Years ago, my husband and I thought we should move. We didn’t have a solid reason; we just wanted a change, a new perspective, a new … something. We thought a new home would be the answer.

So we hired a realtor to sell our home and started searching the housing market. We looked at lots of homes but didn’t see anything we wanted … until we found the Forest House. It was perfect. Well, actually, the house was far from perfect. To put it mildly, it was a trainwreck. But the property was my personal dream come true: a large, deep lot with a literal forest on it. I walked into those trees and got splendidly lost. This is it, I thought. This will make all my dreams come true.

The thought of repairing that house was intimidating, but I shoved it aside. My husband and I had remodeled other places. Surely we could fix up this fixer upper, I thought. Just repair the water damaged areas, replace the plumbing and electrical, level the basement floor, install new windows, replace the roof, rip out and rebuild the kitchen, paint all the walls, replace all the flooring … sure, we could do this. Because this shell of a house was attached to a FOREST.

I could see the forest and the trees. Just not the reality.

We talked about that house, prayed about it, willed it to be right, and finally paid earnest money on it. We didn’t sleep that night. Not because of excitement, but because of the panic that set in. Morning couldn’t come soon enough. We called and rescinded our offer.

I still mourn that house. No, I actually mourn the forest and despise that house.

Meanwhile, the sale of our home never happened. Unknown to us was the revocation of our realtor’s license. He didn’t tell us. He just turned off his phone, closed his office, and disappeared. We waited a long time for showings that never happened.

But what did happen was within weeks of posting our home, the bottom dropped out of the stock market. Had we sold at that moment, we likely would have lost a lot of money — not just in the sale of our home, but also in the soaring costs of remodeling the Forest House.

We stayed in our home, and as the years passed, the realization slowly dawned that this was, and is, the perfect place for us after all. We just couldn’t see it … for the trees.

We still recall the confusion and panic we felt when we so desperately wanted a calm, assuring “yes.” The hardest part was accepting the “no.”

Sometimes “no” is devastating to bear. No, a new job isn’t in the cards for you. No, another child isn’t coming. No, your dad has suffered long enough. No, he/she isn’t the right one for you. No, a newer car is still out of your reach. No, your teen is headed into some tough times. No, your cat isn’t coming back. No, it’s not your time to shine right now. No, you’re going to have to go through that challenge, not around it. No, there really isn’t an answer to your question.

Sometimes we want to rage at someone or something because things don’t go our way, because life’s not fair, because we don’t get the “yes.”

But eventually, hopefully we develop the faith and courage it takes accept the “no” even if we can’t understand why, knowing we may never understand why. We learn to trust our gut or our god or whatever our source of inspiration may be.

In the healing passage of time, understanding replaces confusion. We realize that “yes” isn’t always the right answer. And we finally learn how to give thanks for the “no’s.”