We’re committed. Or we oughta be

Our story so far: A 126-year-old church for sale is the right location for the right price at the mostly right time.

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When we told people we were buying a church, sometimes they reacted with envy. “Oh, that sounds like an absolute dream!”

Sometimes they reacted with horror. “Why would you want to live in a church?”

Whether they verbalized it or not, everyone thought we were crazy. “Sounds interesting. Good luck.”

“Interesting” was the Minnesota Nice way of saying “scarier than three feet of wet snow on Oct. 30 when the snow blower’s broken.” Even if they didn’t say “interesting,” I could see in their eyes they thought we were crazy.

We were a couple in our 50s who were enjoying a second marriage. Which is to say, we had already thrown a couple of partners to the curb for various infractions. If a remodeling project was capable of breaking up other marriages, ours was not immune. And maybe we weren’t up to the task physically. Tyler had tackled a similar whole-house remodeling project decades earlier, and he triumphed with a palatial result. But he wasn’t 20something anymore and not all of his body parts were natural. And I had never been able to lift more than 30 pounds at a time. Our joints crackled like crisped rice cereal and our butts had spread like so much peanut butter.

Of course, besides the collateral damage to our relationship and our bodies, there was the financial risk. What if there were termites? What if the foundation was cracked? What if the wiring was so ancient it would have to be completely updated? These sorts of dilemmas cost money. A lot of money.

Maybe we were crazy.

But I didn’t think so.

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Tomorrow: How I talked my husband into buying me a church. Click here to read.

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