Little House on Maple Street - Why Bigger May Not Be Best
by Sandy Arena on 04/27/13
We are attempting to sell our little house here on Maple Street. We moved here eight years ago when Alexis was just turning 13, and Caleb was three years old, and Annaliese was a wee, one-year-old.
It was 2005, the year I ran a marathon and was turning 40. It was also the year God was preparing our family to run/open a dance school and ministry. We felt a divine urgency to downsize from the big house we had been living in. Really divine and really urgent. It was part of the preparation process for the dance school, we know now, in retrospect. We sacrificed much for that call and add to the list a big home.
Our former home - the big, 3300 sq. ft. house -- was an incredibly beautiful, one-hundred year old farmhouse with character galore, and grand rooms set upon several acres of land. Our front lawn was the size of a football field and there was a long, gravel driveway that cut down the middle. The house sat beneath stunning, white birch trees and was surrounded by rolling hills and forest areas. Indoors was equally as grand, including a dining room you could host a banquet in, which one time we did when held a 30-person, sit-down dinner in that room for our church group.
The big house in all it's glory though became quite the task for us to maintain, care and pay for. Something was always breaking down or rotting or coming apart. Old+Big=Alot of Work and Expensive. One night, for example, right after Annaliese was born, I walked into that massive dining room only to find an indoor rain shower taking place! The ceiling was literally caving in! And with each new, necessary "fix" and renovation, the big house became more magazine perfect, as the bankroll became more precisely drained.
But the money/upkeep wasn't the only problem. At least not for me. There was something else nagging at my soul. I was lonely in that big house. Fairly new in town with not a lot of close, nearby friends; no social media at that time; home all day with little ones while Alexis was away at school; and Sam working long hours - our big house with the big acres sometimes left my big heart feeling empty. I wanted neighbors and passerbys, and less land between me and the next human being. And while the deer and the ducks and the foxes and all the incredible wildlife we saw on our property was thrilling and fun, I was longing for human contact.
Our Little House on Maple Street
It was 2005, the year I ran a marathon and was turning 40. It was also the year God was preparing our family to run/open a dance school and ministry. We felt a divine urgency to downsize from the big house we had been living in. Really divine and really urgent. It was part of the preparation process for the dance school, we know now, in retrospect. We sacrificed much for that call and add to the list a big home.
Our former home - the big, 3300 sq. ft. house -- was an incredibly beautiful, one-hundred year old farmhouse with character galore, and grand rooms set upon several acres of land. Our front lawn was the size of a football field and there was a long, gravel driveway that cut down the middle. The house sat beneath stunning, white birch trees and was surrounded by rolling hills and forest areas. Indoors was equally as grand, including a dining room you could host a banquet in, which one time we did when held a 30-person, sit-down dinner in that room for our church group.
The big house in all it's glory though became quite the task for us to maintain, care and pay for. Something was always breaking down or rotting or coming apart. Old+Big=Alot of Work and Expensive. One night, for example, right after Annaliese was born, I walked into that massive dining room only to find an indoor rain shower taking place! The ceiling was literally caving in! And with each new, necessary "fix" and renovation, the big house became more magazine perfect, as the bankroll became more precisely drained.
But the money/upkeep wasn't the only problem. At least not for me. There was something else nagging at my soul. I was lonely in that big house. Fairly new in town with not a lot of close, nearby friends; no social media at that time; home all day with little ones while Alexis was away at school; and Sam working long hours - our big house with the big acres sometimes left my big heart feeling empty. I wanted neighbors and passerbys, and less land between me and the next human being. And while the deer and the ducks and the foxes and all the incredible wildlife we saw on our property was thrilling and fun, I was longing for human contact.
Welcome to Our Tiny Porch!
So off to the little village we moved into our little house on Maple Street settling into a quaint, 1600-square-foot home with a charming, front porch on which we hung a little sign that says "Welcome to Our Porch". Our wee home seemed perfect as it was located in the heart of all the amenities our historical village had to offer, AND in an area just CHOCK full of people! Runners, wagon pullers, bicycle and tricycle riders, dog walkers. They were everywhere! We moved in during the summer months, and quickly immersed ourselves in all the village had to offer for families including parades, community camps and programs, walks to the library, stops at the area coffee, bagel and pizza shops, and trips to the wonderful ice cream shop lined with Adirondack chairs overlooking the Erie Canal. Wagon rides to the canal to feed the ducks; bike rides and runs on the towpath; and basketball games at the little Catholic school at the corner of our street became the norm. It was thrilling to be able to clean the house in just one hour and to eventually not even have to cut the grass since I managed to quickly plant what small yard area we did have with flowers, trees and shrubs.But seasons come and seasons go and here I am now pining AGAIN for something roomier and maybe a cross between the big house and the little house on Maple Street! And while we still adore our wee home, the kids are much bigger now and their friends are bigger too, and I've found that teenagers and young adults come in packs of at least two, or three or four or five. I work at home. I work out at home. I make my kids work at home when we home school. So I seemingly, rarely leave my little dollhouse, and there are times when this teeny house with all of its cuteness and contents and clutter and children starts squeezing in on me and no matter how hard I try to organize and toss and stash away the stuff, it is just too miniscule for a family of five, or seven, or nine, depending on who needs a home or a place to sleep at this time or that.
"I don't know how you do it," my neighbor said to me one morning as I was attempting to jam more garbage in our three cans lined on the side of the house (No garage here in our village home, so garbage cans stay OUTSIDE unable to fit inside our tiny, stuffed-to-the-ceiling garden shed).
Our Tiny Garden Shed
My neighbor was alluding to the massive amount of people and animals jammed in our little house, and was politely wondering how, you know, we manage. "We don't," I joked, with a smile. Since his home is a twin version of ours and with a fraction of the people and animals living over on his side of the fence, he must "get" our pain and my mental "complain". We have left the sale of this house in God's hands and in the meantime, found a house we are hoping God wants us to have (surely He must, right?). Double the size of this one, it has six bedrooms, just enough for all of us, plus a designated one for our weekend guests Clyde and Claudia (12 year old twins), and an extra one for my crafting/sewing/DYI/scrapbooking addictions. Two and a half baths. Screened porch. Large yard, but not too large like the other place (but still more flowers and outdoor living for me). Still in the village (that's the part that makes this a "difficult house to find"). Enormous forest green barn. Two kitchens! Huge sun room and on and on.
Is Bigger Better? Think of All the Gardening I Could Do!
When we walked through it the first time, I cried. Yes, I can be that emotional
about these things. It is owned by a pastor who is now in a nursing home and his children are trying to sell the house. For some reason its not selling and I really think/thought (not sure which) it was because God was saving it for us. I loved this house so much, I wrote the pastor/owner a letter and gave him a copy of my book and told him we would steward the property to do the work of the Lord and would honor God there always. The family had lived there for 30 years and he had pastored a local church.
So here we are still waiting for our house to sell, dutifully showing it every few weeks, packing up the kids and the dogs, and sweeping up the bird feathers, scrubbing the tub and vacuuming the stairs each time someone new comes through. Sigh. I gave up "perfect" when it comes to cleaning years ago, and forced housekeeping can be a drag. (Tons of Kids and Animals+Pressure To Keep the House Clean=Drag)
This morning after five months of this, Sam and I prayed, again, and recommitted this plan of ours to the Master Planner who has our future in His loving hands. And then boom, in my daily Pinterest addiction as my day unfolded, I stumbled upon this quote:
"Love grows best in little houses, with fewer walls to separate. Where you eat and sleep so close together, you can't help but communicate. And if we have more room between us, think of all we'd miss. Love grows best in houses just like this."
At the time of this writing I am tucked in bed with Sam in our small attic, third floor bedroom. I hear Alexis packing for a weekend trip in her bedroom downstairs, doors and drawers slamming as she prepares. As it has been since she was a teenager, she comes alive at night and in such short, earshot, I've been audience to her nightime giggles, laughter, energy and chatter. I also hear the boys - Caleb and Clyde - cheering in the "Man Cave" still on one of their video games. The birds are wildly chirping seemingly never stopping, even though its almost Midnight. Annaliese is at a sleepover, so not tonight, but on most nights, I too can hear her breath, and gently stir in her sleep, as her tiny bedroom is tucked at the bottom of our bedroom stairs. We cannot leave our bedroom without passing through hers.
She's So Close at Night, I Can Hear Her Breath
So yes, sigh, love is close by and as I still long for more space and to stretch out my "tent", I imagine now that I would probably miss the squish. Thank you to whomever wrote that poem on Pinterest, it certainly got me thinking and praying and writing.
For now, we will be still and know He is God, either way the saga of The Little House on Maple Street ends.
Comments (0)
