Seven Second Version:
The sound of rain on our yurt roof reminded me that building a home means nothing if I lose sight of the priorities—faith, family, and the life meant to fill it.
What Makes a Man?
There’s a definition of manhood by Robert Lewis that I once read. I keep coming back to it:
A man rejects passivity, accepts responsibility, leads courageously, and expects the greater reward—God’s reward, not man’s.
That definition hits home for me. It’s not about how much I can accomplish, but about how I accomplish it. About how I lead my life and my family. My priorities are clear—Christ first, then my wife, then my children, then my family, my church and community—and everything else flows from there. Just, sometimes those priorities get a little squirrely.
Work matters. It’s part of how I provide and lead. But somewhere along the way, the work of building our Yurtstead in Alaska had quietly climbed the ladder until it was sitting near the top of the list. I’d convinced myself that pushing harder was “accepting responsibility.” In reality, I was letting the project, not my purpose, lead me.
When Rain Hit the Yurt Roof
Alaska has two seasons: winter and building season. But I had turned winter into building season too—so it felt like I was living in building season and building season. My mind was stuck on progress: one more wall, one more project, one more late night.
One day, while working inside the yurt, I heard the first real rain of the season. It started soft—a few scattered drops. Then it built, drumming against the roof like a heartbeat. I stopped what I was doing, sat down on the floor with my back against the lattice wall, and just listened.
The sound of rain on a yurt roof is close and unfiltered—like creation itself is leaning in. You can’t ignore what’s happening around you, even if you’ve been unwittingly drowning it out with the noise of your own busyness. I had been paying lip service to focusing more on time with family, you may have even noticed it in my last post, but deep down, I still felt the relentless push to build during building season.
The rain was a refreshing and necessary not just for the plants and trees but for me too. It felt like God was pulling my gaze back to what mattered. As the patter of rain continued, I could almost picture my wife walking with our toddler while our infant son smiled and laughed his little belly laugh, waiting for me to step out of “builder mode” and just be with them.
I prayed right then:
“Lord, help me lead well. Help me keep this all in the right order. Don’t let me build walls and floors while letting my priorities slip.”
Shifting Focus – For Real This Time
I didn’t stop building, though I did slow the pace. I just began to approach the work differently. One of my next projects was a gravel path to the front door. On the surface, it was practical—no more mud slogging—but it also represented something bigger: building with my family in mind, not just the structure itself. The first addition of form and function – something that would add beauty.
The plan I sketched out on graph paper was a curving path edged with stone. Between it and the yurt, I could picture a beautifully landscaped space, flowers bright and vibrant. The crunch of gravel under tiny feet running to and fro in the Alaskan summer rather than squelching through mud in boots.
We ordered gravel from Gravel Boss (highly recommend them) and had it delivered. I shoveled and wheeled every load—slow, dusty work, but the kind of work that felt right.
I also started sketching out plans for an addition—a small office for working from home, a laundry room, and a pantry. (Spoiler alert: this plan will change 110%—but that’s for a future post.)
Reclaiming Family Time
Rejecting passivity meant more than finishing the next job on the list—it meant choosing my family.
So we made time to be together. Uncle Justin was living in Alaska so we pulled him into our summer plans. We snagged reds in Seward, camped under the midnight sun, went dipnetting in Kasilof (if you’re not from Alaska, here’s what dipnetting is), hiked, played on the Homer Spit, and filled buckets with berries.
One day, high in the mountains under an azure blue sky, we found ourselves above the clouds in a verdant green valley. The sweet smell of raindrops clinging to the berry bush leaves mingled with the rich scent of soil soaking in the rain. My daughter’s fingers were stained deep purple from the blueberries we were picking in that mountain vale, and she looked up at me with a grin that could light the whole valley. “God made this,” Jael said, holding up a handful of berries. Moments like that reminded me of the little life I was investing in—the reward of seeing this sweet little blueberry girl gently feed berries to her baby brother. That, I realized, was part of the “greater reward” Lewis talked about—not the projects completed, but the people I was called to love and invest in.
My wife and I had long conversations about balance—about what it means to lead together and live with the right priorities. God was doing a work in both of us, but for me, that rainstorm was the line in the sand. It was the moment I stopped just building and started learning how to lead—a journey I am still walking.
Looking Ahead
Summer was flying by, but progress was still being made—just with better focus. The pandemic-driven price spikes had already hit, and spreadsheet-and-planning nerd that I am, I’d recalculated what they meant for our return-on-investment plans. The result landed somewhere between ouch and BOINGGGG—like getting smacked over the head with a 2×4 made of solid gold.
We were also needing to save now that everything cost more than it was supposed to, slowing down to rethink priorities, and learning to enjoy the life we were building together.
Next up? Getting permanent power installed—learning how to navigate the utility company as a homeowner (not a contractor), wood stove installation all while planning out the interior of the yurt. I was sure we’d be “in” soon. But Alaska—and God—still had more lessons for me on what it means to lead.
There was a well received message in this installment. Home building can be overwhelming and it may be time to slow down and smell the roses.