The Fuller folks

Before I can answer the big question of why we moved—something that only God fully knows—I need to share our story that ties us to Washington County. For over 16 years, Andrew and I have loved visiting Brenham. In fact, we’d go almost every month, especially when our kids were younger. Early mornings, we’d pack up the boys, who would bring their scooters, and head into town. Kirby wasn’t born yet, but those mornings were full of adventure—walking through parks, visiting stores, and creating memories that cost us nothing but time together.

Our usual lunch spot was Must Be Heaven, where the boys would get their kids’ meals in classic toy cars. After lunch, I’d drive the kids home, and we’d all nap, as that was the rhythm of that season of life. Meanwhile, Andrew often stayed to help my aunt with her renovations before heading home for dinner.

As our kids grew, we kept visiting Brenham, but the routine changed. After church on Sundays, we’d drive out, have lunch, and wander around town before heading home for bedtime routines. One day, the kind gentleman who always serves us at Brenham Grill asked what church we went to since we consistently arrived just before closing. When we told him we were from Tomball, he was shocked—he’d always thought we lived there. For us, shooting down 290 was like entering a peaceful tunnel, an escape from our everyday lives into a slower pace. Brenham held a special place in our hearts, like a second home we could retreat to.

We always dreamed of having land there, maybe for weekends, or even moving before Archer started high school. But God didn’t open that door at the time, so we put that dream to rest three years ago, thinking maybe it would happen after Kirby graduated.

Two years ago this October, something incredible happened—two people, who didn’t know us, shared visions that God had laid on their hearts, and they shared them separately with Andrew and me. One person told us about a vision where Andrew and I were sitting on a porch, watching children run around a field. We prayed over that and thought it must be a vision for when we had grandchildren. After all, we weren’t moving!

Then came my own vision, a bit more cryptic. In it, I was dressed as Santa, holding a bag filled with bricks. I laughed at first, because I’ve been known to dress as Santa often, and the bag of bricks felt like a metaphor for all the real estate projects I’ve worked on. But as I sat with it in prayer, I began to wonder if God was revealing something bigger.

Fast forward to a random day when we went to look at some land—no intention of moving, just supporting a dear one’s wild dreams. As we turned off the road, the street sign caught my eye: Christmas Drive. I couldn’t believe it. Then we passed a Santa sign. It was as if God was laying out the path before me, aligning every detail of this stanger’s vision. I didn’t say a word, though. I didn’t want it to be true. I wasn’t ready to leave Tomball—my home, my identity, my kids’ childhood.

But as we arrived at the land, I stood there, taking it all in, feeling a bit overwhelmed by everything I had just realized. We stood where a house would one day sit, overlooking a beautiful field. And as we stood there, five kids—were running around with the sun setting behind them. It was like I was standing in the vision we had prayed over. I pinched Andrew (he wasn’t too happy about that, by the way!). I whispered, “Look, the kids are running around, just like the vision!”

It was in that moment we both knew—God was calling us to move.