In my youthful years, the Haas’ hosted a party in their basement every Christmastime, spending hours on end erecting the most creative – and often incredibly intricate! – gingerbread houses. Having fond memories of this, and believing God put us here to share our resources, we opened the house to friends and strangers to carry on the torch of gingerbread house making.
What started on Friday evening went on through Saturday evening, with powdered sugar glue and sticky floors, outside games in the dark and sleepovers. And lots of tiny houses.
When we moved here last April, one of the first things we noted was how Christmasy this house was. It’s easy to be festive in this home. I swear, it was made for Christmas. It’s design is so warm and inviting. So homey and bright.
It may sound like I’m boasting. But I’m not. It’s not ours. None of this is. It’s just stuff. And stuff isn’t what makes us happy. Sure, it helps with temporal cheer. But when I look around, it’s not the stuff I see, but it’s the reminders. It’s the amazement at the things that God has bestowed on us for now. It’s the responsibility to share those gifts. It’s the JOY that comes with that responsibility and desire.
Every Sunday my Grandma opened her house to anyone who would come when I was a little girl. She’d cook up a big amazing dinner and we’d all make ourselves at home for the entire day. The urge and desire to have a home like that has yanked at me over the years, but our old place did not allow it so freely.
When we lived over the hill, we’d talked (in the name of joking) for years and years about building a commune, cooperatively buying farm equipment and land, naming who we’d have in the event of world catastrophe (Gertrude as our doctor, Jed as our gunsmith, Deston our land manager, Jim our vet, etc etc etc)… It just never came into fruition, but still lingers as “a plan”.
Once we moved here, very quickly this house became an open home to many people. And so it began.
When Scott was in the hospital, our house was even less ours, and more the community’s. Every single day new people arrived, bringing dinner or to be with the kids and Papa. When we returned home, people stayed with us and helped us regain some normalcy. Since then, it is perpetually crawling with – more oft than not – young adults looking for conversation, a warm meal, a bed-sized bean bag; to work on something, or just to hang.
I thought it may get old. I mean, we love people. But we also love our privacy, right?
The hospital changed me. Things don’t really matter to me anymore. What’s mine is yours. I was dubbed with the spiritual gift of being a “giver” as a young girl – but this was brought to new levels. Not by my accord. God made it clear to me that stuff simply doesn’t matter. Not only does it not matter, but why keep it as our own – be it our stuff, our house, or even ourselves?
One theologian helped me understand an important aspect of gospel love by distinguishing between giving of yourself and giving yourself. When I give of myself to you, I give you something that I possess like my wisdom, my joy, my goods, or my strengths generally. Of course, I don’t really risk losing anything in the process, because I gain praise for such giving. Indeed, I can give all that I have, even my body to the flames, and have not love. When I give myself, however, I don’t just give something that I have, I give my whole self. I identify my self with your self. I start giving attention to your very name and reputation because I view them as united to my own. Any glory that I might have becomes yours, and all the glory that you have is the glory that I most enjoy. It’s mine, too! – Jonathan Leeman
Instead of feeling encroached on, we are so thankful for the people who live in our house, both full- and part-time. Our children have excellent role models that incorporate themselves in the ‘normal’ days, as well as the planned ones. The particular young men I asked to step in in Scott’s absence have continued to be actively serving our family by being examples for our children in impressive and unexpected ways.* Why would I ever wish for less?
This [raising children village-style] segway’s into another topic, but I want to save it for the next blog. This one’s already getting long. I promise you, I’m going to bring this back around. But there is a lot to cover of my many-thoughts on this subject as a whole.
One final thing, though, with commune in mind. Last June I struggled with thoughts of how I would support our family if I needed to financially. The Bible makes clear reference to churches supporting the widows, but speaks this only of the elderly widows, as the young still has the ability to work hard. Knowing our church had already proven that they would do what they could, I knew that I’d need to really step up to the plate, if necessary. But how could I get a job while still holding to the principles that Scott and I had wanted for our family (home school, etc)? Maybe I’d have to let go of some of this. Maybe I’d have to rely on God’s sovereignty in those situations. Or maybe the right thing would present itself, allowing a ‘perfect’ scenario amidst such devastation. But we are called to make good decisions with what we had, and so…
It got me thinking about housing, the #1 expense of life (generally speaking). It got me thinking about community. It got me thinking about tiny houses. Yes, they are trending fad. No, it would not make sense for our family to move into one right now. Nonetheless, yes, it would be an excellent investment.
We may never need it. But it fits into our family and homestead goals. Up over the hill, we had pondered quite extensively building a village of eco houses (one straw bale, one ICF, one cord wood, etc), using each for a separate purpose, documenting which is best for what purpose ecologically and energy efficiently. Maybe this could house that doctor, gunsmith, and vet we were talking about… Building a tiny house now may be a better, more reasonable alternative at this season of our lives. It could serve as a vacation stop for family and/or passer-byers. It could serve as a middle-stepping-stone for our young people without being too large a financial step, providing an amount of independence yet offering some protections. The local, clean, safe & healthy “frat house” comes to mind, thanks to Scott and his gingerbread house. Or maybe we’ll sell our first attempt and have another ‘go when we figure out what way we’d do it differently.
Aren’t we all just nomadic, gypsy families – awaiting our eternal home? ~ S.
I could see us getting really into the process as a family, learning a lot of mechanical and practical skills – and also investing a lot of uniqueness, making it an excellent landing spot of familiarity for one of our growing teens as they hit adulthood. We also have told (threatened?) them all that Daddy & I may park it in their back yard when we’re old and empty nesters.
And so we began the search of the right shell. We’d like it to be mobile. And we’d like to be able to learn current & alternative electricity, plumbing, carpentry and creative minimalism. The latter challenge being an important part of the task: building it as inexpensively as possible (upcycling, etc etc). As all things, we’ve mapped out the finances of this endeavor, and will be going at this debt-free. We’ve already fundraised $1800 toward it through entreprenural endeavors by the kids, and through selling excess and unnecessary items around the house and farm. It’s a start!
We’ve checked out a few houses (and are rigging a tour for January of a dozen local homes), all very different from each other, and are patiently waiting for the right situation.
*I wondered if I put ‘too much’ on them by asking… perhaps asking them to ‘man up’ too early in life. Once again, unfounded fears that have been proven wrong by very capable motivated young men serving a mighty God!
Preserving the Harvest 
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