The Book Story

The story began exactly two years ago.

I had my doctoral defense in the end of April 2023. After the fog of exhaustion and relief began to lift - it took a couple of weeks - a question started to take shape in my head. What's the next big project? I asked. What's the next thing I am going to take on that is a little bit bigger and more permanent than just my daily cares and duties?

Somewhere deep inside I already knew the answer. I was not courageous enough to look the answer in the eye yet but I knew it nevertheless. Start writing. Write a book.

At that time, I happened to read John Mark Comer's book Garden City, a book about God's calling and work and why we are here on the Earth and what difference our lives make. And as I read, the conviction - or the answer, you might say - hit me again with a strong force. It is time to take up writing; it is time to put your sermons into a book. 

And still, I hesitated. And I thought to myself, if there is anyone who would confirm this calling, I promise to get going with it. But the next thought right after the first one was that of doubt - how could anyone confirm this calling? It is such a specific thing, no-one knows I have this idea in my head (not even S.), where could the confirmation possibly come from?

A couple of days later pastor D. came for a visit. He had married us a little less than a year before and as a pastoral person, he came to see how we were doing. We looked around in our apartment and did some small talk; we had not even sat down to have dinner together. And D. asked me about how I was doing. I said I had been terribly busy these last months - finishing up my Swedish studies, putting the finishing touches to my dissertation, surviving the 2,5 h defense, working in the church... I had had a lot on my plate. At least, I said, I was able to re-use my old sermon manuscripts as I really didn't have time to write new ones all the time. And D. said, as we stood in our living room, "Mervi, I have an idea for you. Whether you take it or leave it is up to you. But I think you should publish a book with your sermons." 

There it was.

Not "Have you thought about writing?" or anything vaguer, it was specific and concrete and simple. You should publish a sermon collection. 

I stared at D. and then at S., and then I had to explain to them what these words meant to me. How I had been waiting for a sign, not really believing it could come. But there it was.

This happened on a Friday evening. On Monday morning I opened my first sermon and started re-writing it. A promise is a promise.

Fast forward two years, and the book is finally published. 

It is a collection of 20 sermons which I have preached over the years, sermons which mean a lot to me personally, sermons which I have needed to hear and implement in my own life. They are about the fruit of the Spirit, forgiveness, God's calling, suffering, resting, carrying each others' burdens, and about many other things I find important as a follower of Jesus. I really hope they will touch the readers as these Bible texts the sermons are built on have touched me. 

Last weekend we had a little book release in Estonia. We barely ever have local authors publishing books, most of the stuff we publish in our church is translations. So we took the chance and had a book evening in Tartu church. I did some public reading from the book, we listened to beautiful music, there was a long conversation about what preaching and writing means to me, and in the end, everyone could purchase the book and get it signed. I was so touched to see how my old friends - and some strangers - had come from all over Estonia; the church hall was full and the queue for book signing was so long I could hardly see the end of it. 113 books were sold that evening, I later heard! The only thing I was sad about was that there was no time to mingle and have longer conversations. I would have loved to stay and talk but L., who had been so brave the whole long day, finally took up his favourite melody "Oh, great tiredness, sob sob, waah waah" and we had to get him to bed. Some other time, I promised myself, I will make up for these lost conversations. 

And now the book is on my living room table and each time I see it, a prayer comes up from my heart. That God would let it reach people I couldn't reach any other way! That the light of the Word would shine bright!

Growing!

The little dude turned five months old last week.

All the tiny developmental milestones are too numerous to count but here are some of the more important ones:

1. autonomy. He has developed limited but much appreciated ability to hang out by himself which means that I don't need to hold or carry him all the time. It is such a big thing for me - gone are the days when I would sit on the sofa, a sleeping newborn on my lap, waiting for an hour for S. to come home from work and give me a glass of water. It feels like I am getting back a certain degree of bodily autonomy. Suddenly I can do things again. I can dust and I can eat and I can cook simple food that does not take much prep time (the fact that this is the only food I can cook in general is a different matter). He is happy just being on his blanket, rolling (from back to tummy - check!), looking around, testing his vocal cords (the high pitched screams will probably leave us half-deaf), playing with toys. And he lights up like a little sun every time I go by. If there is anything that can melt a heart...

2. toys. I remember trying to get him interested in toys. The first months were hopeless but now, little by little, he has developed interest in certain toys. Right now, we have two favourites: Konn ('frog' in Estonian) which he likes when he is awake and active, and Nils Holgersson which he keeps nearby when taking naps and sitting in his car seat. 

Konn

Nils Holgersson

3. food. Now this is absolutely fascinating for me. The first time our nurse visited us after L's birth, one of her questions was, "What kind of food allergies / intolerances do you have?" I think it is a known fact that there are a huge amount of people in Scandinavia who can't tolerate one food or another. So now the official medical position is that you should start with potential allergens as early as possible. And as S. has a long and impressive list of allergies it was decided that L. needed to get going with certain foods very early. So, as soon as he turned three months old, this was what we did: the first week, boiled egg every other day, the second week, peanut butter was added to this, the third week, wheat, and the fourth week, lactose. I kind of freaked out in the beginning - can you imagine giving peanut butter to such a tiny human? But we got used to it very quickly so now my only worry is that I would not forget which day it is - whether it's an egg and peanut butter day or milk and wheat day. And as soon as he turned five months old and our good neighbors gave us their old kitchen highchair, I started testing with a little bit of solids. The first day (which happened to be a milk day), he got some boiled carrot with a bit of saltless butter in it. The food disappeared in seconds! Give me more, give me more!

I was documenting my food experiment last week. As you can see, it is safer to taste food when Konn is nearby.

These are L's big milestones. When I think of my own, the main thing is that I have entered the big and cozy baby bubble and I never want to come out. The same simple routine every day, the same walk, the same podcasts as I walk round and round our matchbox village, the same evening routines, the same books and songs with L. It is all just so lovely! (the fact that L. is a calm baby and sleeps through the night with one pit stop helps a lot, of course) Can I please stay here indefinitely? Pretty please?

Twelve Weeks' Wisdom

L. is turning 12 weeks old on Sunday, and I think I've learnt a lesson or two during this time. Here are some of them:

1. Time is relative. The first weeks after L’s arrival were, hands down, the longest weeks of my entire life. Every day seemed like a marathon - you got going with a day in the morning without seeing the end of it. The end was somewhere over the hills. When everything is new and a little scary, when there are no routines yet, when you get up three times every night for a feed, when you feel constantly sleepy, time is like a drunken snail. But as soon as routines were established and I started to get a hang of things, time started going by normally. Now, almost three months into motherhood, I already catch myself scrolling through my phone's photo album and thinking - my my, doesn't the time fly!

2. Noise cancelling earphones are the most brilliant invention! I read recently that the cry of a newborn baby has a very specific pitch and intensity. It has pretty much been designed to make all the little red lights in your head go off all at once - it is a sound that is absolutely impossible to ignore. Of course, there is God's wisdom behind it - this helpless babe needs you to pay attention, to pick him up, to soothe him, basically to keep him alive. But when the baby really gets going with a screaming session and you have, as long as you can tell, eliminated all the reasons - he is full and dry, not too cold or too warm - then the army of red lights in your head can really begin to burn you out. This is where the headphones become handy. You need a little buffer in between your ears and sanity on the one hand and the screaming baby on the other. This is also what they teach you when you leave the hospital - make sure your brain does not overheat. People end up shaking babies (consequently shutting them up but also causing brain damage) not because they are evil but because their brains have gone into meltdown. They just couldn't bear the screaming any longer. 

3. Cooing makes a difference! In the beginning, your relationship with the baby is kind of impersonal. Of course, you love your baby with a fierce and protective love but it is more like a biological / hormonal instinct than an emotional feeling. You just do everything - anything - to keep the baby alive. But they don't look you in the eye nor have any other way of communicating so the connection between you is limited. It was only when L. started cooing that something changed deeply. Suddenly he was communicating and he became a real person. He was talking, smiling, complaining. And I could talk and smile and complain back. So, suddenly, our nappy changes went from taking 3 minutes to taking 15 just because he is most talkative on these moments. Now we have long conversations in the bathroom and it makes all the difference in the world!

4. Choose your partner / the other parent to your child wisely. I have been thinking about it quite a bit lately. Having a baby is not a relationship crisis by itself but it holds a great potential of becoming one. It is a very intense time - you are always a little too tired, the first weeks are a roller coaster of hormones and emotions, little things can blow up, it is so easy to start nagging, you feel helpless and clingy, you barely have time to shower, etc. All these things can chip away on your love and connection. That's when it is of utmost importance that the other person in the trenches with you is kind and understanding and supportive and patient. I could tell a lot about S. in this context but I only say one thing - goodness, did I hit the jackpot! I am enormously grateful for him, his support and never-ending patience and kindness. It's only thanks to him I am getting through this time, sane and intact and happy. ❤

5. Enjoy the bubble. When we got home from the hospital, I put my phone on the flight mode and I have pretty much forgotten to switch it back on. I don't know how many people have tried to call me without ever getting an answer. It is probably a little bit rude but I also enjoy this opportunity of cutting myself off from the world and responsibilities. Now, almost three months down the line, I feel the expectations changing already. Can you come and play the violin? Can you record this little video? Don't you miss preaching? When will you start coming to church again? As this might be my only chance in life to put my obligations on hold, I say - thank you for asking but no. Not this time. Not yet. Let me enjoy the bubble a tad longer.  

This is not by any means an exhaustive list of things I have recently learnt. But they are some of the most important ones.

I try to be very careful about sharing L's pictures publicly (as I cannot ask for his consent). I always watch with a bit of dismay the half naked baby pictures some people publish online. But I admit that some days it is super hard not to flood the internet with his cuteness. May this be an exception. So, here is Mr Cutie-Pie:

To Receive More Than You Give

It was some years ago that I went through the deepest crisis of my faith. Things between me and God got really ugly. It was like a street fight.

One of my main complaints and the thing that really drained my faith was the feeling that I was always giving more than I received. Working in the church, my focus was always on other people, what I could give them, how I could be helpful to them. But then in the end of the day I would come home to my empty apartment, often feeling lonely and grief-stricken, without anyone asking me how I was doing, and the world looked unfair. Or, rather, God looked unfair. I was trying to stay faithful to God and my calling, constantly giving, but I myself never received enough, or so it felt.  

Fast forward to the present day. 

The wonderful, caring ladies in Ekebyholm church started a Meal Train for our family when L. arrived. I thought people showing up on your door step with warm casseroles was something that only happened in Hollywood movies but no, it has turned out to be a reality for us over these past weeks. Every second evening, there is a soft knock on our door or a discreet text message on our phones, letting us know that another warm meal has been delivered to us. And it makes me tear up right now as I write this - there is something deeply, deeply healing about it. It is not just that I do not have time - or often energy - to cook myself. It is not just that sometimes I sit with a sleeping baby on my lap for two hours straight, unable to even get a glass of water. It is so much more for me - it is the deep and healing realisation that I am in a place where I receive so much more than I give.

Because let's be honest - I am pretty useless these days. Of course, I have one job, to keep this tiny human alive - and it's a big one. But when it comes to the society and when it comes to the church, I'm not doing anything. I am not working, I am not producing anything, I am not supporting anyone, I am not sharing the Word, I am not giving anything. And at this tender moment in my life - I am receiving so much! There is so much love and care around us, and my faith in humanity and in the infinite goodness of God is being restored in a way I never thought was possible (or needed). 

I have tried to take a picture of every meal we have received (I think I have forgotten to do it twice - maybe we were just so hungry haha). I want to keep these photos for the years to come as a reminder of the time when I received more than I gave. It feels important to do it.

Peter once told Jesus, "We have left everything behind for your sake, what do we get in return?" I wonder if there was a hint of accusation in his voice when he asked this - just like there was a lot more than a hint of accusation in my voice when I threw this question at God. Jesus didn't mind the question. He replied, "And everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or wife or children or fields for my sake will receive a hundred times as much." Hundred times as much! I am pretty sure He had His church in mind when He said that - there is this miracle that happens in the Kingdom community where people take care of each other. They receive hundredfold for everything they have given (up). These words have come true for me in a very tangible, real way.

Thank you, my dear friends at Ekebyholm (many of whom have little children at home themselves), for your love and warmth. It means a world to me. 

Welcome!

Today there is only one thing to be said - welcome to the big world, little Lucas!

He made his grand entry into the world two and a half weeks ago, on November 10th. If anyone had told me that the labour would take more than 20 hours and I would lose more than a liter of blood in the process, I would have died of horror and fear on the spot. Not knowing the future is truly a grace of God.

Interestingly and paradoxically enough, I only have good memories from the whole thing. And it is exactly because everything went so slowly. I had time to adjust myself mentally, everything was so calm, there was never a moment of panic or hurry or uncertainty. 

I was three days over my due date and by that stage, one has developed an almost unhealthy interest in every tiny feeling and sign that the delivery may start soon. I detected the very first "Could that be it?" sensation early on Saturday morning. By the time S. came back from the church, it was clear that things were really happening. But as said, everything developed very slowly and I felt comfortable at home, bouncing on the pilates ball and blasting worship music. It was only around 5 PM when I felt like it would be smart to go to the hospital. Since the hospital we were assigned to was an hour's drive away, I did not want to leave it to the last minute. But again, we were very calm and contrary to all the hospital drive stories that I've heard, S. did not speed at all. Once we were in the hospital, they did the initial examination and asked about my wishes and preferences as to the rest of the delivery.

And on these kinds of moments it is so important to know oneself. Over the past months, I had come to two very clear conclusions about my personality and ability. First, that being a highly sensitive person I would probably be more sensitive to pain than an average person. And secondly, that I was no hero and that a completely natural and unmedicated birth was not on my wish list. I have enormous amount of respect for women who knowingly choose unmedicated birth but I knew it was not a priority for me. I know my limits.

So, I was like, what kind of drugs do you have in this wonderful establishment, I would like to try all of them, thank you! They started with a bit of that gas that makes you feel funny in your head, and after a little while, a kind doctor came and gave me epidural. Now, the epidural stories are also very different. I was hoping it would take away the sharp edge of the pain. What I did not expect was that it would completely take away pain. But that's what happened, and I spent most of that night scrolling Twitter and looking at the ceiling, not feeling anything. S. could even take a nap on the sofa. 

I am Team Epidural forever!

The only really hard part was the pushing that took more than two hours and got my doctor really worried. It is not supposed to take that long and there were signs of the baby getting more and more distressed, and the worst feeling of all was the sharp fear of not being able to make it on time. But somehow we managed, and Lucas took his first breath at 5 AM on Sunday morning.

What happened after that, I am not sure. The memories are very fragmented and I don't have any clear timeline in my head. The doctor was trying to stop the blood flow, S. was given scissors, I needed to throw up, there was some running around, but at one point all the medical staff left the room and then it was only three of us left. And with what seemed like one gigantic contraction the world became suddenly very small, only containing us, and what happened behind the door or behind the window ceased to have any meaning or importance. Everything went quiet, the whole reality concentrated on that dimly lit delivery room. It felt like all I had ever cared for was right there with me. 

We stayed in the hospital for two days, following the doctor's advice. My hemoglobin was so low and my head so dizzy that it was safer for us to be in a place where everything was provided for us. But we were home by Tuesday afternoon and for the past two weeks, we have mostly stayed in our little bubble, trying to get used to our new roles and the new reality. 

I could say much about these two weeks - the longest ones in my life. But I only want to point out one thing. And it is the privilege and joy of seeing S. from a completely new angle. As to me, my hormones are raging and I am still in a kind of a survival mode, completely focused on keeping that tiny human alive and well. But S. does not have that same hormone rush and the same anxiety level, and he is much more relaxed around Lucas than I am. And I love seeing how these two interact and how calmly S. handles even the most tense situations. And how he turns the diaper changes into some comedy act. And how he manages to calm Lucas down when I can't. It is an amazing support for me, and I am in awe seeing him in his new role. 

I really feel like I have been given the best two guys in this world. I count my blessings. 

  

There Is a Time for Everything

I preached my last sermon two weeks ago. Sometimes all you can do is to preach right out of the situation you have in your own life. So it felt very fitting and somehow comforting for me to go back to the wise old man and his words, "There is a time for everything / and a season for every activity under the heavens / a time to be born and a time to die / a time to plant and a time to uproot / a time to kill and a time to heal / a time to tear down and a time to build..."

There is wisdom in knowing when some things end and other ones begin. There is wisdom in recognising the change and rhythm of seasons in one's life.

Oftentimes the changes are gradual and not dramatic. Who notices when spring has turned into summer? Who pays attention to the first yellow birch leave (the first gray hair)? But on other occasions, the changes are sudden and sharp. You lived in one season, one reality just yesterday but today everything has changed and a new season has begun. 

This Bible text felt so relevant because we live in the middle of very sharp and big changes in our family.

First, it was just last week we moved apartments. We put our lovely home in Arninge on sale in September and by God's help and guidance, we managed to sell it fast. Just this Tuesday we wiped away the last specs of dust in the empty apartment, signed the last papers, and gave the keys to the new owner. Our new apartment is about a kilometer away from Ekebyholm which means that it suddenly takes us 4 minutes - instead of 40 as it used to - to go to work or church. 

I have managed the move surprisingly well. I have only a very few real childhood traumas but moving was one of them. The frustration and helplessness I felt as a child or a teenager when my dad would come home from the Conference's constituency meeting and announce that he has been sent to pastor a church in another town... No-one ever asked us, no-one ever discussed these matters with us. Whenever we moved, I cried for months and months. And interestingly enough, it never got easier. I remember the last time I moved together with my parents - I was 19 (!) and had already gone through my first year in university and yet, the day the moving lorry took all our things away, I sat on the stairs of our empty home and cried like a little baby. A small part of me never got over losing my homes like this.

There has been no rivers of tears this time, thank God. Sadness, yes, but no bottomless agony. It just makes sense (also economically) to come closer to Ekebyholm now that we still can. Trying to stay rational about it helps a great deal.

Secondly, it is my last day at work today before the maternity leave. I will not manage to clean my desk in the office today and a couple of emails may still have to be sent next week but by and large, I am done. I have a mixed feelings about it, from sadness to exhilarating relief. The plan is to use up every single drop of generosity of the Scandinavian parental leave system and be off work for about two years. 

The biggest change - the birth of the baby - has not happened yet. Officially, my due date is still two weeks away but things can happen any time now. So I try and notice every tiny milligram of pain, do my daily exercises and eat dates (the amount of old wives' tales out there!!), hoping that the little one would arrive rather sooner than later. 

The imminence of the baby's arrival has heightened the sense of gratitude for the soon-ending season of life. I remember sitting in the Royal Opera some weeks ago and thinking, "When will I get to enjoy a luxury of a 3-hour opera again?" I am much more conscious about the little freedoms and joys I have taken for granted for so long. So, I have made myself stop and notice good things every time the thought "This will change soon" has crossed my mind. It's a good exercise, I recommend.

To sum up life in the past month or so, I have...

enjoyed opera...

and jazz...

done some lecturing...

visited some dear old friends...

waved goodbye to my church...

enjoyed the thrill of IKEA puzzles...

and been blown away not by one but two surprise baby showers! 

It has been a good season indeed. Now bring on the new one!

Dreams and Dreams

There are different kinds of dreams. In some cases you have a goal, a vision, and a way of getting there. You dream of becoming an elementary school teacher or a vet, and you know which uni you should go to and which course you should enrol in. There are steps you can take. But then there are the other kinds of dreams which seem so outlandish and unattainable that you have no idea how to make them come true. Or even if they could possibly come true. 

For a good number of years I had a dream that belonged to that second category. As a homiletician, I dreamed of an opportunity to preach at the European Pastors Council one day. That was the peak of Everest for me. 

Why?

I suppose there are several reasons for it. The main one has to do with the fact that my first EPC was a ground-breaking and mind-blowing experience. It was in 2007 when the EPC took place in the Netherlands. I had just started my MA studies in linguistics, and the thought of studying theology hadn't even crossed my mind yet. I was happy doing what I was doing. But then I spent five days in a translator's booth, and was absolutely shocked by the quality of sermons - I had never heard such powerful preaching before. The best preachers from Europe and the US seemed to be there! After the event, they published a collection of DVDs with the worship services, and I watched the sermons over and over again, mesmerised. Preaching suddely became an art - an art where intellectual and theological and emotional parts could come together in perfect harmony. I think this is why EPC has had a special place in my heart ever since. 

But how do you get there? How does one make The List? How does it happen that in some planning committee meeting your name is mentioned (and another name, just as worthy, isn't)? There was no way for me to climb that Everest by myself. It was an unattainable dream. 

But the dream came true regardless. Someone mentioned my name; someone made the decision; someone thought it was worth the risk... 

So I preached my sermon last Wednesday. It was beautiful and emotional and tough, I felt the weight of the privilege and responsibility, and I was in awe of the miracle God has done in my life since that week in 2007 when I sat in the interpreter's booth at EPC, amazed. 

The positive feedback has been overwhelming. The best feedback was, of course, the utter silence in the meeting hall. That moment when you realise that no phones are glowing, no-one is fidgeting or coughing, and that the Spirit is breathing life into your words and making them come alive for the listeners... 

But just as I was grateful for this opportunity, I was equally happy for other plenary speakers. It was so special for me to see J. and M. take the stage - they were the older, more experienced students in Newbold who got preaching invites from all over London and went about with a certain degree of confidence, and yet they had the grace to notice and encourage a small and quiet white girl, sitting in the homiletics class, taking her first shaky steps. This is true especially of J. - I actually don't think I would be where I am today without his constant encouragement and support. So it was a historical thing for me to share EPC's platform with him. 

With M. and J.

So, now I wonder. Where do I get a new dream from?