Awaken, My Heart

There's an old and well-known Estonian church hymn "Mu süda, ärka üles" that begins with this verse: "Awaken, my heart / And sing praises to the Lord / Who gives us all good things / And who carries our sorrow." 

I sang this hymn with my fifth-graders and their teacher in the beginning of June when we had our end-of-the-year field trip. We visited a tiny little island some 10 km off the Northern coast where we did some sightseeing and had a picnic and went swimming and ate a whole truckload of ice-cream and had generally a lot of fun. When the local tour guide showed us the only church on the island, L., the other teacher, proposed we sang that old hymn then and there. The girls were a bit shy but I liked the idea so sing we did. I love that simple melody and the old words, and our voices sounded rather beautiful in that little island church. 

The song got stuck in my head. It got stuck to the extent that it has become the soundtrack of this summer. Hardly a day passes without me singing it or humming its melody. And the lyrics have come alive for me in a new and beautiful way - they have become my daily prayer, so to speak. 

I sang this song in Sweden a day after my mind had exploded (too much stress + too tired + too many emotions to handle) and I had a meltdown. A full-blown panic attack. I don't want to talk about it but in all the darkness that hit me, I was still able to sing this song. That's precious! And I sang that song two days later on the plane on my way home (I was wearing a mask and the plane made a lot of noise so no-one seemed to hear me lol) when the darkness had vanished and a lot of light had miraculously taken its place. I've sung it, visiting my dad and friends, swimming and having a wonderful summer vacation. The song just keeps pouring out of me, and I hope the spring where it comes from will not run dry...  

Just by looking at these photos from last weekend, I start humming again.

"Awaken, my heart / And sing praises to the Lord / Who gives us all good things / And who carries our sorrow."

Lamentations

The last month has been extraordinarily stressful. All kinds of work seem to have gravitated around late spring and the best I can do is to keep my nose above water and simply survive.

In mid May, I had my annual school session which these days means two full weeks of Zoom classes. You get a lot of information like this but you miss the after-class dinners and movies and walks and talks so a lot of life is sucked out of the studies. I missed Newbold and the real presence of my classmates terribly. There was good stuff in those classes, too, and something in the way I see and interact with the world shifted (and that's a really big thing to happen during an academic course, I know), but it was also very tiring. Because when the school session comes, it is never just about sitting in a classroom, it is also a whole pile of home work you need to get done and trying to juggle all this at once makes my anxiety levels rise. In this past month, I have read - diagonally, but still - 9 compulsory books and am trying to get going with the 10th one I need to write an assignment on. It's a bit too much, to be honest.

My work dynamics have also shifted as we were allowed back in the real classroom, hallelujah! I will need to write another, longer post about my pupils since they really have showered me with affection and chocolates. They are true gems! But I drag their homeworks with me like a cat drags her kittens and I mark them at the last possible moment so it's none too soon for the summer vacation! I will have my last classes tomorrow, a field trip with my fifth graders next week, and then I should be done.

I have also taken on too much preaching-wise. The Swedes have invited me over to preach at their Union camp meeting slash constituency meeting that is partly taking place in person and partly online, and I'm flying over to Sweden next week (if my Covid test comes back negative, that is). On one hand, it is lovely to get these kinds of invites and lovely to preach to actual people for a change, but I never really bothered asking about what exactly was expected of me. So when they told me they wanted 4 pre-recorded morning devotionals and 5 evening sermons, my heart sank. I've gotten the recordings done, and I have faithfully (and on time!) translated my sermons and sent them my manuscripts but I am tired to my bones! In all honesty, had I known how much they expected of me, I would have thought twice about saying yes. But I pray I will be alright and will actually able to enjoy my Swedish gig next week. As long as I sleep well, I should be ok. But here's a note to self - whenever someone asks you to preach, please please make sure you know what you're saying yes to!

In the middle of school and work and sermon writing, I am also trying to write a longer article for Muusika. It should have been written a while ago but the head editor was kind enough to postpone the deadline for a month (I really couldn't concentrate when A. died). But now I need to get that piece on paper and published. 

And as soon as I am back from Sweden, I need to wrap up my homiletics classes in the Seminary. My students will be preaching in class and I need to give them individual feedback. That will be a challenge after preaching my own sermons lol.

Phew. Thus end the lamentations of Mervi. Enough is enough. I will get through these last couple of stressful weeks and then I will put my feet up and get some good books and spend some lazy weeks visiting my dad and friends. And then I will also have time to grieve properly.

As to grieving, I'm making progress. My emotions have calmed down and I'm getting used to the new reality. We laid A.'s ashes to rest a couple of weeks ago which was a big deal for me because now, finally, I know where she is. I visited the graveyard this past Sunday, I sat at her grave for about an hour, the weather was gloriously beautiful, bees and ants kept themselves busy on the flowers on her grave, and a little white butterfly kept coming back. There was peace all around. I also keep wearing her cardigan almost daily, and her scarf. I don't expect people to understand - and I suspect some would think it terribly morbid - but having these things near helps me a great deal. I also have her watch - I am mad about watches - but it keeps sitting on my drawer. It's still too soon for me to wear it. Her watch and how she wore it is imprinted in my memory in such a strong way that I need more time to pass before I can put it on my wrist. Oh, and I am going to visit A.'s mum this weekend, just sitting in the garden, chatting with her. I am looking forward to it very much! Such little things, little steps but vital for me at this point in time.

But no matter my grief or anxieties, the little tomato plant on my window sill keeps growing. :) 

 

I Have Never

„I have never!“ has been one of my most frequent thoughts over the past week. So many new experiences, so many conflicting feelings – it will take a while to process them all.

A.’s brother messaged me last Thursday and told me that him, her mum, and a few of her closest friends would be spending the whole of Saturday at her apartment in Tartu, cleaning and packing. I was welcomed to pop by for a chat, he said. I would not have missed this for anything. So me and K. drove to Tartu that morning, and the closer we got to Tartu the sicker I felt in my stomach. I didn’t know what to expect or how seeing her place would affect me, neither did I know how long I should stay there. Is it just a formal visit to pay my respects? Is it something else? Long story short, I ended up staying there for four hours. And it may sound eerie but it was a wonderful day. It was a day of much needed closure and peace. I helped as much as I could. We went through all her closets and shelves and drawers, we sorted and packed and threw away, we kept important things, we reminisced. We cried a little but we mostly laughed, and the whole bunch of people I had either never seen before or had not seen for a very long time became unusually close.

The picture of the apartment was sobering, of course. She still had food in the fridge, and clothes drying, her work stuff and handwritten notes all over her desk together with her laptop. And all the other things as well – I had never seen, let alone gone through someone’s things like this. Methodically. All her life, just there for everyone to see. Only she herself was missing.

I came home late that evening and looked around in my own apartment with changed eyes. And it wasn’t some pious „Oh, vanity of vanities, these things don’t mean anything“ thought. Some of my things mean a great deal to me. It was more like, „Hmm, I wonder what books they’re going to keep and which preaching dresses they’re going to chuck out when my life is over and my family are packing my things.“ Ever since that Saturday, I have been eyeing my things with a new sort of curiosity. I have never known this feeling before.

And yesterday we said our goodbyes and laid her to rest. I knew it would be a very small and private gathering so I didn’t entertain any hopes of being there myself (her family had only a vague idea of the closeness of our friendship). But her mum asked me to speak at the funeral service which was – except for my five minutes – a non-Christian service. I have never felt more honored and touched by a speaking invitation. Never. Of course I’ll come, of course I’ll speak! But then followed a couple of days of almost utter desperation. Because I have never felt more inadequate as a preacher. Usually words and sermons just pour out of me. But not this time. I wrote and rewrote, I thought and changed my mind, I sweated and in the end I actually cried. Out of sheer frustration for not being able to write down words more meaningful or eloquent. I wish I could have done better for A. But I did what I was capable of and spoke the words I had in front of her open casket. It was bloody horrible and yet, so soothing.

We ended the day at her mum’s, eating loads of take-away food and laughing even more, and together with her family and three closest friends, I felt like I belonged to A.’s world in a whole new way. I don’t know what they thought of me – I was the odd minister who didn’t drink wine with them and who asked for a vegetarian dish – but for me, it was as if a new shoot had sprung up from the place where only a dead stump used to be. 

I think that’s the main reason I believe in the existence of God. Because He is, new beginnings replace dead ends, new shoots replace old stumps, and new joy replaces loss and grief.

 

In Memoriam

My best friend passed away this afternoon.

When I think of A. and when I compare us two, I can't believe we managed to strike up such an awesome friendship. Because in so many respects we were the complete opposites. She'd wear leather boots and short skirts and have piercings (and a tattoo). For the better part of these 15 years I knew her she'd have fiery red hair but the latest fashion was to have 1/3 of her head shaved and the other 2/3 dyed black and green. She would drink beer and have boyfriends and listen to metal (my limit of listening to her music was about 10 seconds). She was the cool one, the one who would turn heads on a street. And I was the neat pastor's kid who had never done a stupid thing in her life and had never tasted beer and who listened to classical music. But we happened to study linguistics together in Tartu uni and somehow - I can't remember how - by the end of our first BA year, we had struck up a friendship. By the second year we were inseparable - and remained so until her dying breath. We made this awesome tandem at the uni, and we were brought together by similar work ethics (man, could we study hard!) and by mutual love for languages and linguistics. We both graduated from the MA studies with distinction, she continued and graduated from the PhD studies later, I became the infamous deserter (our professor never forgave me) and switched to theology. 

I remember sitting in a big and fancy uni hall with flowers in my hand, listening to her defence speech and seeing her earn her terminal degree, bursting with boundless pride. Dr A. J.!

She was amazingly smart and witty and loyal. We never called or messaged each other much, but whenever I was in Tartu, we would sit in our favourite cafe for endless hours; and time would lose all meaning. 

There are some people who become the fixed points, the landmarks in one's life. And so much of who you are is defined by these important relationships. A. was one of these 'fixed points' around which I could build my life. She helped me navigate and make sense of so much of what happened in life. So I am not only going to miss her terribly, I will also miss the relationship we had, and who I was in that particular friendship. That part of me is now lost, too, and it will never be restored. For example, A. was the only person to call me Mervikene sometimes. Now, -kene is a diminutive suffix in Estonian that conveys the meaning of utter tenderness; you would address or comfort a little child using -kene ending. In her very last message to me, that's what she called me. Now there is no-one left in the world to whom I am Mervikene, and that makes me cry bitter tears.

Without this 'fixed point' of A.'s friendship, I feel like I'm floating, drifting. I don't quite kow who I am. And I don't know how I will ever be able to brace life's storms without her support and witty comments. 

The Covid rules prevented me from seeing her in hospital but I was very lucky to be able to send her my last message of gratitude through her brother. He wrote me this evening and told me she had received my message just before she died. For this, I am eternally grateful.

Rest in peace and light, my dearest Anni. I will always love and miss you. 💔

Lockdown Ramble

Not much is happening. That's the lockdown life for you.

So it's been a week (or, uhmm, two?) since we were plunged into another lockdown. Which is such a shame, considering how well we managed things last spring. A year ago everyone was really reasonable and stayed at home and we beat the beast rather quickly. Now, on the other hand, Estonia is on the top of every depressing Covid infections' list, the hospitals are full to bursting and things just don't seem to get any better. But, oh, there is another difference between this spring and the last one, a good one - and that is the glorious and faint pain I still feel in my left top arm from the Covid jab. I got my shot some two weeks ago and it proved what it needed to prove - my immune system is strong and fighting. After the jab, I had to stay in bed for two days with high temperature and with everything in my body hurting as if hit by a train. Or as my close colleague put it when I inquired about her health the day after our jab - it's like having been beaten up behind a bar. Quite accurate, that description, or so I imagine. But as the AstraZeneca guys promised, the side effects disappeare by the end of the second day. I'm glad they kept their promise. And no, I didn't have any blood clots. Just so you know.  

The school has fully moved back to Zoomland and I'm very tired of it. It sucks the energy out of you - just as normal school life would - but it doesn't give you anything back. In normal circumstances, the kids give me so much. But now I feel like an empty bag, dragging myself from one Zoom class to another. It's tough.

Last week I didn't meet a soul, and by the end of the week I felt like losing my tiny precious mind. So I have taken better care of myself this week. I have met up with two friends outdoors, and I even popped by the conference office the other day, and it did me much good to chat with the office guys. I was also reminded I need to start thinking about the coming summer and my decision about going back to church office - The Conversation with the conference president taking place next week - so that gives a kind of forward momentum to this still-life of ours. 

The libraries are all closed and that's a pity since it has forced me to read Kindle books (I'm too old-school - or just old - for e-books). But, on a brighter note, thanks to the Kindle business I am reading the first theological book in a long time. It's Tish Harrison Warren's beautiful Prayer in the Night - a balm to my soul. I recommend! And in the evenings when I'm not reading or listening to my audio Bible, I'm watching some British tv series (I'm totally homesick for the UK) and am developing a little crush on James Norton. Classic.

But the spring is coming! The days are getting longer and snow is in retreat and the birds have picked up their spring tunes. And if I manage to dodge the virus for another month or so, I should be safe. In other words, "all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well." 

Bless the Child

It was my dad’s birthday on Wednesday. Very conveniently, the 24th of February is also our beloved Independence Day which means that it is always a bank holiday in Estonia. That, in turn, makes it very easy for all of us to go and visit dad on his birthday as no-one’s at work that day anyway.

We weren’t sure it would be a good idea this year, though. The Covid numbers are up and up and the government advised everyone to stay at home on the bank holiday. In the end me and K. decided we would drive to dad’s for a day, but a couple of days earlier I called S. in Tartu and he said he wouldn’t come with his family. It sounded like a plan, or at least a half-decent thing to do in these circumstances.

On the birthday morning H. (my sister-in-law) told E. (my four year old niece) that they would record a birthday song on a phone and send it to grandad for his birthday. But she also let it slip, accidentally, that aunie Mervi and uncle K. would actually be visiting grandad that day. And then – bless that child! – E. turned into a bit of a drama queen and made a racket and demanded she’d be driven to grandad’s place, too. There was no way she would miss the occasion! She hadn't seen her aunt and uncle for too long a time! So S. called me that morning, a little perplexed, and we cooked up a plan on the spot. It was clear we wouldn’t all cram into dad’s living room but we decided we would all drive to Türi and have a quick birthday lunch outdoors. Now, my dad lives in a boring apartment building around which there’s no place to have a picnic, but we invaded our church that afternoon, brought some chairs and a table from the church building, and put up a nice birthday party right in the middle of the church yard. It wasn't very private, mind you, but it was the best we could come up with. Then we ran around in the snow with kids – there’s still loads of snow waiting to melt – and had the lunch, we drank hot drinks and went inside the church to get warm occasionally (but then, as decent citizens, with masks and distancing). It wasn’t the most comfortable or the longest of birthday lunches – there’s only so much time one can sit in snow – but we pulled it off! No hugging that day, but real joy of being together. (Actually, now that I think of it, we hadn’t been together with the whole family since last summer.)

As we were driving back to Tallinn with K. (I did the driving, by the way, and I was very proud of myself lol) the whole thing made me so very happy. Just to think that it was E. who got us all together! If the whole thing had been left to us, rational adults, to decide, we wouldn’t have met up that day, that’s for sure. But she managed to bring us together, despite of and in the middle of all that tiring reality of worrying and distancing.

One day this disaster will be over and we will be back to normal rhythms of life, one day we won’t have to think about cancelling birthdays and Christmases any more, but what will remain is the sweet memory of celebrating my dad’s birthday in a snowy church yard. This will stay. And although E. might be too little just yet to understand the importance of that birthday, one day in the future I’ll remind her of it and will thank her for bringing this ray of light to our lives during this terrible pandemic. Bless you, my sweet E.!

With E. in birthday snow.

So Much To Do

In the Old Town

I remembered something yesterday.

I remembered a concern I had had last summer when I quit my job with no plan B. When trying to picture a post-church life, I had this abstract and yet a very real concern. I thought to myself, "What if I wake up one day and have simply nothing to do? What if I wake up, say, on October the 16th or on January the 10th, everyone else going to school or to work and living a normal responsible adult life, and I have nowhere to go?"

These questions came back to me yesterday evening after a busy day in the school and even busier afternoon in the Seminary, totally exhausted after a full day of teaching and lecturing, and this past concern of mine sounded suddenly somewhat ridiculous. But it also made me very serious. It made me count my blessings and it made me thank the Almighty for ever making new shoots sprout where only dead stumps used to be. 

Honestly, the idea of waking up in a morning without having anything to do seems more like a dream these days.

The strangest thing for me is that I never looked for a job or any other thing to do. And here I am on February the 11th, getting a little - or more than little - over-stressed about the to-do list that just keeps getting longer and longer. How on earth has this happened? I have to teach them kids every day at school, prepare for classes and mark tests, answer a million questions that have nothing to do with our topic and read the same books I make them read. I teach homiletics again, and although it took me more than four hours to go to Tartu and come back to Tallinn yesterday just so that I could lecture for three hours, I loved it (the students clapped in the end of the lecture - something I'm not used to). I've just had to write and submit a review on a theological peer-reviewed journal article. I need to write a review on a photo exhibition and submit it by Sunday evening (totally out of my league but so happy about the challenge). This damned doctoral thesis of mine needs to get written. A sermon needs to be preached this Saturday (and, uhmm, written first). A jazz concert on Saturday night is totally calling my name. A dear friend with a burnout diagnosis needs my support and some hang-out. A car needs to be bought. So much to do, so little time!

And I'm having to re-read The Hobbit these days. When I told my fifth-graders some weeks ago about the book I wanted them to read the next, I was greeted by loud and unanimous wailing. "Please, Miss, no, not that book!!!" The truth be told, the book I had in mind really was on the boring side, definitely not the kind of stuff I would have enjoyed as a kid. So I took pity on them and consulted with my colleagues and decided it was time for my 12 year olds to read The Hobbit. I started reading it yesterday evening on the train, braindead as I was after my lectures, and it just made me so happy! What a book. "In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit..." Ah!

But I'm very much looking forward to the next mid-term break. I try and ignore the fact that at least half of that week will need to be spent slaving away at my thesis. But also some visits and skiing and Netflix and books are on the menu. 

Like I said, so much to do! Thank heavens!