Home Alone

These days I’m like Kevin from Home Alone. Well, minus the silly burglars. Thankfully, no-one’s trying to break in. J

What I said in my last post I feared the most – spending the Christmas alone – came true, of course. But for different reasons and with a very different attitude from what I had anticipated. The story is quite simple, really. I had promised to participate in the recording of the conference’s online church service for the last Saturday of the year, I had promised to preach there. At first, all looked good and merry but at some point the whole thing started to disintegrate since so many people from the media team or the worship band were locked up because of Covid. So they postponed the recording day and at one point it started looking like they could not pull it off at all. And I knew my role became critical as I couldn’t allow myself to have a random contact with someone with a positive Covid test and be locked up – without a sermon they would have had very little to record. So I told the media guys I’d self-isolate until we got the sermon recorded. And I did. We recorded the sermon yesterday afternoon and then it was already too late to make any Christmas plans for the evening. So home alone I was.

I don’t think I’ve ever given up so much for a single sermon.

But there’s nothing heroic about it. It’s just that I am learning things about myself through this experience – for instance, what I think is worth certain sacrifices, what I think comes first. And I’m surprising myself. After the terrible spiritual burnout of the last 1,5 years, after a year when I’ve barely spoken to God, I never thought I’d care so much about preaching the Word…

The self-isolating bit is fine, actually. Once I realised I would not meet up with anyone this Christmas, I just calmed down. Even more, I had this inexplicable and surprising peace in my heart, and that, I believe, is pure and direct grace of God. I’ve only cried when thinking about missing my niece and nephew and godson. All else is well. And I’ve realised something over the past week or so: things that are usually nice Christmas extras have become bare essentials. I need candles and I need good Christmas music. I need good books (rereading Vladimir Nabokov’s Speak, Memory at the moment – a book made of pure beauty), and long walks in my favourite, Kadrioru park. Just like this morning – the three first things I did when I woke up was to take an ice cold shower (that’s not a Christmas routine, though, that’s just a life routine), put on my favourite Christmas CD and light some candles. On Christmas Eve, on top of these extras-turned-into-essentials, I also painted my fingernails and put on a pretty dress before watching the online Christmas service, had some cake and phoned my dad. And I really was fine.

So with gratitude for good things and with hope for better ones – Merry Christmas, dear friends!

Surviving

It was Thursday evening. I had come from my last driving lesson, the bread was baking in the oven, the worktop was full of freshly iced ginger bread (for my pupils - cheap popularity always helps), the brand new Christmas CD by my very favourite choir was on repeat, I had just opened a new novel by Olga Tokarczuk (a recent Booker Prize and Nobel Prize winner) when the sweet realisation hit me - I think I'm going to survive 2020. Against all odds.

Oh, and just on Wednesday I had received another negative Covid test result. That helped, too.

The beginning of the week had been somewhat rockier. I had a sore throat, the aching being mild but persistent. And thinking of all the family and friends I had spent time with over the weekend - driving lessons with my dad, Monopoly and popcorn and Polar Express with close friends - made me kind of itchy. Might have I infected someone I care about? So I did the only thing I knew would put my mind at ease - I phoned my head mistress and told I would miss two days of school, and booked a Covid test. Then I sank into sweet oblivion for a couple of days, chucked out my alarm clock, sat in my PJs and shamelessly watched all five seasons of Shetland (nothing beats a good British crime series when isolating, trust me).

These two PJ days weren't enough, though. I need a longer break. The school is just about to close down for Christmas, and I am looking forward to more days of oblivion and PJs. I like my pupils and all, but my tiny little school teacher muscles and nerves are reaching their limits now. The fact that an overtly eager parent sends me emails, telling me how to do my job isn't exactly helping either. 

The Covid situation is bad and getting worse, as it is everywhere else. And my worst fear is that I would have to spend Christmas in isolation without a chance to see my family. I managed it in March but I doubt I would manage it now without sinking into sombre gloom. There are times when being single and living alone really is difficult.

But hell or high water, we will survive this year. Especially since every day is taking us closer to the vaccine. Also, every day is taking me closer to January when I will start lecturing in the Seminary again. For some mental health reason, their usual homiletics lecturer had to drop out, and they turned to me. Would I be able to step in? WOULD I??? OH, GUYS, WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG? I might have sounded too eager, but I don't care. So there is good stuff to look forward to.

We should all give each other a gold medal for getting through this year. 

There are better days ahead. Far better. 

--

Wilder Woods, Mary, You're Wrong