Dreams

(Note: I use the word holiday as it is used by Brits, equivalent to the American word vacation)

We rang in the New Year at our home in Oxford. Our home that makes every day feel like I’m on holiday––steps away from Christ Church Meadow, a five-minute walk into city centre, and a river-front view. It was our final New Year in England, but I couldn’t be bothered to make any plans, being exhausted from the combination of Christmas and severe anaemia. Still Zach and I wanted to mark the end of 2023 and the start of 2024 in some way. So, I made graham crackers and incredible Italian Sodas (from scratch, thanks to Joy of Cooking…the cookbook that has changed my relationship with the kitchen). I added hundreds-and-thousands (sprinkles) to the glass rims. Colourful. Festive.  And, as we have every year since we’ve lived in England, we sat with the kids and watched Sydney’s fireworks (arguably the best NYE display in the world) before tucking the littles into bed.

And then we dreamed.

Zach and I dreamed together, that is. It’s one of our favourite pastimes. We get a drink––tea or wine––cosy up in the living room, and think of what our future could look like. We make plans: books we’ll write, businesses we’ll start, people we’ll meet, projects we’ll take on, how we’ll live our empty nest years, etc etc etc. And this evening’s dream topic of choice was our final year in Oxford. Our visas were good until the end of 2024, so we had decided to stay until the start of December. It was the perfect plan: we had eleven months to explore England and Europe, but we would be home in the states in time for Christmas. The toll of being far from family was costly. As we wrapped up the 2023 holiday season the song “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” kept replaying in my mind. I clung to the knowledge that this would be our last Christmas across the ocean, yet I was still relieved we had nearly a year left in this most incredible place.

Oxford. And its dreaming spires. Is there a better way to capture the magic of this city than those two words? Oh, yes, the stately spires and the dreams they have held, witnessed, encouraged. They have inspired countless dreams of mine, dreams that will follow me long after I leave. Oxford will always be a part of me. It is where I found myself.

But our dreams for this year, for 2024, were more tangible. We would travel and soak up all the “lasts” we could. Germany, Scotland, Switzerland, Amsterdam, North Ireland….so much to see. I would do a road trip with my mom and one of my sisters. They have to see Cambridge. We would hopefully have a chance to host more friends and family and show them this place that has been so dear to us. Our last year would be perfect.

And so, we went to bed and dreamed of our dreams. Ringing in the New Year with all the plans spinning through our heads.

Oh, how quickly things changed.

The first day of the year had not yet ended when we found it: the house. In Oak Park. The house that could be our forever home. A house we had seen and dismissed countless times. But a house that, we now realised, was perfect for us. The size, the bedrooms, the LOCATION, the potential. Pieces of our future fell into place like dominos. We could see it––our children running up and down the stairs, the yard space we would create, the dining table filled with people on a Sunday afternoon, evenings spent surrounded by books, sipping wine––and dreaming.

But could we buy it? Should we buy it? We were going to be in Oxford for the rest of the year, but perhaps we could find someone to rent it for those months. We scheduled a showing (it’s a wonderful gift to have a realtor friend you trust when you live in another country). The house was better than we had hoped.

Within days, we were having conversations with a lender. And from our lender, we learned that if we were to buy the house, we would need to move in within ninety days of closing. Meaning, we would have to return to the states in May/June and not December. Zach and I looked at each other, both of our eyes bright, exuberant.

“Is this house worth losing our last six months in Oxford?”

Yes. Without question.

With our complicated financial situation (loads of student debt and no current employment), we hit a few roadblocks with the preapproval. I felt my mind oscillate between anxiety that it wouldn’t work, and certainty that all would be well.

 It was the morning of the 9th, and Zach and I sat in the living room with our friend Logan, tea in one hand and the Book of Common Prayer in the other. We were finishing Morning Prayer and all I could think of was this house. Not only did I want it, but I truly felt it was an answer to the vision and calling of radical hospitality I believe God has given us. As we neared the end of the Order, my heart and my voice offered up these words with all that I had:

ALMIGHTY God, who hast given us grace at this time with one accord to make our common supplications unto thee; and dost promise that when two or three are gathered together in thy Name thou wilt grant their requests: Fulfil now, O Lord, the desires and petitions of thy servants, as may be most expedient for them; granting us in this world knowledge of thy truth, and in the world to come life everlasting. Amen.

 Please, Lord. Fulfill the desires and petitions of thy servants.

We secured the pre-approval that evening, hours after the owners had received a separate cash offer. The panic of losing this house shot through my whole body. Shaking with nerves and excitement (and exhaustion…it had been a lot of late evenings), we sent in our offer with a letter containing our dreams for the house and our future. And we prayed “Thy will be done” as we turned off the light for sleep.

I woke early with my stomach knotted as if it were Christmas morning. It was unlikely that we would have heard anything in the five hours since we had submitted our offer. But still, I rushed from our room, grabbed my phone, and opened my email.

One unread message. From our realtor.

My blurred early-morning eyesight squinted at the short message. I re-read it five times before I comprehended what it said. We got the house. They loved our letter. And they had accepted immediately.

About three years ago I was on a walk with a friend. She was acting as a sort of mentor to me during our first pandemic-ridden year in Oxford. It hadn’t taken me long to attach myself to this place and the dreams it awakened in me. On this particular walk, Oxford was at its best. The birds were merry, the sun glowed through the leaves, and the air was fresh. The park was alive, and its life was contagious. I breathed in deeply, savouring the comforting scent of damp dirt and moss.

“I hope I never have to leave Oxford. Or England. This place has meant so much to me. It feels more like ‘home’ than I’ve felt before.” It came out as a sort of question, not in the sure or confident way I had intended. I wanted it to be true. I wanted Oxford to be home. And a large part of me hoped that if my friend affirmed my longing, then it would become my reality.

But instead, “My husband and I spent seven years in Cambridge. Our job was to be in relationship with those who came through the town. They all were there for a season, and in their time they had something to learn or some way they needed to grow. Then they moved on, often back to wherever “home” was. What if Oxford is a place for you to heal and grow? A place for you to be for a season, readying you to return to Chicago when it’s time?”

My stomach tightened. It was as if she had grabbed my dream and forced it into a ball of anxious uncertainty. I would prove her wrong. I would be one that stayed. I had never been as alive in the states as I was in Oxford––I couldn’t leave this feeling. I refused to go back to a walled existence.

Today, three years later, I often think back to this exchange. She was right. Oxford was a season for me. A beautiful season filled with so much goodness, healing, and growth. It was a long spring after a decades-long winter. Finding our forever home in Oak Park was the first step in moving that extended spring toward a rapidly approaching summer. And once pieces started to fall into place for buying this house, we discovered the ties holding us to Oxford became more and more thin. We felt a magnetic-like pull drawing us home.

I was puzzled by this sudden shift. Wasn’t it two or three weeks ago that Zach and I were dreaming of our final year in Oxford? And yet, in what felt like moments, nearly all the pain of leaving (aside from saying goodbye to some of the dearest people I have ever met) was replaced by anticipation and a longing for this new home. How did I so quickly become eager to leave this wonderful place, with my home on the River Thames and steps away from the heart of the most beautiful city I will ever live in?

Walking downstairs one morning at the start of February, I paused in the living room to admire the sun sparkling on the river. This view. I would never get over this view. But the ache and pull towards “home” gnawed at me. And then I realised…this is the end of the holiday. Even in the most incredible of holidays there comes a day, or a moment, when the only place you want to be is home. You long for the familiar faces, the routine, your own bed. And that is what I am feeling––the pull of home after a three and a half year long holiday. I am not the same person I was when I left, but I am ready to go back. It is time. And so we gave our notice, sorted movers, and booked our flights.

To come home.