Well, it looks like Stanley "Tookie" Williams will not live to see the morning. Still waiting to hear about clemency from the governor, but I doubt it will happen.

[it did not]

I can't settle on one side or the other of the hot debate that's going on right now (in every form of media, apparently!) so I find myself listening carefully to both... and learning more about the debaters than about the person they are debating.

For instance, in their radio show the week before Thanksgiving— seems like a long time ago, now!— John Kobylt and Ken Chiampou said
I don't think there's very much redemption in the world... the evil you have in you stays in you. No sudden changes: good people stay good, bad people stay bad. ...Tookie, transformed? We want to believe it's possible, but it's very rare. People like that have compulsions... they don't care about how bad they are, about the badness of what they do. They don't care about the victims...

Note that John instinctively connects redemption and transformation. I've often wondered whether the lag between our instantaneous redemption and our gradual transformation is the chief reason that spiritual explorers spend so little time with Christendom. The wheat and tares grow so closely together and can be so easily confused.

Perhaps we should stop insisting that all the plants growing inside the boundaries of christianity's wheat field are genuine wheat, and instead insist that only wheat is wheat. If that means admitting that only 20% of American Christendom is wheat, so be it.

Perhaps if we concede the rarity of transformative redemption ("deep grace", not "cheap grace" as Bonhoeffer puts it), folks like John and Ken and their audience will begin to believe it's actually possible.

It's too bad that these two have seen "no sudden changes" in people under the influence of God. But that does not logically require that "bad people stay bad." Gradual growth is just as legitimate as sudden change. In fact, spiritually speaking, what looks like sudden change is often the result of an incremental process reaching a tipping point.

But the question of growth and change is only one issue out of several in this debate. It may or may not have any bearing on the more practical question: is Tookie's execution a good thing? I have a hard time choosing a side, as I deeply value both justice and mercy. As usual, those things are in tension. A compelling case can be made for each one, hypothetically; it's when real life intrudes on abstractions that things get messy.

I am seeing a lot of parallels between a house and an "oikos" (greek for "household" but carries more meaning than the english does: includes those who are close to us, our "real family", and ripples outward through the rest of our social networks to some extent). Both of them provide shelter, shape our identity, give a sense of belonging. Both of them are contexts in which we raise our kids, experience our marriages and close friendships: they are where memories are rooted and life stories are written (or for a physical home, at least begun).
Feeding happens there.
Rest happens there.
Our safest comfort and our strongest challenges to grow ought to happen there.
And, betrayal hurts most when it strikes there.

Like it did today. A young man whom I had hoped to draw into my oikos, whom I had invited into my home, took advantage of that vulnerability and stole Kathryn's laptop computer while we were out celebrating Kathryn's birthday.

(poof, it was gone. He even unplugged it and left the power supply.)

My neighbor Julio noticed this young man (whom he had not met) behind our house acting suspiciously, and confronted him on the sidewalk, calmly but directly.

Anger. Fear. Threat.

Julio went to the back of our house and, finding the back door open, realized the young man had taken something and had been hiding it in his sweatshirt. Julio hopped in his car and caught up with our young friend, followed him until he noticed Julio and realized what Julio was doing. More vile invective, then the young man cut through someone's yard and over their back fence and disappeared. Julio later talked to that family; they had never seen our young man before, and did not take his side.

Julio meanwhile had called the lady who lives behind us and told her what had happened. She looked through our house, found no obvious damage, and made sure both front and back doors were closed and locked (she has keys to our house, as we have to her house).

When we got home, we had not even made it in the door before she met us and briefed us on what had happened. Checking the house, we knew immediately that Kathryn's white Powerbook had been taken, but apparently nothing else. He had been noticed too soon. I did not want to believe it was my young friend, but as Julio and I drove around looking for the thief and I heard his description, everything matched. I guess I'll be angry later (Kathryn sure is) but right now I am mostly disappointed.

Sure, that was an expensive possession; worth more than the truck I drive, most likely. And my young friend won't get even a twentieth of its retail price when he fences it; one neighborhood friend we checked with believes he'll probably sell it for little more than the cost of his next fix, whatever his drug of choice is (I had not suspected he used drugs until just this past Wednesday afternoon— a story in its own right). All things considered, my life is not really harmed much: hindered, sure, but I can't say I will suffer deeply from this loss.

On the other hand, he will. It will catch up with him: the drug use, the petty crime to finance it. His own destruction of his oikos already has caught up with him, and destroyed him.

There is a billboard in South Central Los Angeles right now that shows a close-up head shot of a man who looks badly beaten: black eye swelling shut, cut and grimy and bruised face, haunted eyes. The text below it says something like "If hepatitis C was attacking your face instead of your liver, you'd do something about it" and includes an 800 number for hepC sufferers to find help.

It's a good ad. It would motivate me. I want a TV ad that shows a man destroying his own house all day long, with sledgehammer and wrecking ball and bulldozer, then pushing aside some of the rubble to find his bed and have to sleep in it. The caption and voiceover would read "If you were destroying your physical home instead of your oikos, you'd do something about it."

My young friend has thoroughly destroyed his oikos, and continues to destroy the positive relationships God is trying to bring back into his life. He continues to neglect the attitudes, actions and habits that would build up his life, and instead feeds his appetite for the attitudes, actions and habits which salt the soil of his heart and cut him off from the human beings he needs in his life.

Not that he needs me in particular. I'm sure I'm a distant tenth-best option, just the most recent person to drift past. But he has alienated himself from his family and (from his own account) any friends who can really help him in life. He has alienated himself from employers and social workers alike. Just now he has (again?) violated the terms of his parole, forfeiting his precious freedom, because he did not use his freedom wisely. He is homeless right now, not because he is a victim of circumstances beyond his control (aren't we all?) but because he made himself oikosless.

It is hard work to build an oikos. It takes time to lay foundations of trust, to build walls of shared experience and values, install windows of insight and doors of hospitality and generosity. It is difficult to keep the roof of mutual responsibility whole and sound. Furnishing and decorating the inside with memories and all that we receive from others which affirms our worth, affirms who we are; this absorbs much of our attention but isn't the real framework of our self or our oikos. If we build strong and deep relationships with others, marked by trust and vulnerability and authenticity and love, we can get by with spartan decor: we don't really need the frequent strokes we seek from others, if the reality of relationship is there.

But how do you teach a person to build, and not destroy, their oikos and hence their life?

. . . . . : : : ::|||:: : : : . . . . .

Glimpses of our own building effort, taken this week:
(I wish I could show you photos of our oikos-building efforts, but like a liver, those mostly ought to be left hidden from view, not pulled out to display to the world)

Nathaniel at the front door (er, where the front door someday will be):

The house is taking shape at last! (view from front of living room through whole ground floor)
(those black steel frames you see in the background are the garage/apt. in back)

Okay, Merry Christmas everyone, and time for new music. This one is a hauntingly beautiful version of We Three Kings, by Gypsy Soul. Just stop reading and listen for a while.

The bass part during the bridge is one of the basslines that made me finally take lessons. I want to make music like that someday. (Yes I know, it's fretless 5-string... I have a 5-string Dean right now, and will graduate to fretless when I can manage those "impossible" stretches a little better!)

Grace and peace to you this holiday season.

Sorry I did not post this in a timely manner: about a week ago (Monday Nov.21st, while I was in Tucson visiting family) THE CONCRETE WAS FINALLY POURED at 37th Drive!

Lugo's team did an excellent job, as Bob said:
... the slab thickness (can be seen from the photos) is over 12" thick, that's twice the designated thickness. We did that to raise the slab height above the interpolated flood plain (the alley crown). ... Also we poured a whopping 108 yds. of concrete where the plans called for 35! Not to worry Lugo (the concrete subcontractor) saved enough on the forming to cover the change order. Thanks to Lugo and his really experienced workmen. ...also we added #5 rebar which is thicker than the #4 called for on the plans. This was necessary because of the crumpled sidewalk which served as indication aplenty that the soil we were dealing with really was jello. So we beefed up the rebar to give the slab higher yield strength, which adds to ultimate stability.

The "crumpled sidewalk" he mentions happened when we were trucking in the movie-star dirt and surfer dirt. As one dumptruck backed up the driveway apron onto the lot, the concrete apron and part of the sidewalk crumbled like graham cracker under its weight. That just doesn't happen, not to the degree that it did, unless the earth underneath the concrete is very unstable. I'll post a photo of that too, although it has had a lot of heavy traffic since the first dramatic time it happened, so it's actually been flattened out, unintentionally recompacted.

For extra torsional rigidity, we were required to have steel shear walls too. Here is the pouring of the attachment plate for one of those shearwall panels:

...and Lugo again, smoothing things out:

At last, it feels (and looks!) like the house is really being built. After a couple of "false starts" (the excavation, the foundation steel, the steel frames... all with so many delays and complications), this might really be the tipping point toward constant forward momentum.

We shall see!

Is Your House an SUV in Disguise?

Americans are becoming "wildly overhoused," said Robert J. Samuelson in The Washington Post. The new American home "is a residential SUV: big, gadget-loaded, and slightly gaudy." Since 1970, the average new home has increased in size by 55%, to 2,330 square feet, while the average family size has decreased 13 percent. Owners fill these energy-sapping mansions with spiral staircases, vaulted ceilings, and home theaters. But "with hindsight, some homeowners may regret sinking so much money into ever-grander homes." One problem is "future operating costs": It's growing more and more expensive to heat and cool these monster homes. And then there's that "harder question" of future worth. Home values have risen by 55 percent since 2000, and "booms have a habit of imploding." One ominous sign: Speculators accounted for 14.5 percent of all real-estate purchases last year, double the historic rate. Longtime homeowners would probably escape a bust with their shirts, but the 22 million people who bought in the last three years might not. We Americans should rethink our love for bigger and better digs. "Do we need to go from SUVs to Hummers? Maybe we should revert to sedans."
(by Robert J. Samuelson, The Washington Post; digested in The Week, July 29, 2005)

Is our urban house an SUV in disguise? That's a question that really troubled me when I finally came across this old article recently. My wife saved the whole page for me, mostly because of the heartwrenching article on the backside of it. The heartwrenching article was great too, but this one becomes blogfodder because it spurred me to rethink our whole Urban House endeavor.

Taking Samuelson's points in order, I must admit that the house we are building might be uncharitably described as "big, gadget-loaded, and slightly gaudy" (the last accusation would hurt most, of course, especially if Bob overheard it). But it's not a McMansion. It's unique, and its "gadgets" are not the plasma screens and waterfall walls and whole-house vacuums that you see in some model homes. Far from being "energy-sapping", they are energy-saving; we plan to do without central air conditioning entirely, for instance. Our future energy and maintenance costs will be minimal if things work out as planned: a generous, but not cavernous, home with a miserly "eco-footprint". Another size consideration: when we designed it, we honestly expected to move in with four children, nearly twice the number of the diminished American nuclear family of the new millenium who are buying and building supersized grand homes. Who knows, perhaps we may yet move in with four kids; the place isn't finished yet, and I have given up trying to guess how God will surprise me next.

As for the "harder question of future worth", Samuelson defines worth exclusively in terms of money. His concern is well-placed: many recent homebuyers, especially those following the fashion of bigger, better, "ever-grander" homes, will lose their financial shirts. Must we allow fashion to define grandeur for us? Or can we seek a different sort of grandeur that will fit easily within a cozier space?

And, Mr. Samuelson, must we let monetary return define investment quality? Or are there greater returns— ecological sustainability, social justice, the joy of serving others? A home designed to maximize those returns is a better investment than a much grander fancier one exiled far from the richness of the inner city. And rather than trade our SUVs for sedans not Hummers, I encourage Samuelson (and you) to consider trading the SUV lifestyle and home for a "bicycle" lifestyle and home instead.

Scottsdale is beautiful any time of year, but I am especially enjoying it now, knowing that this may be the last Thanksgiving my family will celebrate in Scottsdale. Today is the end of an era for the Nelson family.

From 1969 to 2005, Thanksgiving dinners with my folks have been both festive and profound. I can only remember two of them when we had less than 30 people for dinner, and sometimes the number was closer to 40. Just a few of us were family by blood or marriage; the rest were family by virtue of passion or vision. Some would say they were "family" by grace or mercy. Funny, that's how I always felt myself.

Every year, just before dessert was served, my dad would stand and clatter on his glass and propose a toast to something from the past year for which he was most thankful. People of all ages colors and creeds learned to call out "Skol!" like good Norwegians when he finished... and then it was their turn. Sometimes one would wave the attention to the next person, but most people shared, most from the heart. And those hearts were moved. It was a unique once-a-year human communion, against the backdrop of carved turkey rather than broken bread; champagne and Martinelli's rather than wine; and the generous portions reflected the generous spirit of the moment.

Now the burden falls to those of us who experienced it, to reproduce it. We can't recreate the amazing view and hacienda setting of 23036 Via Ventosa, or the classy cozy comfort of my parents' new back yard either for that matter. But can we recreate the welcoming, the inclusiveness, the grace and generosity? Can we create a moment of communion, when near-strangers can share their hearts with one another and discover they are friends at the end of the evening?

We must try, at least. Let the sacred scheming begin.

Hurray, Randy Ingermanson has been laid off!

He is taking it well, and (as he ought! ) he is pouring all his newly-freed time and energy into equipping you and me to be successful novelists and storytellers. I am thrilled.

Of course, this means we all ought to go and buy some of his books right away, to help him make ends meet until his next Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius is published. I highly recommend Transgression, Premonition and Retribution, his time-travel trilogy. Oxygen is great too, but sadly I have not had time to finish its sequel The Fifth Man (not because I lost interest; my wife hid it from me so I would focus on what really needed doing in life. Either that or I serendipitously misplaced the darn thing before it cost me another night's sleep).

I met Randy at a writers conference, and was surprised and delighted when he welcomed me-the-obvious-neophyte to sit with him and other published authors. We spent more than an hour brainstorming plot devices and character complications for one of his friends who was under contract for another book in a series but had run out of ideas. Sitting and chatting with seasoned novelists late into the night was one of my highlights of that long weekend, and I never would have dared intrude had it not been for Randy (and John Olson, another cool SF novelist who befriended me).

Randy publishes an excellent (and free) fiction-writing e-zine that I highly recommend to anyone who wants to write for publication.

Here's an email I wrote this morning to our general contractor. He saw me clutching a bunch of printed papers in ziplock baggies earlier on Halloween, and asked what they were. They were the verses I was planning to bury in the foundation that night. He asked me to "write all that up and send it to me sometime." Full text of the verses and everything.

So finally, I did... along with a spontaneous meditation on residence. Here it is:

Hi Bob!
Sorry I've been out of touch. I have not been camping on site recently, having been out of town or working late in my home office... which I regret, because I actually enjoyed it! Interesting contrast between my temporary "residence" and my "permanent" residence:
:: tent goes up in 10 minutes, the house in 10 months (we hope).
:: tent is laid out flat (house foundation is poured), the metal poles go up first (structural steel, framing), then the tent is attached to the poles (all the other construction trades) and you toss your stuff in (hire movers for the piano at least).
:: tent can be taken down and goes anywhere but no one knows where to find me. House is rooted to one spot, lasts longer and has a public address.
:: tent sacrifices strength, durability, and space in exchange for minimum mass, maximum mobility. House sacrifices mobility for stability (in every sense of that word, one hopes).
:: tent costs $200 on sale at REI, house costs... well, we will see! But it is unique in the world.

If I want to live on 37th Drive RIGHT NOW, I can bike over and pitch my tent and take up residence. And the next morning when I pack up, I leave no trace behind. (not even socially, if I happen not to chat with anyone)

If I want to live on 37th Drive for the next 30 years, I need an architect, contractor, city inspectors and 28 construction trades to all cooperate with me in that endeavor: but I can expect to leave a legacy (physical and relational) that could last more than a hundred years-- for good or ill, my presence will transform that neighborhood physically and spiritually.

Maybe it sounds trite, but I want this investment (of finances, concrete, steel, sweat, and of my relational energy and creativity over the coming years of my life) to count for good.

So, part of this is dedicating the building, which I did alone in the dark on Halloween night, slipping these verses into the corners and center of the foundation. Here are the verses:

A. (southwest corner, living room)
Matthew 7:24 Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. 25The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock. 26But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. 27The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash.
28When Jesus had finished saying these things, the crowds were amazed at his teaching, 29because he taught as one who had authority, and not as their teachers of the law.

B. (southeast corner, dining room)
Luke 19:41 As he approached Jerusalem and saw the city, he wept over it 42and said, "If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace but now it is hidden from your eyes."

I didn't mention that this is a chief verse God used to draw Kathryn to the inner city; ask her to tell the story of going on a romantic date to the Hollywood Hills and being seized with mysterious heartbreaking compassion for the city of Los Angeles while looking out over the lights. Sobbed uncontrollably. Spoiled the date, I'm happy to say. Later heard this verse for the first time and realized God had given her a love for LA like that which Jesus felt as Jesus looked over Jerusalem. Which is funny, because up to that point she strongly disliked LA.

Jonah 4:10 ...the LORD said, "You have been concerned about this vine, though you did not tend it or make it grow. It sprang up overnight and died overnight. 11 But Nineveh has more than a hundred and twenty thousand people who cannot tell their right hand from their left, and many cattle as well. Should I not be concerned about that great city?"

I didn't mention to Bob that this is a chief verse God used to connect me to the inner city; "Should I not be concerned about this great city?" If that's what God says about LA, and I believe he does, I am honored and honor-bound to echo him and follow him into it.

C. (northeast corner, music room) that's architect code for "guest bedroom"
Psalm 127:1 Unless the LORD builds the house,
its builders labor in vain.
Unless the LORD watches over the city,
the watchmen stand guard in vain.
2 In vain you rise early
and stay up late,
toiling for food to eat
for he grants sleep to those he loves.
3 Sons are a heritage from the LORD,
children a reward from him.
4 Like arrows in the hands of a warrior
are sons born in one's youth.
5 Blessed is the man
whose quiver is full of them.
They will not be put to shame
when they contend with their enemies in the gate.

D. (northwest corner, playroom) soon to be "teen hang-out room", hence these entire two chapters...
Proverbs 4, Wisdom Is Supreme
Job 28, Where can Wisdom be Found?

E. (the center of the main house)
1 Peter 2:4-12 ÂÂAs you come to him, the living Stone, rejected by men but chosen by God and precious to him, 5you also, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ. 6For in Scripture it says:
"See, I lay a stone in Zion,
a chosen and precious cornerstone,
and the one who trusts in him
will never be put to shame." 7Now to you who believe, this stone is precious. But to those who do not believe,
"The stone the builders rejected
has become the capstone,"
8 and,
"A stone that causes men to stumble
and a rock that makes them fall"...
9But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light. 10Once you were not a people, but now you are the people of God; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.
11Dear friends, I urge you, as aliens and strangers in the world, to abstain from sinful desires, which war against your soul. 12Live such good lives among the pagans that, though they accuse you of doing wrong, they may see your good deeds and glorify God on the day he visits us.

Another facet of that Halloween evening (and November 1st and 2nd too): I biked from our current home over to 37th Drive. Considering my short stay (dusk to dawn), maybe I overpacked...

...but on an Xtracycle, you can get away with a lot. Some of this load was Halloween ambiance, remember (this is a photo from the first night: I left that yellow crate on site, so future bike trips weren't so bad).

Here's the campsite by lamplight (the second night: no Halloween decor, no chairs, no stove).

Dawn is just as beautiful in South Central as in the desert,
when seen from the door of a tent.

Even after the slab is poured, I must do this more often. Anyone want to join me?

The tagline (up there to the right), "homebuilding adventures in da 'hood", implies many kinds of homebuilding: physical, spiritual, familial, social. Despite the frustrations of financing, planning, permitting and construction, building the physical home is the best understood of all these. Everything is visual, measurable, tangible, and there are lots of laws and hundreds of years of cumulative artisanal wisdom to guide you as you go along. As long as all the participants act in good faith, problems can be ironed out as they come up: in the construction industry it seems there's "nothing new under the sun". Our wildest ideas are just variations on a theme: the themes themselves (the 28 trades) are well-known, and experts abound. You'll see some of those unusual ideas here as we get around to building them (or have to give them up).

Here's the first unusual construction detail:
[steel_frames.oct29.jpg]
Because of the sod roof and block walls, and being in an earthquake liquefaction zone, the city required these commercial-grade ductile steel frames to make the structure super rigid. They also insisted we pour their footings first, install them, then pour the slab around it all (after passing inspection, comme toujours).

Problem: the steel contractor began the installation four days earlier than they told us they would: at the beginning of Halloween weekend, virtually inviting pranksters (and the merely curious) to come explore the novelty after they left for the day. I was concerned that, without the slab or stem walls to anchor them in place, they might be toppled accidentally (imagine: uprooting the corners of the foundation, crushing the rough plumbing, and squashing the thrillseekers too!). The steel contractor's solution appeared to be to omit all temporary bracing, so there's nothing to climb up. (does that sound odd to you too?) Note that the center of gravity of that 2-story steel frame (on the left) is actually ABOVE the center brace, and the footings are only 3 feet deep or so.

Solution: Hire a security guard? Pay protection money to a local gangbanger? No-- instead, we seized the opportunity to build our social home structure while safeguarding our physical home structure. I just camped out there for a couple of nights myself.

The first night was Halloween. I planned to set up a wilderness-looking campsite complete with tent, camp chairs, stove, campfire, etc. and me dressed like a lumberjack. But it was a busy day in other ways, and I got started late, so no campfire or wilderness props after all (tho I did lug them over there). But Joy's carved pumpkin was a nice touch, and the candle in it burned happily all evening.

I missed the early trick or treaters, but ended up giving out all my candy: first to several surprised groups of costumed kids and their parents, who had not expected anyone to be at the vacant lot, and later to homeless people and some adult neighbors who came by to see what was going on. One lifelong resident on that block (49 years!) sat with me and shared his chips and my hot apple cider (simmering on the campstove). For more than two hours, James regaled me with stories of the block and his own philosophical insights to life the universe and everything. He is a deep and complicated person. I am privileged to count him as a new friend on that block.

My own wife and kids stopped by early in the evening to say hi, before returning home to welcome trick-or-treaters at 29th Street, where we live now. My kids all thought it was weird, what Dad was doing, but they are used to Dad doing weird things now and then. Kathryn was thrilled: at least one of us is able to spend some quality time on 37th drive, building relationships! Not many wives would be thrilled about their husbands leaving them before dinner to sleep alone in a vacant lot in a "rough neighborhood". I have a rare and wonderful wife.

But I did not sleep there alone that first night. Ricardo Hong, intrepid World Impact urban missionary, joined me shortly after James left. Thanks for the deep talk, my friend. May you be suffused with God's wisdom, grace and strength. Be fruitful, and multiply those churches.

So... what was your most memorable or adventurous Halloween?