The Storm

These are the last days of peace and quiet before The Storm. Or in other words, the new academic year will start next week and waves of it will surely sweep me off my feet. But God willing, I will emerge from this storm in the beginning of next June, drenched and exhausted, yet alive and sane. 

What is to come is as exciting as it is scary. Because I will be trying to brace three, no, four major waves at the same time and occasionally I have serious doubts about my ability to survive them all.

The first wave. The school year starts next week with the preliminary meetings for teachers taking place already this week. I will, once again, teach Estonian and Literature courses for two classes, one 5th grade and one 6th grade. It was just yesterday that I received my timetable for the coming year - it gets real once you know when you need to be in a classroom, smart and sassy, teaching them sweet girls (who, let's be honest, can also be a lot less than sweet). One classroom will be full of familiar faces and another one terra incognita. Everything is infinitely easier this year as I already have one year of experience under my belt but it will still take fair amount of energy to keep up with this hullabaloo that's waiting for me in the classroom.  

The second wave has to do with the fact that I'm landing back in the Conference office next week. My part-time employment in the church resumes on September 1st but I still have only a vague idea of what my obligations will be this time. And yet, I'm excited. My superiors and the other office guys are wonderful and I've missed working with them. And some things will certainly go back to the good old road and rhythm, too. For example, I have already promised to continue with my monthly program in the Christian Radio Station (which I dropped last year); and I have also promised to meet up regulary and study the Bible with a very opinionated and energetic teenager wo wants to get baptised. Thaaaat's gonna be fun. 

The third wave worries me the most because that's the final push to get my doctoral project done and dissertation written/defended. Where all that energy will come from, I don't know. But fortunately enough, things are moving forward, slowly but steadily. Just a half an hour ago I received a formal looking email from Andrews Uni, from their Research Integrity & Compliance Office (heavens!) where they state that my research project (a preaching series in my home church and the collecting & analysing of feedback) has been deemed appropriate and safe for all human subjects by the Institutional Review Board. Or in other - simpler - words, I have been given a green light from Andrews to do my preaching series and get the two remaining chapters of my dissertation on paper. Phew. The preaching itself, assuming the churches will stay open, should take place in November and December, the writing in January and February. In my head, I have the deadline of March 1st for the whole shebang to be done and fininshed, but uhmm, I don't know. I don't know if I can pull it off.  

The fourth wave - my relationship and S. - is not a wave at all, of course. It's more like a lifeboat in the middle of this raging sea. But still, I need to look at my calendar and find all these airbags of free time that I could use for traveling to Stockholm. Needless to say, there are not many of those. My schedule for the coming year looks insanely tight. But for the sake of my sanity, I will find that time. I will. 

If I manage all this and come out alive on the other side, I will - with the sigh of relief and perfect peace of mind - become a housewife. Word. :)

Lost for Words

It's not often that I'm lost for words. Words are my tools, I make my living by using them so I'm used to finding the right ones. But as I try to find some words to describe what has happened in my life over the past 1,5 months, I'm lost. I'm staring at my screen, not knowing what to say. Because anything I might say will fall short of reality. 

But I'll try.

I went to Sweden in the beginning of June, dragging my feet. It had been a nightmare of a spring and I was wasted. I wasn't sure I had anything left in me to say to people there. But I got into the rhythm of preaching and of life over there, got together with lovely old friends and got to know a couple of new people and I started enjoying myself more and more with every passing day. And at some point I realised something was coming my way that I really hadn't anticipated. I didn' know if there was anything I could do about it - or should do, because I'm just no good when it comes to romantic feelings and relationships. No good at all. But although I had no idea what's the right thing to do, right things started happening anyway. So when I had an extra free day to spend in Ekebyholm after preaching my last sermon, everything happened really fast. And within less than 24 hours every big question I might or might not have had got an answer. S. whisked me off to the coast that last morning, we spent some 8 hours together and by the evening when I had to catch my plane, everything was clear. And when I say clear, I mean crystal clear. We had both found the person we had been praying for and hoping to find all these years. There was no question, no doubt left in either one of our hearts.

Honestly, if I heard anyone else say what I've just said, I would either think this person is a) immature and a little silly or b) overtly dramatic. Oh, come one, the real life is not a Hollywood script, these kind of things don't happen. But as hard as I try, I can't see myself in either of these categories. I think I have a rather mature attitude to life. And although I can be a bit of a drama queen occasionally (I think S. would agree haha), I still have a head on my shoulders. So the only option left is that these things do happen occasionally. They happened to me, anyway. To us.

I flew home that night and then woke up the next morning to a text from S. - to a kind of text message I had never received in my life until that moment - and although my apartment looked the same and although the world outside my window kept turning and hurrying just like it had done a week ago, something in my reality had shifted. The world looked completely different to me. I've said it already but I say it again - suddenly, life had colors to it! And light! It was as if I had lived in a monochrome world my whole life and suddenly I woke up to colors for the first time that morning. 

I'm sorry if this sounds terribly cheesy to you but I can't find better words. 

So now we live in a different rhythm. Mostly we live in the rhythm of visits. When will you come over? When can I go over? Have you already booked your tickets? What about our Christmas plans? There's some frustration to this rhythm (mostly because I get impatient, also because of the possible travel restrictions) but there's also beauty to it. There's emotional intensity to every moment we can spend together, there are funny messages, there are "day counts" as I call them, there are plans for the future, there are movie scenes from airports. Honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way (or maybe I would scrap the Covid tests haha). 

And one more thing. I had always thought romantic relationships were a private thing. This is about the two of us! But with a great surprise and delight I've found that so much of it is a community thing, and a family thing. Naturally, there are moments that are not to be shared with anyone else, or words that are not meant for anyone else's ears, but so much of this new reality can be shared with others. And I have been totally floored over these last months and weeks, because I have received so much love and support from all over, so many happy messages from friends, so many new acquaintances, so many Facebook likes haha. And spending a week with S.'s family, with his parents and brother's family and aunties and uncles and cousins and granny was just wonderful. Suddenly I have all these people I didn't have (or even knew about) before and they are my people now. It's absolutely marvelous!

So I'm enjoying every moment of this journey, knowing well that our time in this world is limited. There's no time to waste, there's only time for us to live as beautifully and meaningfully as we possibly can. So that in the end - whenever the end comes - we would be able to look back with gratitude and joy.

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."