We found out Tuesday that we passed our driveway compaction test (praise God!) and now just have two more tests to go: the fire department sign off and the final inspection. Please pray that all goes well, so we can be in before the end of October!

We spent last weekend moving all our nonessential items into our house. Bookshelves, books, couch, rugs, dishes — basically everything except our dressers and beds. The house is full of boxes and bubble wrap and items that aren’t quite sure where they belong. I feel like I’m wrestling chaos into order, especially in our kitchen as I try to utilise our small space to the best advantage. I found a minimalist pot rack that doesn’t crowd the kitchen too much, and also gives me the farmhouse vibes I love. Plus, it’s a great place to dry homegrown herbs.

The only time I ever utter the blasphemous phrase “I have too many books” is during the moving process. I’ve emptied several boxes and am currently sorting them into their genres (my favorite way to organize my home library) but we still have quite a ways to go. We also have to keep the bottom shelves empty so a certain book-loving baby doesn’t rip them from their places.

I’ve also been working quite a bit on Michael’s room. I’ve spent a lot of time and energy coming up with a room that feels magical and will (hopefully) nurture his imagination as he grows. I’m excited to reveal the results soon!Until then, here’s a sneak peek:

It’s still not complete, and chaos and dust is everywhere, but it’s starting to feel like a home — our home.

My parents have been incredibly helpful with Michael while we work to move things into place. I love watching his bond with them, and I’m so grateful for their assistance as we chip away at the hundreds of little tasks that go into setting up the house.

In knitting news, I have three main works in progress: a jacket for Michael, a sweater for me, and a birthday/Christmas sweater for Jake. I’m hoping to finish Michael’s and mine by November, but lately I’ve had some wrist pain that’s made knitting slower.

The garden waits for us to put it to bed for the winter, acting as a wild shelter for birds and pollinators in the meantime. I’ve been planning out the garden beds we’ll have around our cottage in the spring, and talking with my mom about the preservatives we want to make next year.

After 15 months of working/waiting/building/moving into this house, it feels surreal to begin to plan for things beyond it. We have a fancy bottle of champagne waiting for us as soon as we get that final sign off.

So we’re almost home! Keep praying for us, dear friends!

Our timeline for moving in got pushed a little further. We found out the road/driveway that leads to our house needs to pass a compaction test before it can pass the fire department’s inspection, and the small compactor we rented from Home Depot wouldn’t do the trick. Disappointing, but it meant we got to rent some pretty cool equipment.

Jake had taken a few days off to dedicate his time completely to the remaining house projects. While we were figuring out the issues with our driveway, we still managed to finish installing the counters and hang our light fixtures, as well as move some of our furniture out of storage.

We were hoping we’d be in by the end of this week, but it’s looking unlikely. This has definitely been an opportunity for growth in faith, patience, and flexibility. We’re in an extended state of half-moved chaos — partially in one house, partially in the other, and partially in a storage unit. As my sister said when she found out about this latest roadblock, “Y’all gonna be REAL holy by the time this is over.”

A hard truth I’ve come to realize this month is that we’re called to work towards holiness in all circumstances. Not just in ideal circumstances, not just when it’s easy and we feel like it — in all circumstances. We might be discouraged and running out of energy and strength, but this is when our effort matters the most. So despite the demoralizing roadblocks, we are pressing on and looking for joy and gratitude in the midst of the weariness and disappointment.

One of the ways we combat discouragement is a technique called the GLAD questions. It’s a tool designed to help you change your thought patterns from rumination and depression to gratitude. GLAD is an acronym, with each letter representing a question for you to ponder:

G: What’s something you’re grateful for?

L: What’s something you learned?

A: What’s something you accomplished?

D: What’s something you delighted in?

We try to ask ourselves the GLAD questions daily. Some days it’s hard to find the answers, but I definitely notice a gentle shift towards resiliency when I try anyway. So today I am sharing my GLADness with all of you, too.

I am grateful that we were able to rent the necessary equipment and prepare for the compaction test. I’m also grateful for the generosity of our neighbor, who let us borrow his truck to haul the equipment.

I learned that compaction tests use radioactive/nuclear components! I also learned how to treat my butcher block countertops.

I accomplished (with Jake’s help) moving a few of my books into their shelves in our new living room. We’ve got boxes and boxes to go, but seeing familiar titles on the shelves makes the house begin to feel like home.

And I delighted in Michael. Even when he’s teething or tired or cranky, he still manages to make all of us smile. Whether he’s exploring our living room, giggling with dad, or throwing the ball for the dogs with grandpa, he has an infectious joy that helps all of us keep our spirits up.

We will find out the results of the compaction test on Friday (hopefully). Then the fire department’s inspection, and then the final inspection. We’re near the end! So we keep going, and keep praying, and keep turning our stubborn hearts towards gladness.

We have power! Last Wednesday, PG&E and the electrician finished the project. It feels too good to be true, but indeed, when I flip a switch, the lights turn on.

It’s a temporary fix: they still need to change out our transformer, which will take some time. But thankfully we were able to come to this compromise: they turned on limited power to the house as long as we don’t have an AC unit. Given the weather has already begun cooling down, we figured we’ll be just fine.

Dad and Jake finished the porches this week too. We still have to get them inspected, and still have the driveway to complete, but once that’s finished we can get the house cleared for occupancy.

In the waiting periods between big tasks, we’ve been installing baseboards, assembling IKEA furniture, and moving small items into their places. Mom and Dad got Michael a Nugget play couch for Christmas and gave it to him early to keep him occupied while we work on the house. He absolutely loves it.

Despite all our unforeseen roadblocks, we’re hoping we’ll be moved in by the first week of October. We are all tired, but it feels like we’re on the very last lap of a huge race, nearing the finish line.

We had some much needed rain this week as well, and with the dark clouds came a glorious and vibrant double rainbow. We stood outside in the golden sunshine and the falling rain, getting absolutely soaked (but I think the pictures made it worth it).

Both the rain and the rainbow felt like a breath of fresh air after the stagnant heat and barrenness of summer. It’s a tad ironic: summer is usually associated with fruitfulness and life, but for us personally, it’s been a summer of grief and death. As we head into autumn and gardeners prepare their gardens for overwintering, I envision us sinking into rest as the earth does the same.

And as we leave this summer behind us, I am grateful: the light in the midst of the storm and the presence of the rainbow felt like poignant and visible reminders of God’s faithfulness and love for us. He will not spare us from the storm, but He will walk through it with us.

Well, we don’t have power yet. PG&E cancelled the morning of the scheduled installation due to the high temperatures. They’ve rescheduled for Wednesday. Please continue to pray for us! We will be glad when our dealings with PG&E are over.

To handle our disappointment, we’ve been painting baseboards, finishing the porches, and choosing the kitchen counters. I also found a large farmhouse sink and I’m absolutely thrilled. It’ll make canning and preserving much easier next summer. And we got a washer and dryer! Our house is looking more and more like a real house.

With COVID and its corresponding fatigue still making their rounds through the property, it’s been a difficult week. Brain fog has kept me from writing. And the closer we get to moving in, the wearier we seem to get. The 110+ degree temperatures of the past week feel especially fitting for this season of desert dryness: we’ve all found it especially difficult to recover from the events of this summer.

So it is time to rest and recover, watering the garden of our souls as we also tend our homestead. Gardening has taught us many skills, and one of these is pest control. There will always be pests trying to destroy what we’re cultivating, until Christ comes again.

This doesn’t only apply to our gardens. I’ve noticed a new pest rearing its ugly head in our lives: the pest of perfectionism. It’s been eating its way through us and leaving its casings of lies behind it. I’m sure you’re quite familiar with it: it’s most commonly recognized by its nagging whisper that eats away at you and shakes your roots.

We’ve fought perfectionism through many steps of this house process: it’s the desire for everything to be just right; to line up perfectly with our ideals. And when it isn’t just how we dreamed it would be, it’s the discouraging thought, is this even worth it? It takes the setbacks we encounter and magnifies them while dismissing the progress we make.

I’ve seen it eating away at my blog posts: is what I’m writing really worth posting yet? Couldn’t I do better? I’ve even seen perfection start to worm its way into my parenting: a doubtful whisper telling me I’m not a good mother because I’m not perfect. Because I make mistakes. Because Michael is different than “other babies” in X, Y, or Z and maybe it’s something I did wrong.

To fight this invasive pest of perfectionism, I’ve found a simple phrase works wonders: good enough. I can be a good enough mother, writer, maker, and homesteader. I can work to be better while also fighting perfectionism’s lies that my mistakes invalidate the progress I make.

When I was a kid, I would often sit in the back of the room during my mother’s parenting seminars. Something she said stuck with me: “A perfect parent isn’t”. It’s a twofold truth. Not only is it impossible for us to be perfect parents as sinful human beings, but even if we were, it would not properly prepare our children for the sinful reality of the world around them.

A good parent repairs. (This is also true of a good spouse, or a good friend). When the relationship is broken, we apologize, make amends and reconnect. A good writer edits. When the words aren’t right, we coax them to convey the truth as clearly as they’re able. And a good homesteader repairs the damage pests make while taking precautions against them in the future.

So we’re defying perfectionism and embracing the unique and good enough aspects of our lives: the crooked stitches in handmade garments, the paint splotch in the corner, the porch railings that came out slightly different than we’d envisioned. All are evidence of a job well done — not perfect, not slipshod, but good enough.