If you read Praying Upside Down, you know that in 2007 my husband and I owned two houses for two years because we couldn’t sell the first one. In the process, I began praying for the woman, whoever she was, who would someday buy the house. Doing so opened my eyes to seeing answers to prayer that I didn’t expect. It was hard but overall really beautiful.

What I didn’t know is how much post-traumatic anxiety I would feel the next time I sold my house. We put our house on the market recently. My husband owns a small garage where he works on his project truck, I own the building where my dad had his studio, and we have a 5-bedroom house—but we also happen to be empty nesters. Our three kids live in three different states and rarely make it home. We wanted to simplify. Downsize. Sell one of our three properties—the house—and have that money for when we’re ready to retire. Easy-peasy. We have a beautiful old house, and have made all the updates people usually want. It’s a good market right now. Spring is a great time to sell. So we listed the house and waited eagerly for all the showings.

Zip.

Our realtor scheduled an open house. Guess how many people came? Two—one set were friends of mine who weren’t looking for a house but wanted to stop by, and the other was the realtor’s wife.

Crickets.

Cue the angst and some deep thinking, which went something like this: If God never disappoints, if God always lives up to His promises, then the only conclusion I’m left with when something disappointing happens is this: It’s me. I’m the disappointment.

This is the narrative in my head:

• I should pray about my house, about selling it.
• But I can’t, because I didn’t pray about it before we made the decision.
• I can’t ask God to bless my plans if I didn’t consult God in the first place.
• God won’t help because of my failings. It’s my fault. He’s going to teach me a lesson.
• Last time we had a house for sale, I wrote a book about it. I called it my greatest testimony. Now I’m sure God won’t help with this, because what kind of testimony would it be if I made these plans on my own?
• I’m screwed and there’s nothing I can do about it now.

The narrative in my heart is all but drowned out, but this is what my heart knows:

Here’s the truth. I’m lonely. I miss communing with God. At night, when I cocoon myself in God’s presence as I drift to sleep, it is such a welcome relief. I sink into it, relieved. Released. And I rest. Yet turning back to God in the way I used to feels like discounting all of my valid issues with popular American Christianity and my previous faith communities. It feels like selling out.

Getting God back also feels like something I don’t deserve because I’m not doing all the things I’ve been taught. When I try to read the Bible, I have panic attacks, so I just don’t read. When I try to pray, I don’t know what to say. Telling God He is good, the way I used to always begin, feels disingenuous—if I really believed that, wouldn’t I have come back sooner? And am I just praying now to try to cover my bases? I shouldn’t get to use this prayer tool for my benefit if I haven’t been using it regularly.

Let me be clear: I still believe. I have always believed. I am deeply in love with the lover of my soul. That hasn’t changed. The way I actively practice my faith has changed, but the core of it has not. I believe in grace above all else. It is the very foundation of my faith, of my beliefs about who God is and why and how I am beloved. I know this to be true, in the deepest part of my spirit.

But my head still carries echoes of condemnation. It keeps telling me I am not deserving, that I need to be punished for pulling back, for leaving my old church, for having my doubts, for not being certain any longer about if or how prayer or a relationship with the Divine actually works.

So I reverted to my most basic prayer, one I can’t explain or justify, but all my soul had to offer: Lord Jesus, please. Maybe it would change nothing. Maybe I hadn’t learned my lesson. Maybe God is not so easily swayed. But it’s a prayer that I believe goes straight to God’s heart. If only I understood exactly what I was asking for.

And guess what? That evening we had a showing, and that family made an offer. It was a contingency offer, but they sold their house in a few days and now we’re moving towards closing. It’s not a done deal yet—we have to go through inspections and all of that. But everything is moving forward like it’s supposed to.

A friend tried to help me make sense of it this way. She said maybe the prayer was answered long before it was even prayed. Perhaps it was buffered, in a way. Already done, but just not yet released, not because I had to jump through some kind of hoop, but because I wasn’t ready.

I don’t know if that’s true. I haven’t worked through the theological implications of that kind of thinking. All I know is that I’m grateful for what has happened, and I’m beyond grateful that God always, always, always, always welcomes me back. God never condemns me for whatever questions I have, for whatever actions I don’t do—or things I do that I should not. God just gently, lovingly, steers me back towards him.

I still don’t have everything all figured out. I will likely never stop wrestling, asking, wondering. I’ve always believed that’s okay. Better than okay. Because the way I am made means I may never stop looking, and God seems to always be willing to be found. A perfect pairing, no matter how imperfect my process.

We’ve encountered several delays on the remodeling of the part of my studio building where Tim and I will live. I’m frantically juggling inspections, contractors, delivery people, and more, all while packing boxes and filling a dumpster. And yet it all feels good. We’re scheduled to move in the next couple weeks and close in less than a month. We’ll see. But I feel peace that this is where we are supposed to be. Relief at letting go of all the stuff, all the responsibilities of maintaining a larger property. And hope, for a fresh start in a new-ish place. For changes I haven’t yet anticipated, for new people and opportunities. We’re only moving 15 minutes away, but into a place where I love to be. Stay tuned for updates after we get moved and settled.

[The red quote graphic at the top of this post is from the release of my book back in 2015. I believed it then. I still believe it now. I just… temporarily… lost sight of what I knew to be true.]