Well, I’ve been in New York (not New York, New York; Rochester, New York), for 11 days and have looked at 36 homes. I have absolutely run my real estate agent ragged. I’ve seen ranches, colonials, cape cods, and contemporaries. I’ve looked at townhouses and condos. And I searched every community from east to west, north to south. There were a few houses that came close. But the moment I realized I was trying to convince myself that this was the house for me, I knew that it wasn’t. Then it happened.
The very last house I looked at—weary, worn out, and totally discouraged—blew my undies off. The moment I walked in—no, the moment I pulled into the driveway—I knew that it was the “ONE”. When I entered the home and looked from left to right, I got a weird feeling; a desperate feeling. I wanted to tell my agent that I didn’t even need to see the rest of the house. All I wanted was to hightail it to the nearest Starbucks and write an offer. But of course I did, in fact, look at the home. With a fine-tooth comb, I might add.
The place was perfect; exactly what I was looking for. I couldn’t find anything I didn’t like about this place. So, my agent and I trekked over to Starbucks and started filling out the paperwork to submit an offer. Halfway through, the listing agent called and let us know that someone else was also submitting an offer, and that he would present both offers to the owner first thing in the morning. Great, I thought. A bidding war. All I kept thinking was that someone wanted to steal my house and I wasn’t going to let that happen. So, I told my agent to submit an offer $3,500 over the asking price. My wife and I were already pre-approved for the mortgage, our down payment was healthy, and we were flexible on occupancy. I felt fairly confidant that we bought a house.
I went to bed at midnight, managed to sleep until 3:00 AM, then tossed and turned with thoughts of where I would put my TV; how I would arrange our bedroom; what kind of furniture I’d buy for the backyard deck. I thought about a Christmas Eve bash in the lovely finished basement, complete with wet bar. Thought about who I’d invite. I could envision my furniture in this home; cupboards neatly organized with dishes and wine glasses and cooking stuff. Hell, I could even see myself sitting next to the fireplace sipping a vintage Port. This was my house.
My agent called at 9:00 AM to let me know that the listing agent was presenting the two offers at 9:30 AM. We talked a bit and I asked her what she thought. I knew she’d been to this party before because she’d been a real estate agent for 23 years. She told me exactly what I expected: that my offer was fair but no one could predict what the other buyer might do.
For nearly two agonizing hours I paced the floor. It was as if I were waiting for the results of a biopsy that had the potential to change my life. It was utter agony. At 11:15, my cell phone summoned me. As soon as I heard the timbre of my agent’s voice, I knew what she was going to say. “It’s not good news, Daniel. The other party submitted an offer nearly $10,000 over the asking price.” Evidently, somebody loved the home more than I did. Needless to say, my heart sank.
So, I licked my wounds for a few hours, but came to realize that all was well. God’s plan was different than mine and He knows better. So I’ll just wait patiently until He taps me on the shoulder, points to a home, and says, “That’s the One, Daniel.”