Seven Second Version:
Two ticking clocks: a yurt delivery and a baby delivery. With snow falling daily and no instructions in hand, I learned—slowly—to focus on what we can control and trust is a daily choice.
So. We picked a yurt.
Not just any yurt—a 34-foot-diameter beast of a yurt. And not just any yurt company—we went with Nomad Shelters, a small, tough-as-nails crew based out of Homer, Alaska. These folks build yurts that can stand up to Alaskan weather and then some. Solid people. Serious craftsmanship.
But… they didn’t have instructions.
To be fair, they intended to make some. Eventually.
But eventually doesn’t help when you’re standing on a snowy work site, trying to build a round platform for a structure you’ve never assembled, that hasn’t arrived yet, and that no two companies build the same way.
There was no friendly LEGO-style guide, no step-by-step checklist with labeled parts and diagrams. Just us, a stack of lumber, snow in the forecast, and a delivery date looming on the calendar.
We’d already put down 50%. This was happening.
Nomad was building the yurt.
We had to build the platform.
And the countdown had begun.
Planning vs. Reality
Let’s just pause and admire the brilliance of my planning here: we’re building a massive platform for a custom yurt during a season where it snowed. every. single. day. and also trying to have a home birth. What could go wrong?
I had mapped the platform out in SketchUp—learning the software as I went—and quickly discovered: circles are not beginner friendly.
Rectangles? You can fake your way through. You learn handy dandy tricks to make sure they are square. Circles? Square is bad.
A 34-foot circle with precise measurements, mounting points, and an unknown attachment system?
Perfect beginner project.
But we were in. The helical piers were set. We were finally building up instead of digging down—and that felt like a win. Except now we had not one, but two ticking clocks:
- A yurt with a hard delivery date
- A baby that was now overdue
Two major deadlines. Both out of sync. Or were they too in sync… Both headed straight for us like an unexpected bear sprinting down the trail—you don’t know exactly how it’ll hit, just that it will, and fast.
Poor Planning and Slip’n’Slide Engineering
Did I mention it snowed every day?
Not flurries. Real, Alaskan, “better grab the shovels again” snow. Who orders a yurt in the middle of an Alaskan winter anyway?!
Every morning we’d head out to uncover the work from the day before, only to find that the 6 mil plastic we’d laid over the joists had sagged under the weight of fresh powder. If the tongue-and-groove flooring wasn’t down yet, the snow loved to sneak between the joists and settle in like it had found its winter vacation home.
So we shoveled. And re-covered. And shoveled again.
At one point, my brother-in-law and I were dragging snow off the plastic and suddenly discovered that snow + plastic sheeting = backyard Alaskan slip ’n slide.
We didn’t fall. We launched.
You haven’t lived until you’ve unintentionally surfed a frozen job site 4 feet above the frozen ground.
Meanwhile… Baby Time
Back at home, my wife was doing everything she could to get labor going.
Spicy food? Check.
Walking laps? Constantly.
Apricot juice and castor oil smoothie? Yep. Never again.
You name the old wives’ tale—we tried it.
We had planned for a home birth like we’d done with Little Skittle #1. But this time, the baby just wouldn’t get into position. Our midwife was amazing. She tried everything in her toolbox. We prayed. We waited.
Eventually, we had to let go of the plan.
State requirements now prohibited midwife-assisted home birth and our midwife couldn’t even come to the hospital. COVID restrictions were still in full swing, and we headed to get induced.
My wife was a champ. After an amazing home birth experience with Little Skittle, having to labor on her back in a hospital bed was rough. Two epidurals in, she shocked the entire hospital staff by jumping up and squatting on the bed (after the second epidural was supposed to be in full swing) and shouting, “I know how I need to have this baby!”
One push later—and spiked blood pressure for the entire labor and delivery staff—Skittle #2 joined the outside world. Did I mention my wife is a champ?!
It was a joy to welcome our son into the world. Not the experience we wanted, but focus on what you can control and trust God for the rest. It also helps if you add in a healthy doses of humor for your nursing staff.
Having a baby in the hospital with COVID protocols in full swing is not something I ever want to repeat. That’s when I learned you can be completely calm—and still completely terrifying.
After getting the okay from the head nurse to grab food, I came back only to be blocked from the maternity floor by a security guard.
Let’s just say I didn’t make a scene…
But I made an impression.
As the guard nervously let me pass, he muttered:
“Man… you were scary. I’m not keeping you from your wife and baby again.”
Good choice, friend. Good choice.
What Got Built
While we were at the hospital, my wonderful mother-in-law (no, that is not sarcastic—she really is wonderful!) was watching Little Skittle, and my incredible father-in-law and brother-in-law kept the build moving. They hauled lumber. Cleared snow. Cut joists. Covered and re-covered that 906-square-foot (or round-foot, if you appreciate dad jokes) platform over and over again.
When we got home—with a healthy baby boy in arms—the yurt platform was mostly done and Little Skittle was over-joyed to meet her little brother.
That moment is burned in my memory: not just because of the sheer relief that both baby and yurt timeline had been somehow met, but because it reminded me that I wasn’t building this life alone.
What We Actually Learned
We didn’t get the birth we hoped for.
The platform still got built thanks to family.
The instructions were non-existent, and snow fell harder than expected.
But in all of it, I kept thinking back to a conversation we’d had in our Gospel Community that season. One verse in particular came up more than once:
“The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps.”
(Proverbs 16:9)
That’s the truth I’m learning to live by. Not once. But daily.
Control is sort of like nailing jello to a wall.
Trust is a muscle.
And the goal isn’t to micromanage every outcome—it’s to keep building in faith and let God write the rest. To trust through it all and have joy in the journey and each moment. To enjoy the beauty of the snow and of snow covered plans too.
So if you’re staring down your own yurt-sized project—or something even more personal:
- Have the grit to keep going.
- Hold your plans with open hands.
- Trust God with what you can’t control.
Turns out, circles are hard. Building a yurt without instructions is harder. And birth plans? They laugh in your face. Letting go doesn’t—but it’s still one of the hardest things you’ll do. And somehow, it shapes you most.
Learn more about the start of our journey – https://www.yurtsteadalaska.com/welcome-to-the-yurtstead-where-hard-isnt-the-same-as-bad/
Totally enjoying your journey in life and faith.
I’m loving this!