2025.08.03 – A-Frame Update

Sixteen Days In: Rafters, Rain, and the Black Sheep

It’s been sixteen days since the lumber first hit the ground, and every one of them has been full. Full of sweat, problem-solving, minor victories, and the kind of physical exhaustion that feels like a badge of honor. Today, we raise the final rafter—a moment that will feel quietly monumental.

That last A-frame has been set aside on purpose. My son asked if I’d wait so he could help lift it, and I kept my word. It sat there like a promise waiting to be fulfilled. While I waited on his return, I kept myself busy—measuring, sawing, and sheathing the growing skeleton of what will one day be a shelter, a gathering place, maybe even a legacy.

I thank God, truly, for His hand of protection throughout this project. There have been close calls and long days, and yet the weather has held off just long enough each time to let me press forward. The rains have been mercifully delayed, like grace stretched out across the sky.

This past week had its share of highs and lows, as most meaningful work does. A few good friends returned to lend their hands and hearts, something I never take for granted. There’s a kind of sacredness in shared labor, in building shoulder to shoulder with others who believe in what you’re doing—even if they don’t fully understand it.

But we also had a tough loss. A friend brought their dog along, and in a moment of instinct or misunderstanding, it went after one of our sheep. Our black ram—my favorite—was the target. There were no visible wounds, but by morning, he was gone. Whether it was shock, internal bleeding, or something unseen, we lost him. And it stung. These animals aren’t just stock; they’re part of the rhythm of this place. Part of the heartbeat.

Even still, today feels like a good day. My children come out to the site, and there’s something profoundly grounding about watching them step into this space. Their hands on the wood, their eyes taking in the shape of what we’re making—it reminds me of why I started this in the first place.

We stand the final rafter together. We will hammer the last of the sheathing into place for the day. It’s not perfect, but it’s ours. And it’s good.

As I reflect on all that’s been accomplished—and all that still lies ahead—I’m reminded of this:
“Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” – Galatians 6:9

This isn’t just a building. It’s not just a cabin or a shelter or some farm structure. It’s a dream taking shape, one beam at a time. A reminder that with grit, faith, and a little bit of grace, we can build things that last. Even in the face of storms—whether they come from the sky or from the unexpected corners of life—we keep building.

And that, I think, is worth writing down.


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