As of last week, we are selling our house.

Well, trying to anyway.

Just a few days after I soapboxed about not missing out on my children’s precious little lives because of something silly like cleaning house, I found myself cleaning house. A lot.

We were getting ready to show it to a couple of prospective buyers, and suddenly all these kids that I was supposed to be enjoying were really getting on my nerves.

I need this house spotless! No Legos, Christian Hall! No snacks! No books! Disaster follows you, boy! Who got out these colored pencils? No one here may have fun, you hear me! No one!

So it’s been fun…


These children? Getting on your nerves, you say? Never!

We’re trying to buy a small farm, you see.

It’s about 10 minutes away, sits on seven acres and a river, and includes a ramshackle cool workshop that Josh salivates over and a dilapidated cool barn where he envisions hosting barn dances and I envision children plummeting from haylofts and breaking expensive bones.

The thing is, we dreamed of this farm for five years. We’ve prayed for it continually for five years. We talked about it so much our kids now refer it as “our farm” and ask when we’re going to move and how many rabbits they can have in the needs-to-be-turned-into-scrap-lumber cool rabbit hutch.

Also, we have a lot of work to do on this farm. In case I didn’t mention that already.


That’s the scary thing about dreams. You know how extra bad it’s gonna hurt if it all falls through. And it very well could. There are many details, many contingencies, many points where one problem could put a stop to the whole thing and it would be over. Our shared, family vision five-years-in-coming could come to an end.

Just. Like. That.

And then I get afraid. Because if it doesn’t pan out, if it does all fall through, what happens next, God?


I found a verse. I love it. If I was tattoo-er, I might go so far as to make my love for it permanent. But instead, I’ll just memorize it.

It says, “The fruit of righteousness will be peace; the effect of righteousness will be quietness and confidence forever” (Isaiah 32:17).

Yep. That’s what I want, right there: Peace. Quietness. Confidence.

I’m not suggesting that I’m righteous, mind you. (If you’ve read this blog very long, I’m hoping you’ve gathered that by now.) Besides, “There is no one righteous, not even one” (Romans 3:10).

But I think of Abraham, who was certainly not perfect either, and how Genesis 15:6 records that he “believed the Lord, and he credited to him as righteousness.”

God had made Abraham a wild promise, and Abraham believed. Simple as that. And, if scripture can be trusted—and I’m betting my life that it can—then God has not changed.

So let’s do the math:

Abraham + Believing God = Righteousness.

Righteousness = Peace, Quietness, and Confidence.


Believing God = Peace, Quietness, and Confidence.

This house. I love you and your two, red front doors. But I must sell you. Pronto. No hard feelings, eh?

This house. I love you and your two red front doors. But I must sell you. Pronto. No hard feelings, eh?

Selling our house is stressful. Buying the farm is insane.

But we are believing God.

It could all go beautifully. Every form could pass through the bank without hiccup. A buyer could offer us full price on our house today. We could win a bazillion dollars and host that barn dance and invite all of you loyal readers and install a railing in the hayloft.


The farm could not appraise for what the seller’s asking. A home inspection could reveal a major problem. Our house could sit on the market for (gulp) years.

But it does not matter.

We don’t know what happens next, but we are believing God. Because believing God yields peace, quietness and confidence, no matter the situation. Good or bad. Sell or no sell. Farm or no farm.

God does not change, nor do his promises. Believing him today still yields the same blessings it did for Abraham thousands of years ago.

Peace. Quietness. Confidence. Righteousness.

So, I believe, it’s worth believing him.

So let’s do, shall we? Let’s believe him together.

Where can you believe him today? Right now? This moment?