A Tudor Revival Renovation Story

There’s a certain kind of house that gets under your skin before you ever even walk through the door.
And this is how my Tudor Revival Renovation Story begins.
This one didn’t sparkle or shine—not even close.
But something about it whispered, “You’re home.”

I didn’t pull into the driveway that first day—
I couldn’t.

A tree root had pushed up through the concrete, cracking it so badly you couldn’t even use the garage.
I kid you not, there was at least a six-inch drop from the driveway into the garage.
So you might could actually get in… but you would never get out.

On top of that, the flower beds were a mess from years of neglect, overrun with weeds, thorny vines and poison ivy.
The lawn itself was barely hanging on, though I could see the remnants of St. Augustine grass under the leaves.
Two giant sweetgum trees in the back were way too close to the house and begging to come down.

When You Know, You Know

Inside, it was worse.

The carpet was pet-stained.
Ceilings had leaks.
Toilets either ran constantly or didn’t run at all.
One was literally cracked in half.

As if that wasn’t enough, the downstairs water heater wouldn’t light.
Three of the four bathrooms leaked… including two that dripped straight through the ceiling.
The floors in the living room dipped toward the kitchen and I’m pretty sure part of the
subfloor was rotted in the laundry room.

Meanwhile, the gas lantern was completely missing from the front post (how does that even happen?),
some of the windows had wood rot, and as for the roof?
Let’s just say it may or may not have rained… a little… inside.

It was dark, damp, and kinda sad.

Still, somehow—none of that mattered.
Because when I stepped through the front door…
I didn’t see the flaws.

I saw the potential.

And just like that… I had a glimpse of the becoming

The floors, though dusty and worn and layered with years of grime, were original hardwood.
Instantly, my heart soared.

The foyer was just dying to be welcoming.
The formal living room? I saw a future dining room bathed in afternoon light from the large front window and a gorgeous gold-leafed chandelier—though it wasn’t actually wired for one.

Is it just me, or do formal living rooms never have ceiling lights? I guess back then, the room wasn’t really meant to be used—it was more for looks than life. But I’m all about fully functioning spaces, and I could already see this one hosting dinners, laughter, and something sparkly overhead to make it shine.

The kitchen, although updated at some point, dreamed of a remodel… stretching from the front of the house to the back.
Meanwhile, a tiny jewel box of a powder bath longed for gorgeous wallpaper and dreamy wall sconces over a new Calcutta Marble vanity.

The den had those signature Tudor beams.
And across the entire back of the house: a deck wide enough for true outdoor living.
AND a little fenced in side yard that so wanted to be a kitchen garden.

Out back, the October wind swirled through the trees.
In the front, old trees stood like sentinels along the street, marking a neighborhood shaped by time and lives well lived.
Something in me just… exhaled.

When You Least Expect It

I wasn’t in the market for a new house.
A sweet friend had asked me to help her sell it after her father passed away.
But the minute I opened that door, I knew:

I was home.

I’ve wanted to restore a house for as long as I can remember.
My dad remodeled almost every home we lived in growing up, and to this day, I still get nostalgic over the smell of sheetrock and sawdust.

As a Realtor, I walk through dozens of homes—
some that are perfectly styled and move-in ready (and yes, I steal plenty of great ideas from them)…
and others that are a little rough around the edges.

It’s the latter that draw me in.

I can’t not imagine what they could become.
(I think that’s a double negative—my high school English teacher would cringe.)

Whereas others see tired and worn out, I see potential.
While others see old, I see treasure.
And when others see a teardown, I see a future full of life and light.

This home—this dark Tudor nearly swallowed by trees—was quietly waiting.
Waiting for someone to see beyond the sagging, the stained, the broken…
and to believe there was still beauty worth redeeming.

Maybe that’s exactly why I fell in love with her.
Because in that moment, I realized—
I wasn’t just seeing the house.

I was seeing me.

From Rubble to Redemption: A Tudor Revival Begins

Sweet friend, this is how God sees us.

Not through the lens of our wear and tear,
not focused on how far we’ve fallen,
and not tallying up the failures and broken pieces we try so desperately to hide.

But rather, for the beauty still buried within.
For the future He’s already planned and prepared—even if we can’t see it yet.

Jesus meets us right in the middle of the mess.
He gently steps over what’s been broken and says,

“Yes, this one. I know the plans I have for her.”

Plans to restore.
Plans to redeem.
Plans for hope—and a future.

This Is Where the Work Begins—Inside and Out

He doesn’t need perfection to begin the work.
He just needs a willing heart.

So even though this may look like sagging floors, peeling paint and plumbing repairs,
for me, it’s more than renovation.

It’s a reminder.

That God still writes beautiful stories out of broken places.
And that restoration—true, soul-deep restoration—is always possible.
Not just for homes like this…
but for hearts like ours, too.

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This post is part of my Before the Becoming series — the chapter where I scrub floors, question my sanity, and officially begin this Tudor home adventure.