For This House
Every Season. Every Space. All for Him.
Every Season. Every Space. All for Him.
April 13, 2026 | 11 min read
Jessica Alsum, guest author
I still remember being a little girl, grabbing my baby dolls and playing house. We would set up our homes, rearrange the furniture, and decorate every corner. And I remember thinking, I can’t wait to have my own home someday.
The story of life always seemed to be told the same way: you grow up, you get married, and you buy a house. That’s just what you do. It was the natural order of things—the American dream that so many of us absorbed without ever really questioning it. As a child, adult life seemed so simple.
Somewhere along the way, I convinced myself that timeline was the expectation for my future. I was going to grow up, get married, buy my super cute big-girl house, and live happily ever after. I even remember thinking it was strange that my own parents never bought a house. As a kid, I was quietly annoyed that they “simply” hadn’t figured it out yet.
Surely adulthood meant owning a home? Surely, if you worked hard and made the right choices, that’s just what happened—right?
And then 2020 arrived, and my husband and I decided it might be time to start looking for a house of our own.
Reality was a cold shock to the system. Being an adult was not as straightforward as finding a home and simply buying it—very different from what little Jessica had imagined.
By the time we seriously started looking, life looked very different from the simple picture I had imagined as a girl. I was freshly postpartum, adjusting to life with two little boys, and we were living in a 1,200-square-foot home that suddenly felt much smaller than it used to. Toys multiplied overnight, laundry never ended, my 90s kitchen was far from updated, and my heart—if I’m being honest—was struggling with contentment.
It didn’t help that when I looked around, it felt like everyone else had already stepped into the version of adulthood I thought we were supposed to have by now. Friends were moving into beautiful homes with big yards, fancy kitchens, and shiny new appliances. The kind of homes that felt settled and spacious. The kind that, in my mind, meant you had officially “made it.”
I wanted that too.
So we started looking.
At first, it felt exciting to scroll through listings and imagine the possibilities. But the excitement didn’t last long. It didn’t take many searches before reality set in and my heart sank. Most of the homes within our price range were rough—fixer-uppers in the truest sense of the word. The kind that needed far more than a fresh coat of paint.
Slowly, the dream that had once felt so straightforward began to feel discouraging.
I started struggling with frustration and anger. I was upset that we couldn’t afford more, that the life I had pictured felt so far out of reach.
What’s even the point? I thought. We would never own a home—much less the fancy adult home I had envisioned.
At some point in the middle of all the searching and discouragement, it became abundantly clear: God was saying no.
Not a “maybe later.” Not a “keep trying and see what happens.” Just a clear, steady door closing in our faces. No.
And with that realization came a choice. We could grumble and push ourselves to buy a house we didn’t really want just so we could say we owned one. Or we could trust that if God was closing the door, it was for a reason—even if we couldn’t see it yet.
In our hearts, we chose to surrender. If God said no, then that no had to be for our good. Maybe it was protection. Maybe it was provision in a form we didn’t yet understand. Maybe He simply had a better plan for our family than the one we were trying so hard to force.
But trusting that wasn’t easy.
I remember the day I was walking through Target, still wrestling with the disappointment in my heart. I prayed quietly: “Okay, God. We trust You. Even if this means we don’t own a house.” As I wandered down one of the aisles, a mug caught my eye. Printed on the side in simple letters: See the good.
I picked it up and bought it—a small, tangible token of surrender. A reminder to my own heart that if we were going to trust God, I needed to start looking for the good in the place He had us.
And not long after that moment, 2020 happened.
The pandemic hit. The world shut down. Mortgage markets froze, my husband couldn’t work, and paychecks weren’t coming in. Suddenly, the idea of buying a house no longer felt like it would have been a blessing—it felt like it could have been an enormous burden.
Looking back, the “no” that had once felt so disappointing began to look a lot more like protection.
What I had thought would be a blessing might have quickly become a weight we weren’t prepared to carry.
Even after we began to see how God’s no had protected us, learning to trust Him in that season still wasn’t easy. I struggled emotionally, daily. For years I had quietly believed that owning a home was one of the defining marks of successful adulthood—a milestone you were supposed to reach if you had done things the “right” way.
Letting go of that perspective and aligning it with Christ’s took time.
I had to do the slow work of teaching my own heart to be grateful for the home we already had. Instead of looking around and seeing what our house lacked, I had to learn to see what it provided: a safe place for our family, a place for our boys to grow, kitchen cabinets that held our things just fine, and a reminder that God had never once failed to meet our needs.
Contentment didn’t come naturally. It was something I had to pray for, over and over again. And slowly, God began to reshape my perspective.
A few simple prayers became anchors for my heart during that time:
Over time, those prayers started to change something in my heart. What once felt like something we were missing slowly began to feel like something we were being carried through.
Eventually, a door did open—but it looked nothing like the dream I had once imagined.
I still remember the day Thomas texted me that our realtor had sent a listing he thought could be our piece of land. My response was simple: if this land is meant to be ours, I can’t argue with God—because it would take a literal miracle for us to buy it.
The property had land, which was something we had always hoped for. But it was rough—and I mean really rough. Trash scattered across it. Run-down structures. More tires than I could count. At first glance, it looked more like a problem than a blessing. Standing there, it felt almost overwhelming. It was the worst listing we had looked at, the kind of project that would take far more work than we had ever imagined.
And yet, in that moment, I realized something God had been teaching me all along.
God doesn’t work according to our ideas of what is pretty or easy. He works for His glory and for our good. And often that means He cares far more about shaping our character than simply giving us the things we think we want.
Looking back, I can see that the journey mattered just as much as the outcome. If the path to homeownership had been simple—if we had easily stepped into the kind of house I once dreamed about—I’m not sure my heart would have changed the way it did.
But through the waiting, the disappointment, and even the chaos of the property we eventually found, God was doing something deeper. He was teaching me to trust Him. He was loosening my grip on the idea that success is defined by what we own. And He was reminding me that His plans are not only wiser than mine—they are always better. Even when “better” doesn’t include a fancy oven or a finished bathroom.
The home we eventually found may not have looked like the dream I imagined as a little girl. But the work God did in my heart along the way turned out to be far more valuable than the dream itself.
By the grace of God—and many dumpsters later—we were finally able to buy the property and get to work.
It wasn’t easy. In many ways it felt like refining by fire. There was cleanup to do, projects everywhere, and more work than we could have ever imagined when we first stood on that messy piece of land. We lived in a tiny camper for six months with two highly energetic boys, and then moved in with my in-laws when our move-in date got pushed back—again. The whole home had to be gutted, and it didn’t help that building and renovation costs were experiencing sky-high inflation.
It pushed our marriage and our faith to the brink. We argued. We cried on our knees. We couldn’t see a way forward. But God always provided.
Even now, our home still isn’t completely remodeled. We don’t have trim up. Our bathroom is still about 50% done and is currently doubling as my closet. It isn’t perfectly curated, and it certainly isn’t the big, fancy adult home I once pictured for myself.
In fact, it’s actually smaller than the house we lived in before.
But it has also come with so many unexpected blessings.
We have land where my kids can run and explore. In the summer we love having people over to play outside, and it brings me so much joy to send my boys out the door to roam the property with their friends. What once looked like an overwhelming mess has slowly become a place full of life, laughter, and memories.
And through all of it, God has reshaped my perspective on what it means to have a home.
Growing up doesn’t look like a square footage number or a certain finish on the countertops. Homeownership doesn’t always come wrapped in shiny finishes and perfect kitchens. Sometimes it looks like hard work, patience, and trusting God through a process that is far from glamorous.
But what I’ve learned is this: no matter the size of my home, God has always provided. The measure of my children’s childhood isn’t a perfectly curated Instagram home—it’s being loved and raised to know God. And He always gives us exactly what we need, exactly when we need it.
The dream I once had may not have unfolded the way I expected. But looking back, I can see that God wasn’t just giving us a home. He was teaching me to trust Him in every circumstance—easy and hard. Even when it wasn’t pretty.
If you find yourself in a season where your home doesn’t look like the dream you imagined—I get it. Maybe it’s the 90s wallpaper that isn’t quite the aesthetic you hoped for. Maybe it’s the waiting itself. I have wrestled with all of it, and I want to offer you this encouragement:
It’s okay if your house isn’t big or fancy. It’s okay if your kitchen cabinets have chipped paint, if things are functional over aesthetic, if your walls are unfinished, or if your appliances have seen better days. It’s okay if you’re still renting, still waiting, or still wondering when the next step will come.
God’s goodness is not measured by square footage or Pinterest-worthiness. His provision is not limited to brand-new homes or perfect circumstances. Sometimes His provision simply looks like a roof over your head, a place for your family to make memories, and the quiet reminder that He has never stopped caring for you.
If you are in a season of waiting—or even a season of renting—you can trust that God is still good. He still sees you. He still provides. And His plans for your life are always better than the ones we try to write for ourselves.
Your home may not look like the dream you once imagined.
But the God who provides for you is faithful, and that is always more than enough.
God, help me to trust You even when I don’t understand Your plans.
Help me to keep my eyes on You and remember that even if I don’t own a home—or even if I’m renting—You are still working for our good and Your glory.
Teach me to be content no matter what my circumstances look like, or what my home looks like.
Help me to see all the ways You are working and providing, and to be thankful for what that looks like in every season.
Amen.
Jessica left the corporate world to pursue her true dream job—being a mom to three adorable boys. When she’s not enjoying a cup of tea, making sourdough, or chasing down one of her boys, she loves to share her faith and encourage other moms in their motherhood journeys.
Jessica left the corporate world to pursue her true dream job—being a mom to three adorable boys. When she’s not enjoying a cup of tea, making sourdough, or chasing down one of her boys, she loves to share her faith and encourage other moms in their motherhood journeys.