I always dreamed of having a house with a real backyard — a place where my future kids could grow up the way children used to. I wanted her to have a childhood filled with sunshine and scraped knees, where kids rode bikes, climbed trees, played volleyball, and spent entire afternoons outdoors until the sky turned pink.
Back in 2013, we were living in Falls Church, Virginia. I loved that little city. Our condo was just fifteen minutes from Washington, D.C. and Arlington — a charming two-bedroom unit with big windows and quiet neighbors. It sat in a small three-story building, two condos per floor, tucked away in a peaceful, leafy spot surrounded by parks, coffee shops, and families. It was the kind of place that felt both cozy and alive.
One weekend, to escape the usual D.C. traffic, my husband and I decided to take a detour through Hagerstown. As we drove, we were instantly mesmerized by the rows of old, stately homes — full of character, history, and architectural beauty. Each one sat on a generous lot, whispering stories from another time.
In Falls Church, most homes were brand new — modern “McMansions,” still beautiful in their own way, but a bit soulless. For years, I thought that was my dream — big, new, and shiny. But that day in Hagerstown, I realized my heart longed for something with roots and spirit.
Then we saw it — a gorgeous brick Victorian with tall white columns and a “For Sale” sign planted proudly in the yard. I was so excited I jumped out of the car and knocked on the door. No one answered, so I peeked through the window, just for a second — and in that moment, I was completely smitten.
As I walked back toward the car, a woman pulled into the driveway. I quickly explained why we were there, and she smiled kindly and invited us in. “It’s already under contract,” she said, “but you can look around — just in case something changes.”
The house took my breath away. Rich woodwork, elegant fireplaces in almost every room, and a finished basement that felt like another world entirely. The backyard was spacious — and as I stood there, I started imagining magnolias, roses, and hydrangeas swaying in the breeze. Every few steps, I caught myself whispering, “Wow… oh my goodness… this is my dream house.”
Two weeks later, we found out it had sold. My heart sank.
A few weeks after that, we found ourselves back in Hagerstown, driving down the same street — still daydreaming. I remember thinking, “People who live in these homes are so blessed.” And just as I said that, my husband suddenly pointed and shouted, “Look at that house! And it’s for sale!”
I turned, and my heart nearly stopped. It was like something out of a fairytale — the kind of house you’d see in a Disney movie. I knew in that instant it was meant for us. My heart was racing, and something deep inside me whispered, “That’s the one.”
We knocked on the door, and a young man answered with a polite smile. “You’ll need to call the broker and have your pre-approval ready,” he said. By the time we got back to the car, my husband was already dialing the number.
I barely slept after that — not before the showing, not before the closing. And even now, sometimes I wake up and can’t quite believe I live here.
This house is better than any dream I ever had. It’s not a mansion, and it’s not tiny — it’s just right. Warm, welcoming, full of character. Every room has its own personality, and yet the whole place feels like one big hug.
I often think about that other house — the one that sold before we had a chance. And every time I do, I smile and say a little prayer of gratitude for the neighbors who bought it. Because this one… this is the home God meant for us.
Now, I finally understand the true meaning of “home sweet home.”
God is good.
