Thinking About A Home Office

As we begin the journey toward settling down here in South Dakota, I realize that if I am to make my online ventures a reality and if I am be able to carve out the time to write regularly, I am going to need to find a better space to work.

Two years of working from cafes and from the IKEA cafeteria near our kids’ school in Istanbul have taught me to put distraction out of mind, but since I’ll have the space and since two kids and four cousins are a bit more distracting than the regular customers stopping through for a bite to eat or a cup of tea, I’d like to take some time to construct a home office.

As is fitting to this time and place in life, I’ll work to cobble together this structure from second-hand and natural materials that I can find around the surrounding countryside. My desire is to build a small straw-bale structure that will be an energy-efficient, extremely low cost, creative and environmentally friendly. Much of this depends on where we settle of course, but we hope to figure that out in the next few weeks.

Strawbale is something I have been reading about for a long time now and so building this will be a great little project to explore this building medium. It is a fantastic idea and if you’d like to read a bit more about it be sure and visit Building With Strawbales, Straw Bale, or House of Straw. I’ll also try and document each step of the building process.

What does this mean?

Strawbale Insulated Walls
Earthen Floor
Recycled windows and doors
Living roof
Low impact foundation
Minimal use of concrete
Natural plaster finish
Recycled wood or trees from the surrounding countryside

A Few Pictures

In all of this, I really have a loose dream of what I want to build. Hobbit House is the description that I most quickly gravitate toward, but in reality, the materials that I am able or unable to procure will probably impact building decisions more than any other factor. In the end, I’ll leave it to “We’ll see how it goes,” get started and adjust as I go.

Here are a few pictures I’ve found online, along with the picture at the top of the post, that have inspired me in this pursuit.

Things I Love

I was going back through some old writing from my first year in Turkey and came across this. Enjoy.

Reflecting last evening in the full moon brightness of our small balcony, I began to recount in my mind the things that I love. Not like ice cream or apple pie, but the moments in this journey called life that bring fully laden joy to the everyday, those things that make you shudder with delight, make you catch your breath, make you wish like crazy that someone would invent a camera that would capture the emotion along with the action. I thought of a few and perhaps will add more later.

1

I was putting the kids to bed last night, a raucous event on our house because we have no set routine or schedule other than brushing teeth and putting on pajamas. It sometimes goes quickly, sometimes drags on for over an hour, but is nothing like our baby wise friends whose kids kiss them goodnight and lay quietly in the stillness until sleep overtakes them. No. We get water, we get toys, we read books, we play bank, turn off the light and slow down and try something new. Last night Malachi was the sleepy one and quickly faded into his deep, undisturbable slumber. Sonora, her usual self was a bundle of energy and like most nights, I tried a lot of different approaches before giving up in frustration and pulling in beside her on her twin bed. As she continued her endless babble with her dolls I lay there in the dark pleading with God to make her fall asleep.

God replied, “Don’t you like the daughter I gave you?”

“Well, yes, of course I do. It’s just. . . Well, I have a lot to do.”

God replied, “More important than being with your daughter?”

“Well . . . , no. Not really, but she needs the sleep and, um, um,”

I gave up. I watched her play. I listened to the ways she talked differently to each of her dolls as she practiced mothering them, the way she covered them up and gave them bottles.Then suddenly she was done. She put her dolls down. She picked up her blanky and crawled down to the end of the bed where my head was, plopped her blanky on my shoulder, her head on her blanky and threw her arm across my chest. She snuggled in, drew closer, gave a deep sigh and fell asleep. Just like that. I listened to her breathing for some time, felt her, even in sleep drawing close to me. I sighed, wrapped my arms around her and whispered into the dark of the night, “Thank You.”

2

Malachi learned to pray from a worm. Its name is Hermie and he is the creation of Max Luccado, but Malachi learned to pray from him. They are frank prayers; clear, direct, open-eyed and said to a God who might be sitting on the edge of the bed next to him listening intently. I hope he always prays like this, especially in church in front of people because it will make everyone uncomfortable. Last fall, we were returning to the farm on a cold star filled November night. Malachi was in his car seat looking out the window. I am not sure what was going on in his head, but he had then recently been asking a lot of questions about God and where he was and such. Anyway, the car was quiet except for the sound of the tires on frozen pavement when Malachi’s voice broke into the silence. He sounded urgent and a little frustrated.

“Hey God. Could you come down a little closer so I can hear you. I can’t hear you way up there.”

That was it. His prayer to God to come near. Now we are in Turkey and Malachi still prays in his frank, Hermie way. Last week his gold fish ‘Fishy’ was sick and had not been doing much besides floating in his coffee cup fish house. I was pretty sure the fish was a goner. Malachi was distraught. So we suggested he pray for the fish. Malachi stepped up to the table and looked into the tank.

“God. Fishy is sick. Can you heal him so he won’t die. Thanks.”

The next morning, Fishy was swimming around his tank looking much healthier than the day before.

3

Soccer is big here. It is big everywhere in the world outside of the U.S. of course, but last month I came to a new understanding, appreciation and love for the game and what I am learning it represents. Euro Cup 2008 was in June. Turkey competed and put on a strong showing. Fielding a team depleted by injuries, they lost in the semi finals to Germany. We watched every game even though they started at 9:45 pm. It was a great run and amazingly fun to see a nation come alive to cheer for their team. It is a phenomenon we can’t understand in the states. It highlights the collective consciousness that seems to mark this culture in stark contrast to the individualistic culture of the states. During the Euro Cup, 70 million Turks sat together in front of the television, a monolithic mass of frenzied fans all pulling in the same direction on the cosmic gods of soccer. The first goal we scored brought the neighborhood to its feet in shrill delight and loud screaming that carried out their open windows, mixed with their neighbors cheers out in the streets and came in through our open windows. It was loud and startled us and sent us giddily running for the camera, rushing out on our balcony, hoping to video a bit of what no one back home would believe. Every goal for two weeks was like this and sometimes if the goal was near the end of the game and if the victory was imminent, fireworks would burst into the night sky as well. We cheered our team on together. This open windowed sharing of mirth and enthusiasm for the team is reflective of the corporate nature of the culture. I had read about this idea, corporate versus individual, but had never quite grasped its depth. Not that I grasp it now, but I am beginning to understand. When our man Nihat scored in the last-minute to cap a three goal rally in the final fifteen minutes of our game against Czechoslovakia, I jumped to my feet with 70 million Turks, ran to our open window and leaning out, hollered my ecstasy into the streets of our great, corporate, victorious night.

The Far Country

“God is at home. We are in the far country.”

-Meister Eckhart

A favorite singer songwriter of mine, Andrew Peterson, has an album called “The Far Country.” He writes of finding the above quote in an Annie Dillard book. Coming across the quote tonight sparked in me a notion that the far country is indeed where we are all living.

It seems common for people to ask us how it was living away from “home?”

We spent the last four and a half years living in Turkey and it was indeed different from the place we grew up, from the quiet streets of Freeman and known sounds and meanings of English.

But we are no more at home here than we were there.

Indeed, none of us are.

We are all passing through. We are all on the way. We are strangers in a strange land and we would do well not to forget it lest we grow accustomed, comfortable and some how in that comfort, lose sight of the true home for which we were created.

The journey is not easy, but it does lead us home.

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Friday Poems: Peace Pole

May peace prevail on earth

Is what we read and why we’re here.

Moce Friede Auf Erden Sein

The words again in our father’s tongue.

The cool wind calls through

Rushing treetops

While leaves drop like

Golden cluster bombs

And land among the feet of children.

Only here, at our peace pole

We need not fear leaves

Falling from the sky.

We are safe.

Seated in a staggered

And erratic circle,

Students shiver

The cool fall shiver of October.

Soon back to school,

The shiver will be gone,

The thought of cold, evaporated.

But what of peace,

Of thoughts of peace and a world

Of fear and death and destruction

And children shivering the endless

Shiver of poverty

And walking the prosthetic limp

Of the cold remnant of someone else’s’ war?

….

Will those thoughts evaporate as well?

Will we return to the malaise of every day

And shallow talk and cheap grace?

Light pours down, filtered and soft,

Mingling, warming,

Guiding through the dark night

And out into the dawn.

________________

October 6, 2006

(After Friday peace service at the campus peace pole)

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Strong Encores Always Impress

A few nights past, I was able to head into Wichita State’s Cessna Stadium for a Drum Corp International competition with my mom, uncle and sister-in-law. It has become a bit of a family tradition since my cousin Dieter marched with a corp called the Troopers for seven years.

For those not familiar with drum corp – I wasn’t until my cousin got involved – it’s a bit like marching band – on steroids, and it’s pretty amazing. You can watch the video at the end of this post to get the full experience and if ever there is a competition near you, I’d heartily encourage you to go. You won’t regret it.

Dieter is no longer marching but is traveling with a corp called the Cadets this year as their videographer. It’s a great gig as he is an up and coming media guy, taking great photos and shooting some fantastic videos. You can check out more of his stuff out at Dieter Wiselogel.

As a rookie to drum corp, I can tell the difference between the bad, the good and the great performances and you could too. The sound, the storytelling and the shows are just different and the top corps will take your breath away.

The show we attended was no different. The first two shows had fewer members and put forth okay performances. There were flashes of brilliance, but nothing sustained and nothing to take your breath away. The last four corps were great though. The sound they produce is at times crushing in its immensity and at other times like a gentle breeze to sooth the soul. The story they tell with the music and with the dancers is mesmerizing. Their shows were amazing.

Dieter had the night off from shooting film and so was able to sit in the stands with us to enjoy the show. It was interesting to sit with a professional, someone for whom drum corp is a passion and whose expertise can recognize what my eyes cannot. He added that extra bit of insight that took my appreciation for what I was seeing up one notch.

There were a lot of takeaways from my night at the drum corp event.

The passion with which these kids pour into their summers, night after night, show after show is fun to see. They’ll practice all day in 100 degree weather, put on a show and be out practicing again after the show in the parking lot before their bus takes them – overnight – to their next destination. There, they’ll disembark and crawl into sleeping bags thrown down an a gym floor for a few hours of sleep before they wake up and do it all over again.

The passion of these kids is something I hope everyone can find in life, find and then ride.

But the thing that most impressed me about night was the encore.

After the last show, the Cadets, had left the field, one of the earlier acts marched back on to the field to give the audience an encore performance while the judges tabulated the scores. I leaned over to Dieter and asked if the corps enjoyed giving the encore. They had been practicing all day in 100 degree weather. They had slept on a high school gym floor the night before. They were tired, stinky and had already given a truly amazing performance. Dieter confirmed what I would expect – most corps dread their turn for the encore.

And so as the Madison Scouts marched back out and took their places in front of the grandstand for what would be our last memory of the evening, my expectations were low. The drum and bugle corp formed a half circle behind the larger, stationary percussion instruments and their drum major took his place in the stands so his musicians could see him.

But then it happened.

Magic.

The drum major raised his hands and they began. They poured everything out. They had fun. They put forth big, amazing brass sounds that blew the crowd away. For ten minutes they put on a musical spectacle that was a gift to us all.

They didn’t need to do it. They could have packed it in. The night was already a success. The crowd had been given more than their money’s worth already, and yet the Madison Scouts gave more.

I suspect it’s the same with all the great corps. It’s why they are great. It’s what separates the men from the boys.

It’s the ability to dig deep and give the gift even when it’s not needed, even when it’s not expected.

And it’s what we all should aspire to as fathers and mothers, as employees and employers, as leaders and entrepreneurs and people.

It challenged me to think about how I could be like the Madison Scouts and give my best even when I am tired and want to pack it in, even when it wouldn’t be expected, even when there is no real reward in return.

It’s something I want to work on.

How have you given the gift of your best even when it wasn’t expected or needed in this last week?

image: Dieter Wiselogel

Sir Ken Robinson Gets It

(if the video doesn’t play, you can watch it HERE)

I’ve probably watched this video four or five times now, and each time I watch, I’m inspired and encouraged.

It gives me hope.

But it also makes me want more for my kids than I think most public schools are capable of giving them. The teachers are fantastic for the most part, but the system within which they work is too often crippling their ability to help kids flourish.

At least that is my personal experience as a teacher of high school English in the Midwest for several years.

Sir Ken Robinson gets it.

The problem is that we are functioning in a system that was developed over 100 years ago in order to prepare kids for a world that no longer exists. The industrial age is dead. The old economy has gone the way (or is going) of the dinosaur.

The question then for all of us to explore is what in the old system (if any) do we keep and what needs re-inventing to prepare our kids to live in the world of tomorrow.

Any ideas?

Seasons, Expectations and Reality

Seasons come and seasons go and with each, new challenges and opportunities arise. My family and I are in a season of transition now, of visiting family and friends and of sleeping on floors, in spare rooms and hopefully, for a few nights at least, under the stars.

Mostly this season of transition has been really good. After four years in Turkey, it is wonderful to spend time with family, to watch the cousins play for hours on end and to catch up with old friends. It has also been a time to sleep in a bit more, to read my mom’s collection of Outside Magazines and to go to baseball games, the lake or to grandmas for a few hours of conversation.

It hasn’t been a time for growing my fledgling business however. That’s been on maintenance mode, doing just enough to keep it going and leaving me at times wondering if I should be doing more.

But it’s a season, a season I’m working to embrace and enjoy. To do that, it seems important to bring my expectations in line with reality. When expectations are higher than reality allows, the pain of disappointment can be great.

I once saw a demonstration that helped me understand the power of expectations to negatively affect life when they are not in line with reality. A volunteer was called to the front of our group and a large, three feet in diameter rubber band was placed around him. The presenter then proceeded to stretch the rubber band away from this now fear filled volunteer. Letting go of the rubber band would have resulted in quite a painful snap. “Our expectations,” the instructor explained, “are a lot like the rubber band. The further they are from reality, the more painful the pop is when our expectations are not met.”

Not that I’ve thrown expectations out the door, but I have realized that this season will be limited in terms of the amount of time and energy that I’ll be able to focus on my online business and on writing more.

And that’s okay.

It’s okay because this season has a shelf life. In a few weeks, our time on the road will have ended. We will be settling into the routine of life in South Dakota. If I can keep that idea in front of me, it allows me to be more present now, to enjoy this time and focus on the relationships that are the gift of this time. A gift I do not want to miss.

That is my desire.

Have you been able to keep your expectations in line with reality?

Friday Poems: Agnus Dei

We entered the arboretum

Under the same majesty of stars and sky.

We came to worship in song, in fellowship.

Though I do not know you, we worshiped

The God of all creation,

The God of love and joy and hope and salvation

Together.

I came physically whole,

Healthy and when the song leader suggested standing,

I stood, raised my small son to his perch on my shoulders and praised.

You remained seated.

As we sang, as we worshiped in spirit and in truth,

You, in your broken body and shell of the man you once were,

Leaned toward your wife,

Whispered.

She nodded, stood.

You braced yourself against her grasp now outdoing your own.

She lifted and you helped as you could,

She lifted and sang into your eyes and you into hers.

Standing for that short moment

You joined the angels in praising,

In giving glory to the God of creation,

To the God of heaven and earth.

And to the God of hope,

Of a new heaven and a new earth and one day,

Of a new body.

Your very being called out to God,

“You are good, you are good,

Though you may slay me,

Still will I know that you are good.”