There was a little “issue” today when I put the two-year-old down for a nap. Walking downstairs after the drama, I thought, “Why can’t you see that things will go well for you if you obey?” It’s so simple. Why not just obey and reap the reward here?

I often equate Christians with two-year-olds, not because I’m hypercritical or can’t think up another example but because it is true. We want what we want and we want it now. And if we do a good deed, we want an M & M. I know this because I know me. My view of God used to be pretty simplistic. I thought if I obeyed Him, like a toddler getting a piece of candy for potty training, things would go well for me. If I did right, right would come my way. I’d be in good with God and so my team would always win—or something like that.

We should, of course, obey God. God does promise ultimate blessing for those who love and fear Him. But what we shouldn’t expect is immediate reward. There is a cost to obedience, after all. Some costs are bigger than others –like when Christ laid down His life for us—and if we are not able to obey Him in the little things, how will we obey Him when the cost is great?

Elisabeth Elliot talks about this cost in Asking God Why. Speaking of missionary Amy Carmichael, she writes, “Loneliness was one of those disciplines. How–the modern young person always wants to know–did she ‘handle’ it? Amy Carmichael would not have had the slightest idea what the questioner was talking about. ‘Handle’ loneliness? Why, it was part of the cost of obedience, of course. Everybody is lonely in some way, the single in one way, the married in another; the missionary in certain obvious ways, the schoolteacher, the mother, the bank teller in others.”

I like her attitude. She dealt with the cards she was played and didn’t expect a pat on the back. This is a weak spot for me.

In our house, justice often prevails. Two-year-olds get goodies for good deeds. But we are not two-year-olds, we are grown children of God, and so, we must work for a reward that is not immediately apparent. We keep our word to our own hurt. We do not look for technical loopholes to profit from. We obey the law even when others don’t. That is part of being an adult and not a child. Sometimes there’s no treats. We have a future hope far better than any immediately gratifying thing.

One of the markings of a good writer is the ability to make interesting the ordinary. Since I am not a good writer, I usually just stop writing when I have nothing to contribute. Some would argue that I should stop writing altogether since I don’t write well even when I have an interesting story, and I suppose that is a good point as well.

One of the questions I ask before hitting the publish button is, “Is it worthwhile?” But the problem with this question and the tension I balance before emptying my brain on the screen is that it all depends on who you ask. Some folks care about my kid who thinks his baseball team is on the road to stardom. And the rest, which would be the majority, would think I’m bragging and fire off an email with some reference about “humble” and “musings”. But this blog is for the former group, not the latter, and therein lies the tension. I only have like six friends*, and the rest of the readers are onlookers to my conversations with them.

Writing is a funny thing. When you write, you assume that the person on the other end cares about what you’re saying. I often include self-deprecating humor in my writing, not as a display of humility, but as a matter of style. This is how I talk in real life and this is how I write in real life. Humility is an irony, and you know I love irony. Think about it, you can never say that you are humble. That would be an oxymoron. Editors could have a hayday with a book like, “How to Be Humble Like Me.” I can think of a few blog titles that would be dumb too.

Humility is the ability to see yourself in proper relation to your Creator. It’s not about thinking less about oneself as much as it is seeing God for who He really is. But that’s just it—our tendency is that it’s all about us, not God. Any holiness, goodness, reason for boasting on our part is all due to His holiness and what He has done on our behalf. We have nothing if He is not everything. He is great and we are small.

Tons of people want to do “great things for God.” Instead, we ought to do small things for God, everyday, right now, not tomorrow. He has already given us instructions: love God and our neighbor, act justly, love mercy, walk humbly. In the smallness, there is greatness. In the ordinary, there is extraordinary. Paul Tripp once wrote, “Remember, it is not your weakness that will get in the way of God’s working through you, but your delusions of strength.”

That’s why I often say that our daily work is an offering to God. We need meaning in order to push the pile of rocks back and forth. (The rocks would be a laundry reference.) When we find meaning and joy in our daily tasks, remember that it is daily grace that we depend on, not a strong personality. I know this because I have a strong personality, and it does run out.

This was quite a long way of saying that I have nothing to say. I just wanted my friends to know that I’m not dead and I’m still my same old self, which of course, is good and bad at the same time. I can think of a lot to say about that. Another time.

*That’s probably stretching it.

I dropped my kid off at baseball camp this week. This is the stuff you have to do when you’re nine-years-old and on your way to the big leagues. The second thing you have to do is remember to wear your cup. I still don’t understand how he has a change up, a fast ball, and a slider, but he can’t straighten the wrinkles out of his bed, but I digress.

When I went to camp as a kid, I packed my pillow and blue-plaid sleeping bag, but I’m not saying this is a good thing. These days, you just bring your miscellaneous sport equipment. I don’t understand the word “camp” when there is no camping involved. Pitching camp is only two hours long, so I’m not sure how you can call it a “camp” when there are no beanie-weenies, mosquito repellent, or a canteen to blow your ten bucks at from mowing lawns. Times have changed. The beautiful thing about baseball camp, though, is that there are no girls, so I won’t have to worry about that later on. If you remember, I’m not keen on co-ed competitive sports, but not because of some Bible verse, unless you count common sense as a Biblical virtue.

Nevertheless, I still get all weird about sending my kid off to do a new thing. He’s off to play with the big dawgs. What if he can’t remember my cell phone number? What if the criticism is too hard for him to handle? (Remember, I lock my kids in the basement since we homeschool.) This is tough on a mom. I don’t leave my babies just anywhere. While I may threaten a lot of things, they know I am just blowing smoke. (Freebie to moms of toddlers: Don’t make threats; you’ll appear weak.)

When I signed him in, I stood there for a few extra minutes. “I’m sure I have a few more questions,” I told the instructor, you know, beyond the ones we’ve already been over. Then I stood there for a couple more awkward seconds while I thought up some fake questions that I couldn’t pull out. “He’ll be fine,” Mr. Major Leaguer assured me. I just stood there some more. I’m not usually this good at awkward silences. I’m the girl you invite to your dinner party to keep things moving along. Yeah, I’m brilliant. Stellar move there, brunette. My kid just got marked, “Make sure this kid doesn’t get hit….”

I’m ridiculous, but tune in Toledo, what’s new. Whenever I leave my children in someone else’s care, I say, “Those are my babies,” so that they get the secret message that I’m not a deadbeat. All moms have their way, and this is mine. More often that not, I’m telling my kids to be tough, but I’m not ruthless. There is no crying in baseball. I should remember that.

There is a saying that money makes the world go ‘round, but being Creationists, we know in fact that it is God who makes things spin. Yet, money still has a lot to do with a lot of things a lot of the time. (Houston, I need an editor.) The Bible talks about money more than it does heaven. This isn’t because money is more important than heaven, but because such an insignificant, temporal thing can keep us from an earth-shattering, eternal thing. C. S. Lewis once said, “Prosperity knits a man to the world. He feels that he is ‘finding his place in it,’ while it is really finding its place in him.”

That said, people always get funny when you talk about money. Since the Bible talks freely about it, I think we should too. The Bible also talks about certain things in the Song of Solomon, but really, I think the money part is different. I enjoy finance and real estate, particularly, but saying so is like saying I like anchovies on my pizza. It’s uncool, boring, and a bit on the weird side. People look at you different when they know you eat anchovies. (I don’t like anchovies for the record.)

Subprime Soapbox
From the perspective of being a real estate junkie, I am following this subprime mess with great interest. From the perspective of having my life savings tied up in the equity of four houses right now, I’m following this subprime mess with heart palpitations on steroids. Think Tin Man after he met the wizard. If you follow my sideblog, you already know I think a government bailout is immoral and wrong. It punishes savers, renters, homeowners with equity, and those who invested conservatively among others, while rewarding those who lied, cheated, and/or took a gamble. I don’t usually do rants on my blog.

We live in Florida and have a great credit score, even though that great part was optional two years ago. We qualified for all the liar loans as well as the legitimate ones. While prices doubled and tripled all around us, we kept saying, “No, because what if…” The problem with a government bailout besides its unconstitutionality and its effect on the dollar, is that the public will have no reason to behave morally in the future when immorality receives compensation. It isn’t just an economic issue but a moral one. Let the chips fall. I don’t usually do rants on my blog.

I recently read about banks cutting checks in the amount of a few thousand bucks to borrowers facing foreclosure. The borrowers are already in default, living on another person’s dime for several months, in some cases, years (!) due to the backlog. Yet, banks are paying borrowers a huge check in exchange for not stripping the house, selling off the fixtures, and trashing it before they leave. They’re paying them not to behave immorally, and apparently, a lot of people need that cash incentive to do the right thing. I don’t usually do rants on my blog.

The program is called “Cash for Keys.” The basic premise is that it is cheaper to pay someone who already owes you money even more money just to not cause you an even greater loss. Does that make sense? It is the same thing that happens when McDonald’s or Wal-Mart settles out of court for a ridiculous sum of money for an even more ridiculous, frivolous lawsuit just because that’s the way it works. I always thought they should stick it to these greedy guts who spill hot coffee on themselves, but that was before it happened to us.

We paid off the guy, who was holding our seven rental units hostage, just to make him go away. We essentially gave him a huge sum of money just to give us back keys that we already owned. Cash For Keys, baby. You have to know that burns me up, but I understand more than ever how the world spins. It’s complicated and not always pretty. I’m just thankful that it’s –probably, hopefully– over. We are back to being regular landlords, as opposed to leasing them to someone who is subleasing them.

Moving Plans
Our plans for moving have changed. When we first began trying to think outside of the box in order to leave the rat race (60+ hour work weeks with traveling on top of it), we came up with dozens of options to make a go at a different kind of life. We were going to rehab houses. We were going to buy a deli in the mall food court. We were going to do all sorts of crazy things. When Greg landed a work-from-anywhere job eighteen months ago, I thought we had that piece of the puzzle figured out. This was great until that job began requiring a great deal of travel. (This is in addition to the rocket job at the Cape.) We’re currently trying to figure out our best options.

At the moment, we think the most prudent course is to stay in the area for a little longer to build up a better financial cushion. Most of our losses are unrealized gains, as we weren’t planning on our primary house equity dropping 50% in two years. We used conservative estimates in our planning, but not that conservative. It’s not just the people who are upside down on their houses that are affected, but the influx of foreclosures and rundown properties runs down the values for regular folks too. (Incidentally, our taxes were raised when our values rose, but when they plummeted, our taxes stayed the same. Heh.) We could move to the farm next month when our house is finished and be fine, but it’d require Greg to keep the high-travel job. If we stay here, he could travel less and have more control over his schedule. The goal has always been keeping our family together, not a farm fantasy. Yee-ouch.

Our plans change by the minute and by the disaster, and we can’t say for sure what will happen. The whole thing is fluid.

A Final Aside
Since something is always happening, I have to mention I got my oldest son’s arm put in a cast this morning. He played six baseball games last week, all the while with a broken wrist. The kid loves baseball. He’s suiting up for tomorrow night’s game, but this time he’ll be shouting plays from the bench. Just call him, Bat Boy.

I think that’s it for now.

We’ve been landlords since June 2004 when we bought our first (and last) rental units. There are two houses, split into seven units total: three units in one house, four in the other. Buying the rentals was all part of a scheme to start a different kind of life. We started another life alright, just not the one we imagined. This is our story.

If you’ve been following my blog, you know that Greg has always worked long hours and traveled extensively for his jobs. We wanted to leave this sort of life and begin a simpler one. By simple, I don’t mean the kind with paper umbrellas and sunsets, but rather, the kind that wasn’t so devoid of togetherness. We were always apart and working hard. Why not work hard together? We’ve never been afraid of hard work, but the stress of Greg’s traveling while I managed alone a bunch of babies and toddlers was a recipe for tension.

I often pick up the local real estate ad books whenever we travel. It’s my passion, and I like to oogle over how cheap the rest of the world lives in comparison to us in Florida. I was on this “let’s do rentals” bandwagon after a string of disappointments we encountered when trying to buy local businesses for our livelihood. [That is another story, but the short version is this: everyone lies so bad on their taxes.] In 2004, while traveling through Bristol, Virginia, we noticed that a person could actually make these downtown homes cashflow. Cashflow is the way you say that you won’t be upside down after expenses every month. Rentals do not cashflow in Florida after counting in taxes and insurance, unless you happened to buy the house in 1950. This is hard to do when you weren’t alive back then.

We spent our vacation staying up until 2 a.m. every morning fiddling with Excel spreadsheets. In June of 2004, we took the plunge and bought the two houses. It was to be the beginning. We looked at a dozen of so on the market and we chose the ones with the least structural problems. (Big joke coming later on about this.) This is the part where you might think we’re rich, but here is the part that I will tell you how we did it. We try to spend the most we can on appreciating assets, while getting by with the least possible that’s reasonable on depreciating assets. Your mileage may vary. Our two cars at the time wouldn’t fetch $1,000 bucks at an auction. Instead, we preferred to put our money into appreciating assets instead of depreciating ones. (That tidbit will make another great joke later on when it bites us hard, so remember it.) We paid $35,000 for the first house. It was about 2200 square feet and solid. This was almost half of the asking price and so ridiculous that the realtor and my husband were profoundly embarrassed to make the offer. I wasn’t. You can always ask. Some people pay this much for a vehicle, but I can tell you that their vehicle doesn’t make them money. Quite the opposite.

The plan was to continue buying rentals and move up there to manage them and rehab houses to sell. I have all these great ideas. Every day that Greg would get home from work, I’d say, “What do you think about this…?” It’s gotten so bad that my eldest son, to this day, answers for Greg with, “Oh brother. Here we go again.”

I’m getting ahead of myself here. The story is pretty funny now that time has passed, and if you are interested, I will tell you all about it as I have time. But with this entry comes my first tip for anyone looking at buying rentals as an investment: Don’t.

I actually think rentals are a great source of income. I’m not trying to contradict myself here. The thing is, a regular Joe isn’t able to make rentals cashflow without a ton of experience and know-how. Problem was, we were regular Joes, and the business wasn’t going to let us learn the ins and outs without some very hard knocks.

Turning a profit takes shrewd (as in clever, not dirty) business skills and some knowledge about the law. We had an attorney look over a settlement agreement that Greg wrote last week. He told Greg that it was well-written and asked him if he had a legal background or some formal education on the subject. “No,” he replied, “Just a lot of experience.”

OK, if you ignored my first tip about buying rentals as an investment (which was, in a word, DON’T) and you are determined to make a go of it anyway, I will tell you what I know. This should be a short series. (This self-razzing is just par for the course.)

When we first visited the infamous $35,000 house, it was an eye-opener. Greg began his usual inspection once we decided we were really interested in this place. Now, we’ve sold some things over the years including a car on eBay where the guy backed it up two inches in the driveway and handed us a wad of cash (and we saw his description on the evening news with counterfeit money but we’d already deposited it), and so I know a little bit about what buyers do when they look at your house. But my husband is a different kind of buyer. (Too much downtime with New Yankee Workshop.) Most buyers don’t walk on the roof and crawl in the crawlspace and bang on the walls to find the studs, but most buyers are not my husband.

So, Greg is doing his thing on the roof and I am doing my thing, which is, to envision knocking out walls and adding a little paint here and there, and voila. It’s all so easy in my dreams; I’ve seen Extreme Makeover Home Edition, but my life is not like that. I proceed to get the dirt on all the tenants because that’s what I do best—make people confess weird things to me. As is our usual way, I look around and think up some more extravagant ideas, and Greg reminds me that you can’t knock down load-bearing walls all the while grumbling about money and money. It’s the way we work; it’s our system.

As it happened, two of the three tenants were home that day. The first tenant was a quiet woman with a rich uncle who paid her rent. If you are keeping notes, this is good because the rich uncle doesn’t blow his wad on Wild Turkey and give stories about dogs and homework. The second tenant was a little crazy—for real crazy, not in the slang sense—and we would learn a lot more about him later when he tried to kill the cops and our property manager. For real kill, not fake kill.

The third tenant was not at home, but upon entering, I saw that his stash of crack cocaine was. We would have our first eviction case upon closing, and since the place was trashed, our first major clean up job. No matter, though, because you can’t let these details derail you when you are on a mission. I barked at the kids to not wander off—no, get in the car right now—as I processed that this was the kind of job where a person might need to pack some heat. I’m so down with the drama. So much for “family business.” For some reason, the homeschooling folks have never asked us to pose for a cover. No matter, as this was going to be a launching pad for the rehabs and our ticket out of the big cooperation flying Greg all around the country. I was tired of answering the door as the FedEx man handed me tickets and travel information for the next day on a trip I didn’t know Greg was leaving for. I mean, what if we had, you know, something to do with our weekend? Hypothetically. It’s like 007 without the money, fame, or fun.

About right now if I didn’t give you ADD with that last paragraph, you’re wondering why we didn’t buy houses that attracted tenants with regular jobs with regular recreational activities and such. The reason was simple: over time, we were going to turn these units into higher end rentals. The kind where you don’t have to post “No Trespassing” signs outside. We’d put on brass fixtures, granite in the bathrooms and kitchens, and refinished hardwood throughout. I was so naïve.

We rehabbed one unit completely, hiring out the work to make it clean and new. And just like that, we were back at square one. It would’ve been easier to flush the money down the toilet, except that you never get a working toilet returned to you to flush it all down. Why buy a new, sleek refrigerator when you are guaranteed to have it broken in a couple months? In fact, every time a unit turns over, it is returned in unlivable condition. I think you can turn these over, but not without an incredible amount of detail management and taking an upfront loss for several years.

From our informal education on the streets, we learned quickly that landlords do not provide maintenance. There’s no money (or thanks) in it. The tenants turn over so often due to nonpayment that it’s really not in a landlord’s interest to spend money on a unit that isn’t making money. The exception would be long-standing tenants, but that’s pretty rare in this sort of market. Besides, the thinking goes, it’s next to impossible to please people who think they’re entitled to everything. Before, I thought these rich fat cats were exploiting the poor, but I see the other side somewhat differently now. It’s complicated. For our part, we felt a moral obligation to stay on top of repairs (and still do), and additionally, go a step beyond. This is what it means to live a God-centered life, and that’s what we were going to do.

Here is an example. An inherited tenant tells us the story of live termites on his walls, but when he brought it to the attention of the woman we just bought it from, the former landlady tells him, “Too bad. I have a baseball game to go to.” We love baseball too, but it’s criminal to walk away from that. We wanted to be a different kind of landlord. We fixed up his apartment and Greg is over there our first day of ownership putting on a screen door he said he wanted. We had no obligation to add a screen door, but we wanted to show him that things were different now. In return, he never pays a dime of rent and calls the county on us for a fuse box placement code violation the very first week we owned it. Thanks.

So, in our first month of owning rentals, our property manager almost gets killed (more on that later) and we receive a letter from the county telling us that our building is going to be condemned for this fuse box thing in 30 days. Oh, and all the rent got stolen. Can anybody say, “Refund please?” The day the We’re-Going-To-Shut-You-Down letter came in the mail was an Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day type of day. Greg is having night sweats by now anticipating having to pay for lodging for tenants who’ve been evicted from our condemned building that we’ve owned for a whole 14 minutes. (We did fix the fuse box, along with the 342 other repairs, but not before Greg lost 3 years off his life for the stress.) But it can only go up from here, right?

Greg tells me that my series should be called either Rentals for Dummies or Dummies for Rentals. Either way, my tip of the day is to avoid units that cost less than, say, 10 million apiece, unless you think flushing money on repairs is your idea of an exciting way to spend your time. The only other option is to ignore the repairs, but in our opinion, that isn’t an option at all.

Things were going great. Not really, but at least we had basic things going for us, like oxygen and the weather. After we had our rents stolen and the building almost condemned the first month, it was time to up the ante.

Now, I do my best to protect the identities of people who might not want to star on my blog. There is a guy in my church who won’t talk to me because he’s afraid he’ll end up on my blog. (I’ll give him a fake name: Paul.) So, we have this very tall 300+ pound black guy with muscles like He-Man in apartment 3B. We’ll call him 3B for short, because if I tell you his first name, you will definitely know who he is.

We met him the day we were looking at the $35,000 house. We’ll call that house with three units 35k for short, so we can confuse anyone who comes late to the series. I knew that he was a little “unbalanced”, but we’re not allowed to discriminate and all that.

So our property manager goes over to tell him that ownership has changed, shows him the paperwork, and explains that the same rent is to be paid at the same time. In other words, we chose to honor the existing contract, as is customary. 3B goes into an all out tirade: cussing, screaming, chasing, throwing garbage cans, and seething, “I’m going to kill you!” while our poor property manager (who got a raise) finds sudden agility in his old age. He manages to reach his cell phone in the car/shield and dials 9-1-1.

When the cops come, he threatens to kill them too but instead (in the only moment of justice so far) gets hauled off to jail.

So, we are in town again that week and needing to do some repairs at 35k, but we’re leery of going on our property. But we’re in luck, because I spy a police officer walking down the street. I ask Greg to pull over, and he does while muttering about what I was up to now.

I flagged down the police officer and explained the situation. I wanted to know if he would accompany us to the apartments since we didn’t have tasers, guns, and radio backup. He asked who the tenant was. “3B,” I replied. “Oh, 3B?” mind you, this is a thriving metropolis, “Yeah we know him. He’s in jail.” And just like that, we were allowed on our property again (for 3 days anyway, until he got out of jail).

That’s not even the good part. Greg flies up to court for eviction, explaining that he never paid any rent and was arrested for trying to kill people. We had all our proof and followed procedure perfectly. The judge replies, get this, “Well, maybe he didn’t understannnnd.” And just like that, without a dollar of good faith money, another month’s free rent for the tenant. No kidding. When we finally got possession after a lot of money, hassle, and two court appearances charged to moi, we had to pay to remove his belongings, along with the month old fried chicken on the counter. It’s a lovely system.

So my third tip is this: Since the justice system is for the criminal, not the law abiding citizen, and if that makes your blood boil, you might be better off hiding your retirement money in a hole as opposed to rental units. I would’ve said to buy stocks, but since mine are all down, I’m going with the hole in the ground. On second thought, since the dollar is about to be worthless due to hyper-inflation, go out and get a lot of gold fillings. That’s my keen insight—worth exactly what it cost you.

Just for fun — the video below — because the blog is getting boring with all this text…and I thought you could use a real horror story.

After the first month of owning rental units, the next few years would prove to be routine. Our work had its share of drama and heartburn, but nothing out of the usual. Tenants fought one another, we had several more evictions, a stack of judgments we were never able to collect upon, a squatter in the basement that used the oven as heat, and the usual monthly $1,000 gas bill in the winter for one of the houses. That house is heated by a boiler. It is quite the sight as its smoke and steam belches out rhythmic puffs in honor to the gods. When our property manager saw it for the first time, he thought he was supposed to bow down and worship it. We think the thing is heretical too.

Prices began to rise in the area, and we decided it was time to move on. We were breaking even on paper, but only if we considered our time as free. We put the two houses on the market. We entered into a lease purchase agreement with a buyer, but right when we thought our troubles were over, that’s when things really went downhill.

The buyer took possession of all the units but decided not to pay. Greg and I were at odds during the legal process. He wanted to turn the other cheek while I wanted to fight for revenge and justice. It was painful for us to submit to the legal process and to get along when we had different ideas on how to approach the situation. It’s not like someone was taking a few months of free rent, as we were already used to; it was so much bigger than that. In the end, we walked away from a five figure judgment (seven, if you are counting the change too) in exchange for our keys, which of course, belonged to us already. I was pushing the issue on principle. The feelings on my part went far beyond the money, though truthfully, I like money far more than I should.

There were a lot of words and anger on my part. It was often projected onto Greg unjustly. When it was over, Greg asked the defendant why he was doing this to us. He smirked and replied, “It’s just business.” But it was incredibly personal to me.

From Contentment: A Godly Woman’s Adornment (HT: Challies) comes these thoughts on being right, contentment, and getting your own way. Read it slowly:

We will never know contentment in Christ if we seek him as a divine referee, however unfairly we may have been treated. His work in our lives is not about making sure we get the maximum benefits in the here and now, even when we are entitled to those benefits. In fact, real contentment often comes when we willingly embrace the loss of them.

The second thing Jesus does is reveal the spirit of covetousness that underlies most of our prayers about obtaining our share. […] We will never find contentment—freedom from that angry feeling of unfairness—by getting the things that are rightfully ours. We will find it by letting go of our entitlement to them.

When I was thinking about telling this story, I planned to tell you in detail about how right I was, but in the end, I chose to tell you how wrong I am. It’s not something I’ve overcome; it seems I find myself fighting daily the need for justice in everything from headline crime to a stolen parking spot. Sometimes it’s not about winning, but about letting go.

The line between bravery and stupidity is very thin. The difference is your good fortune, of which I have none.