"Why this house, here?"
We have been getting that question a lot, from friends and neighbors and subcontractors who come to bid or work on the house. There are so many ways to answer that question, my answer depends on who is asking and why they seem to be asking. I have tried to answer in various ways on this blog in the past, but it's always good to revisit it from a new angle.

A dear old friend of ours, now living and working in India, just heard her first rumor of this house recently and emailed her version of The Question:

On Nov 11, 2006, at 9:41 PM, nancy wrote:
Hey Nic
Okay, what is this about??!  Whose house?  It sounds like there is a huge vision related to this house!?  Are you and Katherine going to be running the house? Details, details, details!  It sounds wonderful!
Sorry we won't be able to come [to visit anytime soon]!
Nancy

I read her email the next day, at about the same time I read this post [this is an excerpt]:
from Into The Mystic,, November 12, 2006:
The transparent approach puts relationships on the forefront.
The opaque approach hides them behind programs, worship, church services, etc.

One of the the first steps in effective evangelism is becoming normal again. Social again. Transparent again. Reaching people may be easier and scarier than we thought. Easier because we do not need a budget, a building, a core team, or a seminary education. Scarier because there is nothing stopping you.

. . . This nailed one of our reasons for building "this house, here": transparency about who we are as we continue reaching out to the urban poor we have loved so long through the opacity of programs and missionary roles. It inspired me to be transparent with Nancy: Since she is too far away to come to a party, I'll tell her a story. True stories are more transparent than arguments or explanations, I believe, if you can see the motives and relationships behind them.
On November 14, 2006 10:52:57 AM, nicolasnelson wrote:
Well, this has been on our hearts since 2000 I believe; I'd have to look thru my old journals to be sure. And it was a big change for us at the time: God fed me some humble pie.

For years I had been advocating simplicity (I still do), saying in conversation and from the pulpit that renting is more godly than homeownership. Why take on the weight of possessions involved in owning a home? Having a garage and attic (and maybe a basement) that invites you to fill it with stuff you don't need? Why make it hard for yourself to obey God when He nudges you to move to another city, another country? Rent instead, and you stay lean and mobile and humble in social station.

There's still truth in that, but it can be undermined by certain truths and trumped by others. For instance, I preached those things from the standpoint of having strong and growing ties to a single city (Los Angeles), and of being irretrievably educated/white/upper-middle-class. So much for mobility and social station.

Then stewardship kicked in, but that's a longer story than I have time for, and wrapped up in the real trump card: God's calling. You can imagine how awkward I felt when God called me, Mr. Proud Renter, to use my inheritance to build a home in South Central. And live in it.

Part of this was sparked by a lecture by Dr. Don Davis, in a TUMI course called Nurturing an Apostolic Heart. He talked about the significance of the great commission meant for every address, every location on earth where a person can be found, not merely every culture or every soul (in a comfortably hypothetical sense). He gave me even more ammo for my "don't get tied down to furniture, carpeting and lawn care" diatribe.

But the Holy Spirit has an odd way of using A to communicate Z.

God had, over the previous ten years, been leading me and Kathryn step by step into a more and more intimate commitment to Los Angeles, to its urban poor and someday to its "inhaled of the nations", the international students, expatriates, immigrants and refugees of all socioeconomic classes who are breathed in and out of LA.

Now He wanted us to take the next step in that direction. The Spirit showed me the shallowness of my investment in the physical neighborhood of the inner city. If our apartment building burned down, we stood to lose very little: with our social and economic resources, it would not be too difficult for us to find another apartment and replace our modest belongings. If the home of our neighbors burned down, they lose everything-- not merely the stuff in the home, but the heritage and identity tied up in that home, the social safety net of their local oikos, and nearly all their net worth (assuming they own a car and a bank account of some kind...). Suburbanites' admiration of our "courage" was nearly baseless: by renting we greatly minimized the personal risks and costs of urban ministry. And inner-city folks who do own their homes see us as temporary experimenters in their neighborhoods. As long as we're renting, no matter how long we stay, we remain rootless.

At about the same time, a recurring theme with my dad took a different turn. Often when I visited my family in Scottsdale, Dad would drive me around to the various new housing developments he was involved in.

me: [making polite conversation] Wow, that's a nice house right there.
Dad: You like it? I can get you one like that.
me: ummm...
Dad: Or we'll build one for you. There are still some lots left here.
me: Dad, God wants us in Los Angeles, not Scottsdale.

...and that would be it, though details of denouement varied.

This time, I tried a different last line:

me: Dad, the only place you'll build a house for us is in Los Angeles.
Dad: [long thoughtful silence . . .] All right.

...that was a stunner. Dad offered to build us a house in Los Angeles! Combined with what God was saying to us in other ways, we could not avoid it.

But we tried. At one point, the LA city director of World Impact gave us a list of reasons why World Impact missionaries are discouraged from owning the homes in which they live. It was a compelling list. Very wise. I waved it at God and said "okay, we're submitting to wisdom, counting the cost before we build the tower, and we're giving up. Good for us, right?"

Wrong, says God. A few months later, we were praying and plotting again to own a home in South Central.

WHERE in South Central was not an easy question. At first we looked at homes in our old neighborhood, around 53rd and Main St. Thinking only of urban ministry, that made the most sense: we'd lived there ten years already. But it made the rest of the vision difficult. Long story short, we narrowed our search down to the area just west of USC: an easy walk to campus and the museums south of it, within biking distance of downtown, near the 10, 110 and 5 freeways (LA's main arteries), and in a neighborhood which was still a long way from gentrification despite being so close to the campus.

We bought a property out of foreclosure in 2001 (a crack house with a back house) and tore it down. That took four years. Meanwhile, we designed a new house that would cost as little as possible to operate, be ecologically sustainable in design and construction, and be as versatile as possible in its use.

You know the old saying "Fast, Cheap, Good: Pick any two." Well, we picked "good" and "cheap", so it hasn't been fast. Our contractor's initial estimate of ten months construction time was laughably optimistic. We broke ground in the spring of 2005, finally poured the foundation about this time last year, and still have perhaps three more months of work to do... assuming no more delays.

Meanwhile, we have moved into a small apartment on the same block where we are building the house. We are getting to know the folks in the 'hood, and it's funny sometimes to see people trying to make sense of us. We are enigmas in several ways: the only white folks on the block, with kids of 3 different races: one is homeschooled, one goes to a local Christian school, and we started a weekly preschool in our apartment for our youngest and all her peers nearby!

We walk or ride bikes everywhere (=poor) but are building a "mansion" down the street (=rich).
We don't have a TV, and a little boombox for a stereo (=poor) but we have two computers and a real piano (=rich.
We like to play and hang out with regular folks and neighbors (=insiders) but also with overeducated foreigners, and I tutor grad students (=outsiders).
In Spanish I sound like a cholo, in English I sound like USC faculty, and my Mandarin is as alien as Klingon.
My wife bakes cakes for all our neighbor kids' birthdays and welcomes almost anyone into our home, but promptly kicks everyone out at dinnertime so we can eat as a family.
Are we aliens or approachable?
Nice or mean?
Rich or poor?
Conservative or liberal?
We break stereotypes left and right. We confuse.

But we hope we confuse in a winning way, not alienating. You could ask God to help us with that.

Grace and strength to you and thanks for asking, Nancy!

-- Nic

Things are getting busier as various contractors try to finish their tasks so they can cross me off their list of current jobs.  (yes, please, cross me off-- and let's finish strong while we're at it!)

Window flashing/sealing is nearly complete, as is housewrapping.

Garage doorframes are getting firred out and ready for door installation. 

The apartment's front door is already in place.

Plumbing looks now like a confusing maze, but Joe and KC insist it's a straightforward job.  Just a bit involved, that's all.  KC reminds me of my college microeconomics professor: while he's there to identify and explain and point things out, it all makes perfect sense.  But as soon as he leaves the room, his insight leaves with him, and I can't remember what it all means.

If plumbing is a maze, electrical is a tangled web!

Danny is, if anything, even calmer and more confident than Joe and KC about what he's doing-- even when Bob and I tell him he'll have to raise all the outlets in the kitchen by two inches, right after he's finished putting them all in.  Or when I tell him he'll need to change a 20amp 110V outlet to a 40amp 220V outlet.  Nothing's a problem... but it does take time.

Pickup carpentry is taking the most time, it seems.  Some things I decided to change (like the shower bench), some were done wrong (the kids' loftwall-- twice), some things linger untouched.  But some important bits of it are now finished and finished well, like the closet for the garage apartment.
[photo]

All this is just gathering steam for what lies ahead.

First, it's preparation for the windows to arrive from Milgard.  Bob tells me we can install them very quickly once they arrive, if we're ready-- and we nearly are.  And doors + windows = a secure interior, which we hope will mean an end to jobsite thievery.  (we didn't have hardly any problems while Miss Cynthia lived next door, but since she moved to Moreno Valley we have had several costly thefts)

Second, (secure interior) + (completed plumbing and electrical and mechanical) = drywall! Ceilings, floors, cabinets, oh my!  After such a long road to reach this point ...five years four months since close of escrow... even mudding and taping will feel like the home stretch.

No pun intended.

...which is why our jobsite is so often empty. The subcontractors all have multiple projects, and divide their time between them in different ways. Sometimes I'll find one lone tradesman doing his thing silently at the jobsite, occasionally the place is crowded and so loud we have to shout our conversations.

Yesterday was a crowded day. We met Moses and Moses Jr., the fellows who might do all our cabinetry for us, and walked them through the site. Moses will build the cabinets at his shop, then bring them over and install them when we are ready for them. Zeus and his crew (short for Jesus, which of course is pronounced hay-ZOOSS) is finishing off our rough-framing punch list in the main house, Ivan in the apartment, and Rene must be finding people to help him with the housewrap, as he's gotten a lot of it done.

Loft west-facing windows roughed in, ready for flashing and sealing

Ivan getting the garage closet just right

...hey, the closet has a floor! (and a sturdy one too)

Housewrapping in progress (that's Rene in the window):

Just today I met YG again, the same fellow who cussed me out 6 weeks ago. I didn't recognize him at first, as he was wearing a white fuzzy Gilligan sort of hat and dressy hip-hop style clothes. But he recognized me.

"Hey, man, no hard feelings about the other day."

What? "...folks in this 'hood have skills but don't no one recognize that..." I don't remember exactly what he said, but it was eclipsed by the sound of the penny dropping in my brain. Oh, this is THAT guy!

I said "No, no hard feelings. In fact, I think that's a real issue, and we ought to talk about it...."

Amazingly, we formally introduced ourselves, shook hands, he pulled me into a shoulder bump (don't know what else to call it, but the fellas do it all the time), and he told me to get hold of him via Miss Cynthia. He is her nephew or cousin or something.

Now I need to follow up with him.

Any suggestions?

Time again for a new song.

You are now hearing "Les Yeux Noirs", a classic Roma or Gypsy standard from Putumayo's album Gypsy Caravan. The possibility of gypsy-like wandering hangs over our heads, with the For Sale sign still haunting our front yard, but that's not why it's on now.

This song is a melodic parable of this summer of homebuilding for us: a too-long suspenseful beginning followed by frenetic activity, words rushing past that we don't understand, and each instrument (or trade) gets a chance to do its thing in turn. A catchy beat once it gets going, but you wish you could see more of what is going on. The musicians are playing at a good clip, but one wishes it would go even faster, though you yourself certainly couldn't match their pace... then of course there must be another episode of high drama-- and, repeat.

I won't leave you hanging with just the song, though. After an unconscionable delay, here at last are updates and photos of the progress we've made on the house.

The most visible change is the installation of our front door:

Here is our front door from the inside.  Both those side things open, and so does the little door in the center.  I think it's called a speakeasy, because it makes it easy to speak to folks who come to your door (without opening the whole door).

We also have the front door for the apartment, but it's not installed yet.  This makes it great fun for Joy, who loves "Monsters Inc."  She pretends it's a closet door.  If you don't know what I'm talking about, you must <a href="http://www.pixar.com/featurefilms/inc/">see the movie ASAP.</a>


Plumbing, Electrical, and fire-suppression sprinklers are all nearly ready for inspection.  Here are Hector and Ed installing the sprinkler system:

...and Casey our plumber, busily plumbing...

One of the pressing tasks we're focused on right now is getting the windows in.  We've had problems with the manufacturer, which I might detail later, but meanwhile we are preparing the rough openings for installation.  We came up with a good way to mate the window to the hybrid wall. 
Here is the rough opening: see the two different walls right against each other, concrete and wood?

First we finish roughing in the window to the correct dimensions, in the inner wall.  Then metal flashing between the two walls:

Then a layer of bituthene, carefully wrapped all over the entire opening, and overlapping the Tyvek on the outside of the concrete block:

Getting this part down pat is extremely important, so Rene Rivas-Plata is doing most of this work.  That SubSeal stuff is really expensive, and Rene gets the most out of a roll while installing it just right.

Here is the finished product, ready for its window!

We appreciate all the hard work these guys have put into our house.  Kathryn occasionally bakes cookies or cupcakes with the neighborhood kids (building our oikos) and takes some over to the jobsite around lunchtime.  Once she and the kids make a thank-you card for the guys and delivered it with the kids. 

A few days later I saw it nailed to a stud on the bottom floor near the plans table!

I guess the guys don't see many thank-you notes for their work.

Who goes unappreciated in your sphere of influence?  What will you do about it?

Interrupted a fistfight today, in front of the house next door.  Two boys, late jr. high / very early high school, were suddenly slugging it out, without the customary throng of haters hemming them in and egging them on; just three other kids, surprised and running about yelling "Fight! A fight!" 

They broke off when I approached using my In Charge voice, and neither of them seemed too hurt: they had stayed on their feet and swinging, and aren't old enough yet to really injure one another in that mode.  (Sidewalks and other obstacles or weapons are what cause most injuries in the average under-15 melee... that and kicking or stomping on a person when they are down)

The younger one retreated with as much indignant dignity as he could muster; the older one coldly turned his back on his opponent and, defensive, explained that the younger kid had stolen his skateboard.  Already more kids and teens were gathering like moths, and one older girl, who had been heading for the other boy, overheard- pursed her lips- and said "Want me to get it back for you?"  Surprised, the other boy said, "Yeah... sure."

I don't know how that part worked out, but for the next half hour, I witnessed the strangest thing: person after person, mostly peers and older teens, coming out to congratulate the younger combatant on standing up to the bigger kid, on fighting so fiercely, on not backing down.  Even though one of his friends virtually admitted he'd brought it on himself by stealing a skateboard.  The other boy apparently received the same treatment, but he had kept on walking so his cloud of glory left with him.

A penny has dropped now for me: I understand for the first time the incredibly high value placed on courage and on fighting, whether you are right or not.  One example in particular stands out vividly: an attractive girl, perhaps fifteen, came sprinting up to the young pugilist-- her expression was so fierce I thought she was going to scold him.  No: she hugged and kissed him and whispered something along the lines of "I am so proud of you, little man!  Don't let no one push you around, no matter what!"

What power those words would have had on me at that boy's age!  Especially from a pretty girl.  What universal and intense acclaim for fighting... any fight, for any reason.  That you prove your courage to fight seems to be the main thing.  No wonder so many shoulders have chips on them in the inner city.

What feedback did you receive for getting into a fight, when you were young and impressionable?

Okay, this actually took place mostly in June. Sorry I haven't gotten around to telling this story yet, but better late than never.

So we have this problem with Miss Cynthia's trees growing over the fence and into our yard. I call her to ask if she minds if we trim them back.

"Oh, cut 'em down if you can. Get rid of them. Those are weeds, not trees."

As a matter of fact, her backyard is a tad overgrown (she's been spending a lot of time in Texas and Moreno Valley recently). I thought she misunderstood which ones I meant. I meant the trees that have given shade to Joe and KC's guys as they dug the trench for our water main...

...the ones growing right up against the second-floor windows, blocking our view...

...the ones growing right INTO the second-floor windows...

...the ones that tower high over our two-and-a-half-story tall structures...

"No, those ain't trees. Those are weeds. Tried to kill 'em but I couldn't. They've nearly choked out my sugar cane!"

With her assent, I armed myself with a machete and a borrowed sawzall (thanks, Bob) and sallied forth to take on MonsterWeed.

I fought five separate skirmishes with the beast at various times in June and early August (when in town). Most of the battle took place here, in her back patio.

Here, standing on stacked pallets and scrap lumber (hers), I felled all my biggest trunks and limbs. I lopped them of their smaller branches and cut them into manageable lengths (six to ten feet) right there by the blue bin. Then I had to drag them past the old cars left in Cynthia's driveway and stuff as much of it as I could into a couple of green "City of Los Angeles" Yard Waste bins for free weekly pick-up.

All this I did as quietly and calmly and odorlessly as I could, because I have it on reliable authority that Cynthia's old pit bull bitch Brownie can in fact scramble over that pedestrian gate (see below). She does so when she thinks a trespasser needs to be chewed on.

It is a curious feeling, attempting zen-like control of your sweat glands while doing hard physical labor. Though Brownie came to the gate and sniffed and listened, she never tried to scramble over and chew on me.

I don't think she likes that weed either.

Yesterday, the International Astronomical Union (convened now in Prague, the Czech Republic) voted to accept a resolution that not only expelled Pluto from the family of planets in our solar system, but also denied entry to a dozen other planetary applicants.

This is a fascinating debate that I've been following for a week now. It delves deep into issues only a space wonk like myself would enjoy, but a nice short introductory article can be found here.

Who cares whether we call all those big rocks flying around the sun "planets" or "dwarf planets" or "plutons" or "trans-Neptunian Objects", etc.?

Names carry power. The IAU, which most folks have never heard of, has great power because it is the official naming body for all astronomical bodies. If ever the name for "star" is changed to "gasball", or "Earth" becomes "Terra", it's this body of astronomers who will make that decision. Whatever they decide, that's what goes in the news services and textbooks and encyclopedias and star maps... and those names will color how people thing about the things that are named.

In past generations, the IAU and its predecessors happily rocked the scientific worldview of their various times by adding new planets as they were discovered: Saturn, Neptune, the Asteroid Belt, Pluto, and most recently the round asteroid Ceres as a "minor planet" (since it is the only known asteroid to achieve hydrostatic equilibrium). These successive discoveries have always increased our sense of wonder, mystery, and yearning to explore our solar system-- it gives us humans a sense that even in our own astronomical backyard, there are unexpected treasures to discover. Now to decrease the number of planets in our solar system, for the first time since astronomers began to understand and seek them, is a huge step backward.

Naturally, the solar system itself isn't affected by the IAU's arguments and debates. But our PERCEPTION of our solar system, and what awaits us there, IS affected by their decisions.

Names suggest or deny possibilities. What a thrill for my children's generation to learn that an extra three or twelve or more planets may lurk in the dark foothills of our solar system! What an unstated challenge to go find out about them-- and when most of them give up the idea of a space career, that fascination and hope may endure in whatever field they do choose.

But how sad for my kids to learn in school that the old folks were wrong even about nine planets: there are really only eight. Those others are (dismissive wave of the hand)... oh, plutons or KBO's, uninteresting motes not worth your notice. That dismissive attitude is contagious: they learn to draw their circles tighter, exclude the small and the distant.

Curiously, those closest to the debate but not actively involved in it don't seem to see the power of names. Louis Friedman, executive director of The Planetary Society, actually thinks "The classification doesn't matter." According to AJS Rayl, "...in the big picture, the new definition may mean little since the IAU notes that it will only apply to planets in our solar system."

What do you think? Am I a starry-eyed idealist, putting too much weight on this?

No, really. I don't know if I can ever reproduce this weird phenomenon. I was lying on my back in the sun, black baseball cap over my face. The sun barely glittered thru the pores in the hat fabric, and I dozed with my eyes slightly open.

I don't know if you've ever done this, but with your eyes slitted, you can sometimes see bright lights go all crazy looking, as if through a kaleidoscope (fog or tears help a lot). I thought at first this is what I was seeing, and idly I played with how much I could open my eyes and still see the effect. Eyes full open, each glitter became a round iridescent shape sort of like a sunflower with very small petals, or like a large sea anenome fully open. Little spots and circles inside it would shift when I blinked. If I focused on the inside of my hat, all I saw was sunlight glitters. If I focused in a different way, like looking at those Magic Eye images, I saw the anenomes in their place... with careful concentration I could actually resolve the detail very well, one anenome at a time.

In a sudden flash of insight I realized what I was seeing: the surface of my own corneas, surrounded by the leading edge of my iris! So cool. I played with my corneas for at least six or seven minutes until my boys came up and roused me.

I feel like a kid: I completely wasted almost fifteen minutes of my day playing "stupid human tricks" and am delighted that I did so. I was enthralled with being "fearfully and wonderfully made", imagining God crafting each detail of my eye which until now I had never seen, only used. Sight is an amazing gift. It's amazing that sight is even possible, not to mention that so many living creatures possess it. And I possess this gift too, via these moistly delicate dust-strewn portals of the miraculous.

On another note, our recent electricity woes inspired me to write a letter to the editor of our local newsrag. Stop the presses: Nic wrote a letter. Okay, it's all I could do, since I'm not Phil Anschutz or a brilliant engineer.
Interested? Click here.

Actually, I ought to write an article of my own, if I really want to use my gifts and help. But right now I'll be delighted to finish all the work on my desk first. Right now, that's really where I long to see God do miraculous things.

The most fundamental level of creating oikos (the web of relationships that is the social world we inhabit) is mothering. Last weekend I met Kemi Ingram, a mom whose new radio show is all about "socially conscious" mothering. She has lived and studied in Oxford England as well as here in America, and has friends all around the world. Her show debuts September 5th on iThinkRadio.net. Meanwhile, see her website at theradiomom.com.

I look forward to hearing Kemi, and eavesdropping on her developing conversation with her listeners/readers. But as I do, memories of mothers with far fewer choices will nag at me. So here is a meager sample of a few other ways that oikoses can be knit together (or back together) with threads of justice and kindness:

Just Coffee, Chiang Mai, Thailand-- Mark and Christa Crawford are close friends, entrepreneurial types who started a coffeehouse/restaurant for the specific purpose of giving alternative employment to prostitutes. Some of these women were trafficked into sexual slavery, tricked or torn from their families and villages; some saw no other way to provide for their aging parents; many are mothers themselves now, and would weep with frustration listening to Kemi's program.

Casa Quivira, Antigua, Guatemala-- Clifford and Sandra Phillips run a licensed private orphanage nestled among the volcanoes of Guatemala's high range. It is a model for how an orphanage ought to be run. Note that they do not use the word "orphanage" on their site: Casa Quivira is so far removed from the negative preconceptions most folks have of orphanages that they avoid that term like the plague and make up their own descriptors.

Vista del Mar, Los Angeles, California-- We were certified foster parents through this excellent private agency, and hope to be recertified again someday. Vista provides every kind of safety net for families that disintegrate or explode or simply never existed: all sorts of counseling, inpatient and outpatient mental healthcare, group homes, alternative school, foster care, adoption (all three flavors: local relinquishment, international, and fost-adopt... we've tasted all three). I'm sure they do even more than this. I highly, highly recommend them. If you are not an Angeleno, there may be something akin to Vista del Mar in your area too. I hope.

If you are considering mothering a child, whether for the first or tenth time, please consider taking up the loose thread of a child's life and knitting it into your oikos. Or enable someone else to do so. It won't change the whole world. But it will change that child's world, and yours.