Balancing my computer on one arm across the living room in an apron decorated with flour handprints I yell, “They’re here, come and see the photos of our new home,” power cord trailing, plug bouncing over the carpet.

My invitation is accepted with alacrity, voices from rooms like bird chatter wafting through open windows signaling the start of a new season. Less than a minute later we perch side-by-side on the couch scrolling through video clips and photos.

British friends toured the house that a church is generously providing for us as accommodation in London. We’re anxious to see it. We’ve shared what-if dinner conversations about furniture we might take but this provides a shot of realism on murmurings and practicalities. Shipping a crate of our belongings from Charleston to London is one of our next steps.

When Americans think of homes in England, this is generally what they envision.

Am I right?

In keeping with every other detail we’ve planned about this move up until this point, God is sobering us by pointing out our idealism.

As we anxiously scroll through big rooms with large picture windows on three floors of a lovely house,  my brain snags on one shower, no dishwasher and the clothes drying on racks throughout the house. A dryer, it turns out, is a luxury not a staple.

If hope deferred makes the heart sick, then shattered idealism is grace, a warning that reasoning has become an idol and relationship with Christ no longer first place.

Prayer is our only preventative.

After dinner, football plays on the television and computer lays on my lap. I cue up Pinterest and land on an article about how to pick perfect paint colors. Soaking up each paragraph while dissecting every pretty picture, I learn the obvious — there isn’t a perfect paint color.

Am I the only one who is that gullible?

At the precise moment you say, “I surrender all for you Jesus,” paint and carpet becomes a hindrance to resolution.

If we assume contentment is about achieving a perfect life, God will eventually shatter your idealism. He will break into your assumptions about identity and your definitions of success because he is jealous for your affection and he longs for your allegiance.

Idealism is a mirage and Hope will never disappoint.

To respect the privacy of the current tenants who are in a heap of boxes in the house, I chose not to post photos. Stay tuned.

 I won’t be sharing my posts on social networking channels daily because who wants to see that much of me, really? If you want to follow our adventure to London subscribe to the blog in the side bar and posts will slide quietly into you inbox. Start from the beginning of the series here.