Very nice.  I’ll have to buy a basketball.

I walked up the park’s mountain to the bench I had knelt at last fall, where I first prayed about moving North and about this house.  It was mud where I had knelt before.  I put my knee on the bench – symbolic enough.  Prayed to the only one who knows what’s best, the one who turns hearts wherever he wishes.

Looked towards downtown – the skyline rising.  Decided I needed to talk to the park people about taking out some trees, some big trees – they will hide the skyline come leaf season …and the bench needs to be moved.

Wondered what to call this place, this mountain.  Still wondering.

I walked back to the car  - praying and looking across at the house through the beautiful trees – oaks and white pine.  I wondered things about the branches that had obviously been broken off.

As I neared the car there was a drummer drumming in the parking lot.  Thought, “It’d be great to live where people have a sense of beat.”

Got home. Checked e-mail. There was this from the owner:

Your sense of timing is impeccable. I spent 4 hours Thursday and 5 3/4 hours on Friday with my new agent-to-be. I didn’t sign the new contract Friday because I had one more issue to resolve. She was coming at 10:00 A.M. this morning with the contract. I would have signed by 11:00 or 11:30 A.M. and we’d be on the market within a few days.  I called her at 9:10 to postpone our meeting.

Wow!  That was unexpected.  And was while I was in the park praying  …to the one who changes hearts.

Impeccable timing?   Nothing was timed.

Impeccable God.

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