Oh, y'all. My house is a wreck. Laundry on the floor. Dirty dishes in the sink. Crumbs stick to your feet when you walk. Plucked weeds wilted and drying on the front porch. A total mess. We got up this morning, went to school and work, did not bother to make a single bed. Only time my real estate agent has ever been to my house, it has been spotless. For five months I have tried to maintain a vision of showcase quality living. Only two people have bothered to view it in all this time. So, of course, today I closed the door behind me, locked it, went to work, and left my phone in my purse in the closet of the classroom. Didn't think to check it for a few hours. Well, low and behold, my real estate agent had called - on his way over to my house - with a new client that needed to see my home - immediately. I did not get that message until it was too late.
Too late to stop them. Too late to save face. Or run home and throw stuff in drawers. Too late to pick up our underwear and towels and make sure my kids hadn't left poop in the toilet and forgotten to flush. Too late.
My agent laughed. And apologized. He got MY message of me panicking on his voicemail right AFTER he left my home. And yet, the client liked it. Even though they had to kick soccer cleats out of the way of the door to even get in. She's going home to think about it. Nothing may happen, but something might.
A friend of mine told me this is God's way of letting me know that nothing I do is going to sell this house faster than His plans, and He can sell it no matter what I make it look like.
A little grace note to my humbling afternoon.
Gotta love God's sense of humor.