Weeding, One Day At A Time

As we have returned to the farm, we have taken up the daily task of tending to the small garden’s Consuelo’s mom has planted around the yard.

There’s sweet corn and potatoes in a large patch out by the machine shed.  There are all the vegetables back behind the house; green beans, spinach, tomatoes, swiss chard, onion, etc.  And there is the magnificent flower garden out back.

We’ve been planting new flowers and veggies, watering regularly and in daily doses, I’ve worked to weed each of the gardens in turn.

Weeds are tough.  They just don’t quit – ever. Their roots go deeper faster than any other garden plant and they are nearly indestructible.

Weeds are perfectly created to test the human soul.

Patience. Stamina. Determination. All are needed to defeat the weeds.

Weeds seem best controlled when I attack them a little everyday.  I don’t ever let them get a grip, but keep them on the run, daily cutting off new growth, laying down suffocating mulch and digging them out by the roots when I can.

If I slack off for a few days, they become so thick it becomes discouraging to even fight them.  I wear out and want to quit and run away.  The work is then much more difficult.

My life would seem like that as well.  I need to daily fight off my demons – cutting off new growth, laying down a suffocating layer of mulch and when I can, digging some out by the roots.  If I slack off, I pay for it.

And so daily I fight the weeds of life. 

Friday Poems: I Brought You Here Today

I’ve written much poetry through the years, but always in occasional bursts, seasonal storms of inspiration that produce five to ten new poems and then no more.  I hope I can begin writing poems more often, but until then, I wanted to start something new (and add some regular content to the blog) by introducing Friday Poems, a regular series in which I’ll post an old poem every Friday.

Today’s poem was written when I was teaching high school English at Freeman Academy.  We were reading Walden by Thoreau and so I took my junior class to the prairie arboretum behind the school in hopes that they would more readily identify with the text and in some way, catch a bit more of Thoreau’s message.

I brought you here today with hopes

That cricket calls and autumn breezes

And the fading warmth of sun

Might somehow help,

Might somehow call you as a class

Into a Thoreauvian trance.

You would read a bit,

Raise your eyes from the page and ponder-

“I went to the woods . . .”

“I did not wish to live what was not life . . .”

“I wanted to live deep and suck the out all the marrow . . .”

“Our life is frittered away by detail . . .”

“Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity . . .”

But your minds were swept up in

“Saint Vitus’ dance” of cheap talk and flirting

and hanging out as friends.

Born was a  gazebo sanctuary

Of talk and procrastination and

The sweet scent of friendship.

Perhaps today was a failure.

Perhaps, success unseen.

October 2, 2006

Use Your Cell Phone Like It’s 1985

I am on the verge of buying my wife and I cell phones here in the states.   We don’t own any as we have just returned from four and a half years overseas and so buying cell phones seems the thing to do.  Everyone’s doing it right?

It may seem funny to some, but I am honestly considering not – as in not buying cell phones. Really.

Call me weird, but before deciding to move to Turkey five years ago we didn’t have cell phones, a TV, the Internet or a toaster – just kidding, at our house we love toast.

In Istanbul, a city of nearly 15 million, we bought a cell phone for each of us and were happy to have had them. They made life easier, kept us connected and provided a much needed sense of security.

But as of a week ago we are back in rural South Dakota.   I am attempting in our return to live intentionally with my time and our money and the way I use technology – cell phones included. You see I want to use technology, to be its master and would like to keep it from becoming the other way around.

I have to be careful here of course.  I am not saying cell phones are bad but I am trying to carefully consider how I use them.  They are an amazing tool that can powerfully impact our personal experience in wonderful ways.

But, that doesn’t mean I need to swallow them whole hog. And that is why, if I do get a cell phone, I am going to endeavor to use it like it’s 1985.

Here are a few things that never happened in 1985:

  • Your best friend never stopped talking to you over dinner to talk with someone else a hundred miles away on their cell phone.
  • You were never distracted at movies, Church services or your kid’s school program by someone running out while holding their hand over their cell phone to muffle the Elton John ringtone.
  • You were never interrupted by telemarketers over dinner while eating out – that was reserved for eating with your family at home.
  • You never ignored your kids while you were “playing” with them in order to check the score, the stock market, play Angry Birds or to watch a Chris Farley video on Youtube (guilty as charged).
  • There were never any car crashes related to texting while driving. (No train crashes either)
  • You never dropped a call because you were driving through a tunnel.  You sometimes dropped the phone, but it was always there, dangling by its cord, waiting to be picked up.
  • You never upgraded your phone on a yearly basis just because a newer model came out. In all of your life up until that point you may have upgraded twice – once when they introduced the touch pad to replace your old rotary phone and the next time when they came out with the cordless phone.
  • You never needed to have your wife call you so you could find your cell phone stuck in the couch cushions. The real phone was bolted to the wall in the kitchen. It never got lost.

Before the cell phone, it seems we lived pretty healthy, well-adjusted lives – most people did anyway. If someone called, and you were not at home, the phone just rang.

It just hung there on the wall and rang.

After a few moments of unanswered ringing, the caller would think to herself, “Hmmm. No one seems to be home. I guess I’ll try back later.And life went on. Few people died because of unanswered phones.

But today, people having a heart to heart conversation with a friend, a spouse or their kids seem to have no problem dropping them to answer their cell phones (guilty as charged again).  This seems like a problem.

My son is eight years old. I’ve had to occasionally reprimand him when, upon the smallest distraction, he will wander away from an adult who is trying to talk with him. It’s rude to just turn and walk away from someone who is talking and yet, if I examine my own life and the lives of most adults in his life, isn’t he just mimicking what he observes in us?

The funny thing is that it wasn’t always this way.  I found a 2002 USA Today article that had this to say:

Most cell phone culprits inherently are ill-mannered underachievers. Getting a phone call in a public place and carrying on a long, loud conversation gives these wannabes a feeling of importance.

Ouch. It was just twelve years ago and yet it is strange to think how far we’ve come (or gone).

And so, if I purchase a cell phone in the next few weeks, I’m going to try to use it like it is 1985.

I won’t nail it to the wall in our home.  Nor will I  leave it sitting on the counter in the kitchen.  I will however work to not let it control me.  If I am free to answer it when it rings, I’ll answer it.

If however, I am with another person, if I am working on a project, if I am playing with my kids or enjoying my morning quiet time – I’ll just have to let it ring.

Now I am no Luddite. I am not opposed to cell phones. They are powerful tools that can be tremendously helpful. I just want to use it on my own terms. I want to use it as a tool, not be at its every beck and call.

When I was living in Istanbul, I always had a rule. If I was talking with someone, I would never answer my cell phone unless it was Consuelo – my wife gets preferential treatment.  Everyone else got ignored.

But not really ignored. You see that is the great thing about technology – I always knew whose call I had missed and was able – after finishing up my conversation – to call them back.

And no one ever got mad at me for that. On the contrary, everyone was completely understanding, even appreciative that I had called them back.

Cell phones are as much a part of our lives as the clothes we wear.  There are many amazing opportunities that exist because of them and they are often a powerful force for good.

I guess I just want to slow down a little, to consider all the ramifications before I dive back in.  And then I want to work to use them as best I can.

What are your thoughts about cell phone use?

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13 Years of Wonder

An anniversary breakfast in the garden.

Today marks Consuelo and my 13th wedding anniversary.  Back in South Dakota, we were able to return to the backyard flower garden that hosted our wedding reception and enjoy an anniversary breakfast served by our kids.

It was wonderful.

The kids, with much help from grandma, laid out a fantastic little garden retreat; a small table and two chairs, the fine china, our favorite music playing (Andrew Peterson, Gungor, U2, Sandra McCracken to name a few) and a fun little meal of homemade apple muffins, a blueberry sauce to die for, and . . . bacon.  Mmmm.  The gateway meat!

Consuelo began crafting this little garden back in high school and she, and now we, have worked at caring for it and cultivating it ever since.  It has seen two weddings and one (our) wedding reception and is a little sanctuary of peace and a place to work out life’s stress.  In our absence, Consuelo’s mom has done wonders to keep it up and it looks great even if the hedges need their yearly trim.

But thirteen years!  Thirteen wonderful years.  Marriage has been the joyous dance of friendship and faith, personality and passion, love and loyalty all wound around the rhythms of joy and pain and life.  I could never have imagined marrying so well, having such an amazing friend and partner in life.  My sights were set far too low, my hopes dim and dreary compared to the reality of life as I know it now.  My imaginings as a 22-year-old of what a life a marriage would and could be like were dull and morose compared to what I’ve received.

I guess I feel blessed.  Blessed that through the good and the bad, things have turned out far better than I could ever have even imagined.  I just didn’t know.  I had glimpses of course in the relationship of my own mom and dad, but much of deep love and friendship lies below the surface and out of the public eye.

It’s as it should be.

Here are a few more pictures from our anniversary breakfast.

Enjoying some quiet conversation under the watchful eye of our wonderful little waitress.
Enjoying the many flowers of the garden.
The living entry to our breakfast.
Turkish Tea!
My beautiful bride.

Diving In

We are back in South Dakota now trying to come to grips with the change that has taken place in our lives.  People ask what we think or how we are doing and the only answer I can think to give right now is:  It’s complicated.

One thing is for sure though, the peace, the slow pace, the silence and the solitude of the farm are all very nice.  I am trying to embrace this in between time, this respite from the busyness, this time on the farm to dive in deeper.

I’ve been reading again the daily writings from a book called Embracing Soul Care as well as St. Teresa of Avila’s Interior Castle.  I’ve been journaling a lot.  I’ve been mowing, a long missed activity through which I can both help out a bit around the farm as well as listen to the ipod – a podcast, Turkish worship, or chapter seven of  Dallas Willard’s Divine Conspiracy.

Next week I’ll jump back into regular writing, to the work of staying connected with Turkey and to the business of growing my business but I hope to be able to continue to dive deeper into just being, just hearing, just living each day to the fullest as I seek to live the abundant life.

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Home?

The living room of our “home” of the last four years.

Last night we flew into Sioux Falls for the final leg of our return journey back to the U.S.  We’ve spent the last four and a half years in Turkey and now begin a new adventure which we hope will bridge that season in life and the season to come.

In it all and in reflection of my kids’s response to our move, I’ve been thinking about what ‘Home’ means.

My son Malachi seems to equate home with a location.  Home is the apartment in the neighborhood in Cekmekoy in Istanbul in Turkey.  It has a location.  So strong is this sense in him that on our first flight yesterday, he asked if we would stay in Freeman when we returned rather than out on the farm.  Freeman was the small town we lived in before moving to Turkey.  Freeman is still home, even though he was three and a half when we moved from there.

My daughter Sonora on the other hand seems to equate home with a sense of belonging and peace rather than place.  Over the last few weeks – rather emotional weeks – whenever things went wrong, she would cry and say, “I want to go home. I want to go to America.”  I think she was feeling the reality that the next place she would have her sense settledness, it would be in America. Turkey was topsy-turvy and in transition.  Home for her is a place where mom and dad are and where she has her space.  When we got back to the farm, she immediately claimed “her room” set to making it her room and became protective of that space.

Both kids have been absolute heroes over the last few months. They have given the majority of their things away. They’ve left friends behind.  They waded through weeks of transition and done it well.  We are proud of them.

And they have forced me to think about what it means to be home.  Is America my home?  Turkey?  Is home a place or a feeling?

I’m learning that it is more than any of that and is different for everyone.  And I am not even sure what home means to me.  I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately but still haven’t nailed it down.

How about you?  What does “home” mean to you?

Quitting

My family and I are just one week from our return to the states.  It will be a permanent return, born on the back of a one way ticket and a year of prayer and planning.

We return with considerable excitement but also with a fair amount of trepidation.  There are the usual fears: making a living, starting over, surviving transition, fitting back in.

We’ve been changed in our four years in Turkey and we know it.

We think differently. Our priorities have evolved.  Our hopes and dreams face a new direction on life’s compass.

I was reading an article today that reflects one of our concerns in returning.  In I’m Ready To Quit Church, Andy Traub asks some big questions about how we can see something new, something more alive and meaningful in our church experience.

I won’t go into my concerns today, but I want to begin a dialogue about rural faith, one of the topics I feel drawn to talk about and explore and examine.  For some reason, rural faith – faith walked out in small towns across the U.S. – seems different in nature than that of our urban cousins.

There are a host of reasons why and they present both positive advantages as well as some real challenges for those desiring to grow in that faith in the rural environment.  It is a topic I desire to explore with others who claim Christ as savior in rural America.

In it all I am reminded of the words of Erwin McMannus, written both for me and for our churches:

We are all hypocrites in transition. I am not who I want to be, but I am on the journey there, and thankfully I am not whom I used to be.

My desire is to walk out this conversation in an attitude of gracious love.  In no way to I want to be the ‘critic’.  I’ve been reading Oswald Chambers lately and he has given me plenty to think about in regards to a critical spirit.

In the spiritual domain, criticism is love gone sour.  There is no room for criticism in a wholesome spiritual life.  Whenever you are in the critical temper, it is impossible to enter into communion with God.  Criticism makes you hard and vindictive and cruel, and leaves you with the nattering unction that you are a superior person.

So I want to be careful.  I want to walk in grace and love and avoid being critical.  It is a delicate line to walk of course.

A dentist can tell you that you haven’t been taking care of your teeth, that you need to brush more, that there are cavities and do it all without being critical – it’s her job.  She is making an assessment so that she can help you change your behavior in order to have healthier teeth.  But she is not condemning you and you don’t feel condemned.*

We all – individuals and church alike – are in transition, are being changed, are growing and, if we allow His work in us and look to learn from one another, will continue to become the people and Church that God intended.

If you are interested in thinking more about “church” as you know it, Andy recommends a couple of books in his post that may well be worth looking into. Stop By Now.

*The dentist analogy is borrowed from Dallas Willard’s book Divine Conspiracy.
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Stuff

Mental Energy: Take? Sell? Store? Give Away? Trash?

“Americans used to be ‘citizens.’ Now we are ‘consumers.”
― Vicki Robin

My wife is upstairs now trying to find the right recipe for getting our “stuff” back to America when we return on the 20th of this month.

We have already sent a number of bags back with friends but now are in those last stages of sorting, pitching, packing and generally trying to do the best job to get most of what we need and some of what we want back to South Dakota.  We’ll be leaving a lot behind.

You could look at this problem in one of two ways.  Either:

  1. The airlines have cut the number of bags you can check on international flights to one bag per person – that would be four bags for our family.  You can purchase more bags if you wish.  Or –
  2. We have too much stuff.

Consuelo and I actually like this part of the process of moving.  We like the purging that happens, the returning to our senses and to the essentials.  We have talked a lot about this move and desire to make our return to the U.S. a modest one.

I have a theory that we are in some way slaves to the things we own.  This isn’t always a bad thing, but it is a reality.  If I own something, it in some way owns me.  It requires my time, my care, and my mental and emotional energy.

Again, this isn’t always a bad thing.  Often times the payback is well worth the exchange.  Our buying a car here in Istanbul was one of those that was well worth the time, energy and money to own.  I only wish now I’d bought it sooner.

But the things we own will make demands on us. They will take our time.  Our money.  Our emotional energy and our mental focus.

And other things will need to be sacrificed.

“If you live for having it all, what you have is never enough.”
― Vicki Robin

As we return to the states, we want to be intentional about being slow to acquire more stuff. We’ll need beds of course and a bit of furniture, but really, we NEED far less than we think.

Most of our neighbors here in our apartment eat as a family seated on a blanket spread out on the living room floor.  We call it village style and it is the way Turks have eaten for centuries – like most cultures perhaps.

Consuelo and I were talking last night about all of this and remembered that less than 100 years ago, most Americans had a few pairs of work clothes, one set of “Sunday Best” clothes and little else.  It was enough.

Enough.

Enough seems to be a word long lost on the west and yet it would seem to be a pretty defining Biblical principle.  I certainly have my weaknesses, those things that I think I need, those purchases I make to meet an emotional need and those products I desire because I think they will make me cool.

But it is not really about the stuff.  It’s about the attitude, about the direction and leanings of the heart.  It is always a heart issue.  I am reminded of a story about John Wesley:

A distraught man frantically rode his horse up to John Wesley, shouting, “Mr. Wesley, Mr. Wesley, something terrible has happened. Your house has burned to the ground!” Weighing the news for a moment, Wesley replied, “No. The Lord’s house burned to the ground. That means one less responsibility for me.”

And so as we return to the states, I want to avoid filling my life with lots of stuff and simultaneously hold less tightly to the stuff I do own.

That way I’ll have more left over to focus on the things that truly matter.