It's time to wrap up this reading year. It has been a good good year - all in all I read 35 books. I was aiming at 40 but that didn't happen, most likely because I started studying again. (A side note - I haven't got any feedback about my Hermeneutics essay, it's probably because no-one wants to read it. I don't blame them.) The best things that happened to me this year were my UK trip in April and Dr A. N.'s visit in October - both of them gave me a couple of extremely good books. I'm so grateful to A. N. because her advice really has proven to be priceless.

So here's my top five books from last year (in a random order):

1. Tim Mackintosh-Smith, Travels with a Tangerine. It was William Dalrymple who made me fall in love with good travel writers, writers who don't just try to be funny or smart but who, uhmm, actually study history in Cambridge University before hitting the road. Tim Mackintosh didn't quite overthrow Dalrymple's throne in my mind but he came close and that's a serious achievement too. He's a worthy writer, an Oxford-educated Arabist. And his attempt to travel in the footsteps of one of the greatest travelers of all times, 14th century Moroccan traveler Muhammad Ibn Battuta, is absolutely brilliant. Funny - yes. Smart - yes. But most of all, educated - yes, yes, yes! I remember reading this book in May when I went to preach in Helsinki, sitting in the quietest corner I could find on the ferry, ignoring drunk Finns, and just devouring the book. It was a pure delight.

2. William Faulkner, Absalom, Absalom! When I started reading this book, I would not have thought it could make my top books list. It was so annoying, like, who writes sentences half a page long?! But I got used to it and started to enjoy Faulkner's style soon enough. It's a strange book, nothing is said directly and not much is happening, but Faulkner finds a way to put you under his spell. And the topic is a tough one - racism, slavery, love, hatred. 19th century America, wild and harsh. It's a book that makes you very serious indeed. Here's my favourite sentence from that book (sorry, it's about half a page long), just to give you a taste: You make so little impression, you see. You get born and you try this and you don't know why only you keep on trying it and you are born at the same time with a lot of other people, all mixed up with them, like trying to, having to, move your arms and legs with strings only the same strings are hitched to all the other arms and legs and the others all trying and they don't know why either except that the strings are all in one another's way like five or six people all trying to make a rug on the same loom only each one wants to weave his own pattern into the rag; and it can't matter, you know that, or the Ones that set up the loom would have arranged things a little better, and yet it must matter because you keep on trying and then all of a sudden it's all over and all you have left is a block of stone with scratches on it provided there was someone to remember to have the marble scratched and set up or had time to, and it rains on it and then sun shines on it and after a while they don't even remember the name and what the scratches were trying to tell, and it doesn't matter. It gives me the shivers!

3. Ismail Kadare, Chronicle in Stone. It was during my heavenly vacation at my cousin's summer house that I read this book. I basically read in one go, it was nearly impossible to put it down, and I had all the time in the world. To be able to see war through the eyes of a little child is really something. As I understand, Kadare really was a kid in a small Albanian village when the WWII hit the country so it is based on his own memories but the way he's able to describe it is just brilliant. After my vacation I went on to read two more of his books but I didn't like them half as much as I liked the Chronicle.

4. Jean-Paul Sartre, Words. I love a good autobiography. And that's one good autobiography. Actually, it's almost too good. It's a book where Sartre talks mostly about his early childhood and how he got into writing, and it's written in a way that makes me just a little bit suspicious - is it actually possible for someone to remember their childhood in such detail? Don't people as talented as him just make it up afterward? I don't mean to say they're lying but it's as if they're creating a whole new reality by writing about their lives like that. I don't know. I'm not a literary critic. All I know is that my own memoirs of my early childhood would be embarrassingly short and shallow.

5. Frederick Buechner, The Alphabet of Grace. Buechner is one of the best Christian writers I know. The Pulitzer Prize for Fiction kind of speaks for itself... It was the third time for me to read his Alphabet and it was still as good as ever. It's basically a description of an ordinary day in his life where not much happens. But as it turns out, everything is significant and everything has a meaning, and grace is everywhere. After reading this book you can't help but notice the grace in your own ordinary day too. Such a great book!

I went to the national tv yesterday for the recording. I had never been to a tv studio before so I was rather excited, a bit like a kid. And nervous too. Before heading there I walked to and fro in my office and practiced my lines with a loud voice, trying to memorise as much as possible (I was lucky all the other office guys were at a pastors meeting and weren't there to see it). And it was a good thing I practiced it - something strange happens to your brain once the cameras are on and everyone is silent and the camera crew just stares at you. Words and lines get kind of blurry in your head. Obviously, when it comes to that Christian program, everyone knows we're basically all first-timers so the crew is nice and supportive and all. But still, you try to be as professional in your task as possible.

I was very interested in how everything works in the tv studio. And it's what you'd expect, really. Someone takes you to the make-up room (it was my first ever professional make up so I was vain enough to take couple of selfies before I left haha - but I'm not vain enough to post them here), then someone else makes you sign a paper (I didn't bother reading so I don't really know what I agreed to) and takes you to the studio. Then they sit you down on a lonely chair in the middle of a big big room, someone checks the lights, someone else holds a microphone above your head. And then you sit there in the middle of cameras and lights and...well, basically talk about Jesus. It was all rather bizarre, to be honest. But the lady who was in charge seemed to be happy with the outcome and when she sent me out she said 'Until the next time' or something like that. I don't think it means they're going to invite me back but it does mean I managed the task I was given. So all went well, thank heavens.

I thought about tv and radio when I headed back home. And I remembered how everything was like when I worked in the Christian radio station. I did the morning programs there for about 4 years. I remember having to be in the studio at 6:30am the latest, I remember how I had to drag myself out of bed and how I sat in the studio with my pillow face, drank tea and yawned. Radio is just so much easier because all you have to think about is your words and your voice. No-one cares what you look like. No-one cares what you wear or how much you wave your hands. Or whether you smile or not. In that sense I really prefer radio. But I'm also thankful for yesterday's experience. Yet another thing checked off my bucket list.

So the Seminary's Christmas party. I sat there last night and thought about stuff. I represent our denomination in two committees of the Estonian Council of Churches which means that I hear a lot of talk about ecumenism. Why it's good and why it's important and why we need it. Et cetera. But honestly, there are times when I don't know how I feel about it. At times it just feels like words and nothing else. Hot air. But last night I sat in the Seminary's decorated assembly hall with Adventist students and Baptist students and Adventist lecturers and Baptist lecturers, celebrating Christmas, and it was a truly beautiful thing. I think it was the real Christian oneness we talk so much about but so rarely encounter. And I realised yesterday that in my head I've stopped making the difference between 'us' and 'them'. I'm probably not the only one - I remember the principal making the same comment once. The best memory from last night was from the very end of our Christmas party when my dad sat at the piano and everyone else formed a big circle and we all sang joyfully and triumphantly O Come All Ye Faithful. And it felt like it. Like the faithful ones had gathered for a celebration.

I submitted my Hermeneutics essay yesterday. I feel very sorry for those people who have to read it. Very sorry indeed.

Late last night I landed at my cousin's and spent a wonderful evening there. And I realised - I have come to think of their home as mine. My cousin seems to do absolutely everything to make me feel that way. 'Here are the keys', 'Come and stay as long as you want', 'You know where the kettle and the fridge is', 'Next time you're in Tartu again make sure you come back'. And it's funny, I thought today as I was drinking my morning tea, you can own a place without owning it. You can refer to a place as your home without having your name on the mail box or the front door. I don't quite know how these things happen but I feel very rich. And very grateful. The memories and the emotions I collect from that home of mine are beyond price to me. Like last night. My cousin and his wife had to leave for a short while so I got to read the little monkeys their bed-time stories. After a bit of quarreling they chose Pippi Longstocking stories. The older one fell asleep in five minutes but little J. didn't - he kept interrupting my reading and telling me his own stories instead. Then my cousin came home and I think he felt a little bit embarrassed and he was like, OK, J, auntie Mervi has read you more than enough now, it's time for you to go to sleep. And he didn't even know that I needed that bed-time reading much more than those two boys did. Because, let's face it, I might never have children of my own, so it's very important for me to know that there are at least two kids in this world to whom I have told Pippi Longstocking stories and who have fallen asleep (or not) while listening to my reading. One day they'll be all tall and grown-up and cool and there will be stuff they'll remember and some they will forget. But this will stay forever. Auntie Mervi and her bed-time reading.

Christmas time is approaching. For about a week or so I've been listening to Christmas music when in the gym - it's a bizarre experience to cycle uphill, sweat dripping, and to listen to Josh Groban sing "Glooooooooooria, in excelsis Deo" at the same time. Rather bizarre. I don't know how I would feel about it if I were Josh Groban.

And yesterday I took most of the day off (I worked very hard the whole weekend so I had every right to do so) and got my Christmas shopping and card writing and parcel sending done. Now I refuse to go to another shopping centre until the new year as they are becoming increasingly unpleasant and crowded places.

Our conference's students have their monthly school days from today until Friday in Tartu and they have the Seminary's Christmas party tomorrow evening. So as a dutiful leader of the conference's educational department I feel a strong need to go to Tartu and attend the party and represent our conference. It's all purely professional, of course. The fact that I also intend to visit my cousin's family and eat in Werner Cafe is of no importance whatsoever.

I've received my first Christmas gifts already. Last Tuesday I attended a women pastors meeting turned into Newbold reunion in Copenhagen and I came back home from Denmark with more than one nicely wrapped packages. The other ones I've opened already but the one my dear S. gave me is waiting for the Christmas Eve. It's a small red box with white polka dots, it's sitting on my closet and it makes me smile every time I happen to see it. And then yesterday evening my brother K. called me and he came over with a big package. I had told him some time ago that my bread toaster had died. So he brought me a brand new one. "Merry Christmas" he said and left. Some awesomeness, I say!

And in a weird way I made myself a gift last weekend as well. We had another Bible School Weekend and this time I got to do what I love the most - I got to lecture the whole weekend and teach our church members about preaching. It was very intense and by Sunday afternoon my brain hurt from thinking, my throat hurt from speaking and my feet hurt from standing but I was happy and content. It's a topic very close to my heart and it's a pure joy to help other church members to become better speakers as well. Merry Christmas to me!

I represent our church in the theological committee of the Estonian Council of Churches. And attending their meetings is one of the most bizarre things I've had to do so far in pastoral ministry. I mean, it's not bad bizarre, it's just bizarre. Today we had another meeting in Tartu, we sat half the day around a long table in a dim room with dark curtains and discussed theology. All the other members of the committee are men and most of them are, well, rather elderly. The committee is putting together a short book about communion and how all the different denominations understand it. There are many Latin and Greek words used and church history discussed around that table I am completely clueless about, and the best part is when the Orthodox theologian speaks. Then we get some old Slavic in there too. So the best I can do is to be very quiet and look smart. It has worked so far.

It matched my mood well, to sit in that gloomy room. Because it would have been my mum's birthday today, a happy day. Well, a happy day it wasn't. When I got home, tired and sad already, I received bad news upon bad news upon bad news. It was a terrible evening. And it's just so frustrating to know that the only person I want to call right now and talk about these things with isn't picking up her phone...

I did receive one bit of good news today as well, I admit. Someone from the national television wrote me and asked me to participate in their Christian program. In three episodes, to be precise. I have no idea where they got my email address from, I suspect these kind of things only work through personal recommendations. In any case, the lady was very nice and polite and told me about the topics and recording times. And she added that from one interview/reflection (apparently I can choose whether just to talk myself or have questions asked) which takes 20 minutes to shoot they're actually going to use a clip that's about 1 minute long. Hahaha, that, I would say, is a very modest entry to the world of television! But I'm cool with this one minute because I get to see what the inside of television looks like. We have shot many videos in our conference, both live and recorded ones, depending on the format of the program, but this is different. This is the national television. So as I've seem to have decided to work myself to death anyway, I'm gladly accepting the invitation.

Do I get a real tv make up then? (The most important questions obviously come first.)

As to music, this song has been on repeat these couple of days - Foy Vance's Be The Song. I don't understand any of these words but maybe it's that kind of a song. You don't need to understand the words.

Life is back to busy. Which is not a bad thing by itself but it's very difficult to maintain a balance between different things, I've realised. I was a bit too optimistic about the sleeping problems being gone for good so I try not to overwork. Because as soon as I do, I can stare at the ceiling for half the night and think about existential matters (well, actually, most of the time I think about matters far more mundane). Nights have turned into a sort of a test where the maths is rather staightforward - you work and worry too much = you can't sleep, you keep the workload and stress under control = you sleep. It's the hard knock life.

The second half of my vacation turned into work and I'm not very proud of it. All I have to say in my defense is that my conscience just wouldn't let me ignore the opportunities so I coached a church planting group and I wrote and recorded the morning devotional minutes for the national radio station. I did leave the city again after that but the holiday mood was gone. But I think I learnt the lesson - next time I have my annual leave, I either have to leave the country or hide at R's summer house again. By the way, I saw him a week after I returned from his cottage and he most graciously invited me back, "any time you need". I try not to misuse his hospitality but the truth is, I've hopelessly fallen in love with that place and I really really want to go back next year. Maybe I can spend my birthday there? Oh. Oh. That would be too good.

A strange thing happened last week. My hermeneutics paper was due last Monday and, I kid you not, for the first time in ten years which I've spent in uni, I failed to submit my paper on time. First time ever. But the weirdest thing is that I didn't even feel bad about it (maybe part of the reason is that my friend from Beirut wrote me AFTER last Monday and told me he was struggling with finding a topic for his hermeneutics paper. Ha!). So I'm trying to figure out whether the unexpected lack of shame and guilt is a good or a bad thing. I really don't know. In any case, I'm going to the Baptist Seminary early tomorrow morning (as I'm in Tartu anyway) and I'm going to sit down next to my own students and I'm counting on the academic air for inspiration so that I could finish this sorry paper and get it submitted.

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I don't have books to recommend today nor music to post. But for the first time I want to talk about a movie. Two weeks ago I was on a bus from Tartu to Tallinn and I decided to watch a movie on the bus - we have those fancy buses here where you have your individual screen. I didn't care too much what to watch so I randomly picked The Grand Budapest Hotel. Heavens! It wasn't only funny, the visual side of it was absolutely stunning. Every single scene was like a piece of art - all the colours in perfect harmony. Phew! I'm not sure I had seen anything quite like it before. Wes Anderson skyrocketed straight to my movie director's pedestal. I totally recommend this movie. And not only because of its visual brilliance but also because Edward Norton and Jude Law grace the screen with their presence. Yes.

It did turn out to be one of the best and most refreshing vacations in my life. I'm very grateful for it because I really needed a good break. Here's what I did:

- I slept. The sleeping problem seems to be overcome now.
- I read. Dr A. N. had brought me wonderful books from England, and one especially I liked. An Albanian writer Ismail Kadare's book Chronicle in Stone, WWII memories through the eyes of a child. I found it difficult to put down that book, I almost read it in one go. It's amazing there are people who are able to write prose as if it was poetry.
- I faithfully went swimming every day. Well, you can't call it swimming really, it was more like an in-and-out-jump, lasting for a solid 5 seconds. The weather was getting gradually colder so the last morning I actually had to break the ice before I could jump in.
- I walked to the closest grocery store about 4km from my place.
- I heated the sauna every second evening. By that time it was all dark outside so skinny dipping might or might not have happened.
- I talked to God. I thought I desperately needed some answers from Him, and I didn't get any. But I got peace instead. And of course peace was what I needed the most, not answers.
- I cooked.
- I shared the lake with beautiful white swans and the house with not so beautiful mice. I thought we could easily share the house and not get in each other's way but the illusion was shattered one evening when I came from sauna and was only a moment away from stepping on a big fat mouse who had decided to die right in the middle of the bathroom. I didn't scream *proud* but I did utter a whole lotta words I never use in public *not proud*.
- I watched the fire place and the lake. I could do that for a long time.
- I spoke with some friends who cared to call me and ask about my decision to leave the civilisation.

That's pretty much all I did. Oh, and I did take some pictures.

Ready for winter birds.

Last leaves.

J. My favourite kid in the world.

Octoberswim

"Any place you love is the world to you." Oscar Wilde

Hi. My name is Mervi and I'm an M&M addict.

Fireplace and candles and tea. Every evening.

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One more thing. The drama I mentioned two weeks ago is over now. It's amazing how much you can learn about yourself and about life in such a short time.