Recycled Living in a Second Hand Year

I began to work toward a new goal yesterday.  It’s a loose goal, one I’ll set before me as an aspiration for my life rather than the hard and fast sort of goals that make me feel guilty when I miss the mark and it won’t be anywhere near a central goal in life.

It’ll be aside gig, a sort of experiment.

The Second Hand Year

For the next year, I’ll try to live without buying anything new.  This excludes food of course, and unless we stay at a slew of hotels in the coming months, toiletries as well.  We’ll see.  And it’s my little gig, not my wife or my kids.

I am an impulse buyer.  Not bad, but it’s in me.  I see something I like and want (not need) and I feel the impulse to buy it.  Too often I do.

Buying things isn’t bad of course.  There is much we need to live here in our corner of the globe – where ever that may be.  But I guess I want to live with more discipline, more intentionality in this area.

And there are other things that I want too, things that cost money.  I want to return to Turkey – four tickets cost a lot of money, money that can be saved if I’m not buying loads of other stuff.

I want to develop a business.  Robert Lewis Stevenson famously advised: “Earn a little and spend a little less.”  I’ll be earning a little for a while.  It’s growing but it’s not their yet and so I’ll need to spend a little less.

And so I want to try to buy everything second-hand, to recycle what others have discarded and use it well.  One man’s junk is another man’s treasure and in today’s world, most junk is pretty well treasure all around.

My wife is wearing a pair of $80.00 Chaco sandals that our sister-in-law found at the thrift store for $10.00.  Her last pair of Chacos are into their thirteenth year and still going.  Chacos aren’t junk.

Yesterday, we bought a 2002 Pontiac Montana minivan.  We have our reasons for buying a minivan, reasons we feel good about.  It’s a good van, clean, well taken care of and we were able to pay cash for it.  No debt is right where I want to remain.

Why

Reason 1:  It forces me to live more intentionally, to think through what I really need and grow in patience.  It’s a character thing.

Reason 2:  It allows me to depend on God and others more, to live in community, to share and to be the recipient of  God’s generosity and the sharing of friends.  (Though not the town mooch)

Reason 3: It forces me to spend less money on me so I can spend more money on the important things in life.

Reason 4:  It will allow me to complete some of my dreams – like build a straw bale home office and return to Turkey with my family.

Reason 5: It will dramatically reduce my ecological footprint.  I am a Christian environmentalist I guess.  I think the earth as on of God’s creations should be taken care of and tended, not exploited for our own pleasures.

I suppose there are other reasons.  Maybe it just gives me something to work toward within the framework of my efforts to cobble together an income back in the states.  Maybe I just like to be different.  Regardless, I’ll give it a go, do the best I can, live graciously and honestly with myself and others and have fun with it.

We’ll see how it goes.

I am in no way the first to do this.  I saw a sign recently that said, “What we call organic, our grandparent’s called food.”  It highlights the fact that there is much that has changed in the last 100 years.  Many in the “good ole days” rarely bought anything new.   And Jess over at Nothing New, Nothing Wasted spent an entire year as a family working to buy nothing new.

And with resources like Freecycle, it may be easier than I think.

Friday Poems: I Saw You Today

Written as a telling of a particular day in Istanbul, this poem is part confession, part challenge and in many ways is complicated.  Life is complicated.  Things are not always as I would wish them to be, cut and dried, black and white, easy to fit into my boxes.  This is a poem as I saw it, as I lived and experienced it.

I saw you today.

Walking past my office window,

dumpster to dumpster with drag foot strides,

I saw you, – all of you.

You two mothers pushing finds in converted baby buggies,

babies slung over bent backs,

one tugging at the slack edge of a scarlet head scarf.

Your three and four year olds –

boys in rags and broken sandals –

trailed,

sometimes behind, sometimes squirting ahead,

but always walking wearily,

wary of the ways of the back of your hand.

Harsh hand and harsher words carry them down dumpster lined streets.

The four year old’s mother

hands an unpeeled orange to his open hand,

rescued from refuse, but fails to peel it.

He makes a marvelous mess of pulp and juice before she,

the giver, the guardian,

slaps it from his greedy fingers.

On they walk,

on into their gypsy life,

their wandering life,

their hungry life,

And they disappear.

Later,

a father came.

A father with another four-year old

and another converted baby buggy

and another journey down and Istanbul street,

dumpster to dumpster, market to market,

meal to meal to find to find.

He stops the buggy behind a black Mercedes,

says stay – to the buggy and the boy,

and crosses to the waiting meal in the market trash.

The boy stays, 

lips moving – presumably for himself though I could not hear,

fingers fondling the days find.

But then a man approaches,

middle-aged and well dressed,

talking kind words to the boy, beckoning –

And the boy goes without qualm

quickly on his heels and into the next door store.

But then the father returns,

smiling at the two bruised apples and smashed orange in his hands

to find the buggy but not the boy.

I see it then.

I see how much love he harbors in his tired heart for his son.

I see it in the fear that creep into his eyes.

I see it in the terror of his movements

and in the two new  bruises the apples receive

as they hit the concrete at his broken sandals.

I see it in his hands, cupped around shouting lips –

And finally,

I see it in the flood of relief that his snack smiling son

gives him when he bolts from the store,

cookies clutched in jubilant hands.

Relief comes.

A broken heart is not broken more.

The middle-aged man walks past the two,

a silent Samaritan not letting left know what right had done.

On he walks, 

on into his Muslim life,

his secular life,

his blessed life.

And he disappears.

Later,

I walk home along the sea,

praying for this nation,

praying for grace and discernment to be salt and light.

I stop at the store,

mindlessly buying four kinds of noodles,

not knowing what we’ll make with them.

My groceries and I make our way to the tunnel where I will cross the tracks,

and there

On a concrete bench

Sit two tired teenage boys.

“Mister, we’re hungry.  Do you have any food?  Do you have any money?”

I stop, surprised.

“Would you like some noodles?”

I offer to blank stares and then add –

“You can cook them at home.”

Their look tells me they may not have a home.

“We’re hungry mister.  Do you have any money?”

“No.”

I turn and walk

And cross the tracks

And walk from them

And disappear.

But the five lira in my pocket doesn’t disappear.

And the words of Jesus don’t disappear.

“You will always have the poor among you.”

Among you.

It seems now more a command than a fact.

A command I’ve missed through the sham of  fact.

Among you.

If the poor are not among us,

Could it be we disobey?

I surely did today.

I surely did today.

(previously published at Stories from Turkey and The Everyday Language Learner)

Thoughts for the Proper Use of Technology

Last week I dove into the topic of technology with my thoughts on cell phone use.   Today, in reflection of a short article I read at The Catholic Land Movement blog, I’d like to pass on some ideas I found there for discussion.

In his article, Principles for the Proper Use of Technology, Kevin Ford offers three principles to help guide our thinking about how and when we should use technology.

Like Kevin, I have a healthy fear that we are swallowing every new thing with nary a thought to the ramifications on individual, family or community life.

This bothers me and like Kevin, I’d like to explore a bit, ask some questions and in the end, be unafraid to make significant changes if that is what is called for.

Here are Kevin’s three essential elements for the proper use of technology.

1. Technology should benefit the family and the community.

2. If a lesser technology can be used without great detriment of time, labor, or money then it should be used.

3. Technology must serve the common good.

As I reflect on my thoughts about buying a cell phone in light of these three principles, I begin to come to the conclusion – for this time at least – that we may not need to spend $150+ every month to own cell phones.

Principle two leads me to this conclusion – a lesser technology that is far cheaper is available.  We can install a land line and meet most all of our communication needs.

This of course could change as our life changes.  But it seems at least a feasible conclusion for now.

How about you?

What do you think about his three principles?  Are they helpful in guiding our use of technology?

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?

image

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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