By Sandra Mann

"We need a house."

I announced this to my husband one December evening after spending all day staring at the same walls of our small two-bedroom apartment. I was on bed rest, expecting our third baby in February, and my two little boys were bouncing off the walls. I felt completely claustrophobic.

My husband’s job wasn’t anything to brag about, and truthfully, I had no idea how we’d manage to get into a home—but I knew I wanted one. His response was simple: if I could figure out a way to make it happen, he was all in. With two months left before the baby came, I began daydreaming of our own cozy little starter home. A seed had been planted.

After the baby was born, I started researching. That’s when I discovered first-time homebuyer programs we actually qualified for. We could get a loan with monthly payments close to what we were already paying in rent. I was thrilled. I couldn’t wait to start seeing houses and finally find a clean, peaceful place for our growing family. It felt like that little dream seed had sprouted its first tiny leaves.

"Oh my…" became my most frequent reaction as we toured one run-down house after another. Tiny, dirty, neglected—these homes were disheartening. After two months of discouragement, I gave up. I told myself maybe we weren’t meant to own a home just yet. We’d save up for two more years and try again. The seedling wasn’t growing the way I’d hoped, so I yanked it out.

Then summer came—and so did the uninvited guests.

First, fleas invaded our apartment. Our bodies were covered in red, itchy welts. My oldest son, who was allergic, ended up with quarter-sized sores that bled from him scratching at night. The fleas came from the unkempt lawn outside our complex. We tried everything. I called exterminators, but they wouldn’t guarantee results unless the entire complex was treated—which our landlord refused to do. Our efforts offered only temporary relief.

Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, the yellow jackets showed up—aggressive and everywhere. Several tenants got stung. But the final straw came when one landed on my sleeping baby’s forehead. That was it. I had to get us out.

I pulled out that dream seed again.

I started visualizing our home once more: clean, safe, livable, with a big backyard where the kids could play. I felt a fresh determination settle in my heart. I began praying daily, asking the Lord to help me find this place. For a full month, I searched tirelessly.

Then we found it. Everything I’d been imagining—it was real, and it was right there. Our lease was ending in mid-October, and this home would be ready for us the same week. I couldn’t believe it.

My little seedling had taken root, and this time, it was budding.

We made an offer... and came in second.

I was devastated. I knew this was our house—how could we not get it? It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. What were we going to do? My little dream plant was looking pretty yellow.

But we didn’t give up. We kept searching. I was committed: our family would find a clean, bug-free home with space for our children to thrive. My little dream plant wasn’t going to die. I would nurture it until it bloomed.

Three more weeks passed. Nothing compared to that first house. And then—our realtor called. Were we still interested? The original buyers’ financing had fallen through. The owners had already moved. The house was ours.

We moved in just before Christmas.

And yes—I love poinsettia blossoms, don’t you?

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