I've had some very meaningful encounters these couple of last days. I've spoken to friends who are going through very different phases in their lives, and all of them have touched my heart in a way or another.

I just finished a phone call with a friend who lost her daughter to brain cancer last week. She was eleven years old and had battled the ****ing disease since she was five. I've sat on the bed side and have watched helplessly the most important person in my life losing the same battle. But it must be very different to lose one's child compared to a parent - it's even more unfair and unnatural. There weren't many things I could say to her (not many words are needed, that I also know from my experience). I said what I could. And my heart goes out to her and her family for now they need to build up a life very different to the one they've known so far. It is a hard hard work, this building up thing. Heavens, do I hate death!

Earlier today I had a long conversation with another friend who is also going through a massive change in his life. He's a guy who has been sort of married to singleness for a long time. And it was a life, a reality he had gotten used to. I think there was some resignation from his part because frankly, he isn't that young any more. And now, totally unexpectedly, this amazing young woman has appeared out of nowhere and he's so in love and she's in love and the funniest part is that he's totally confused... About his future and work and possible marriage and his future studies (we'd been talking about PhD studies for quite some years now, encouraging each other to get started). We have never been close friends but for some reason he felt he wanted to talk to me about it, so we talked today. I'm so happy for him. And the best advice I could come up with came straight from the garden of Eden lol! - it is not good for a man to be alone. (I should know)

Yet another friend called me last week and appeared on my doorstep. She has tried to get going with her PhD studies twice and it just doesn't seem to work out for her. The uncertainty and anxiety has lasted for so long that she seems to be battling depression now. She's the kind of girl who never complains so I was very surprised when she landed on my sofa and pretty much broke down. I think her work and her studies have become the basis of her identity and now that things are shifting and shaking and crumbling, she's not quite sure who she is any longer. I prayed with her, it wasn't much but it seemed to be all I could do to her at that moment.  

Last week on a bus on my way back home from a small group gathering I happened to sit next to a shy teenage girl from that group as we were going to the same direction. I had seen her in the church for a couple of times but we had never properly talked. And now she was like, Oh, I'm so glad we get to sit on the bus together for a half an hour because there's something I want to talk to you about - I really want to get baptised. I looked in her eyes and saw the thing, the joy and excitement and longing that can only come from discovering Jesus. It was so clear she had been surprised - or maybe hit - by this joy and peace unknown to this world. A high school kid, wanting nothing more and nothing less than a life with Jesus... It must have been the happiest bus ride in my life. Or maybe in both of our lives.

And carrying all these experiences and encounters with me, all I can think of is Frederick Buechner's quote, Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid. 

I have this friend. Her name is A. and we have known each other for more than ten years now. It so happened that we started studying the same thing - linguistics - in Tartu uni, two rather shy just-out-of-highschool girls. She says it was her who came and sat next to me in a Latin class one day. I myself have forgotten how the friendship took off.

But off it took, as unexpected as it might have seemed. We were different, she liked piercings and leather boots and mini skirts, I, uhmm, didn't. I came from a family as Christian as they can get, she came from a completely religion free background. But a bond was formed and over the years it only grew stronger. I remember standing on a particular street corner for endless hours after our classes, chatting about life (we used to joke that one day when both of us were be A-listers someone from the city council would decide to put a nice plate on the wall of that house in front of which we always talked, saying that right here on this spot A. and M. would always have their post-class conversations). We mostly discussed her life as she managed to make hers terribly complicated and I never seemed to be able to make mine complicated enough (or complicated enough to be worth mentioning). But we also had many things in common, not the least of which was the ability and willingness to study hard. When we both earned distinction for our MA degree, we were happy and proud. The professors referred to us as the top of the crop, and occasionally took us more seriously than some other students. We were young and beautiful, but what's more, life was young and beautiful.

But then. I remember how terrified I was when I first called her after her father had died of a sudden heart attack for I knew not what to say. And I remember that hers was the only phone call I accepted the day my mum died, the rest I ignored. I remember so clearly how she cried on the other end of the line and how I didn't, because I was in a state of shock. Life was no longer young.

She did what was expected of both of us - she continued her studies right after we graduated while I abandoned the ship and the career that was waiting for me. As I moved to England, we saw each other a lot less than we had used to. But every time I went to Tartu I tried to catch her and have lunch together with her. And in this respect, nothing has changed - I still call her each time I'm there. We have swapped the street corner for more comfortable cafe sofas but the hours fly by just as fast as they used to back in out street corner days.

And today I received a nice big package from the mailman. It was a signed copy of her doctoral dissertation, straight from the press. I was so happy for her and her accomplishment. And then I opened it and read the the ending bit of her preface:

I might have shed a tear.

Congratulations, A., my dearest friend!

About two weeks ago I decided to stop praying. For reals. I reached the point in my life where most of my prayers had turned into narcissistic lamentations about the complexity of life and of myself. And one gets terribly tired of thinking about and talking about oneself all the time. So I stopped. It was a rather relieving experience, but what more - I think God was hugely relieved too.

I didn't stop having prayer time though. I know better than this by now - you don't stop with most important spiritual practices without a danger of getting into some serious trouble. As Lauren Winner puts it in one of her books about Jewish and Christian spirituality, "The essence of the thing is doing, an action. Your faith may come and go, but your practice ought not waver. Indeed, Judaism suggests that the repeating of the practice is the best way to ensure that a doubter's faith will return." I believe she speaks truth here, not only for Jews but for Christians as well. There are times for doubting and times for silence, times when the best you can do is to shout at God (or swear, as my own darkest experiences have shown) but there are some practices that should not end. So this is what I did - I limited myself to praying Psalms. I would read Psalm 4 every night and Psalm 5 every morning (because as Eugene Peterson suggests, they are essentially an evening prayer and a morning prayer). That's all. I would not add anything to the words of the psalmist, or if I was tempted, I would cut myself off. Like I said, it was a liberating experience.

Two other things happened roughly the same time I stopped praying. I think in some mysterious way they were very much connected to this prayer fast of mine. First, I stumbled upon a book. It's quite a story in itself how I got this book but I'm not interested in telling it here - one day I just held Frederick Buechner's sermon collection Secrets in the Dark in my hands and that was that. It has turned out to be one of the most beautiful Christian books (or any books, for that matter) I have ever read in my life. These sermons are so good, so real and so hurtful I could not read more than one or two at the time, sometimes I would have to stop right in the middle of a sermon and give myself a whole day to take it in. Quite often I would well up or literally weep while reading. After two weeks I'm still not done with the book, and in a way these sermons have turned into my prayers. And I can say this - they are healing prayers.

The other thing I noticed had to do with music. For some weeks now I have been listening to Arvo Pärt's brilliant choral piece Te Deum. Almost obsessively. Hardly an evening passes when I don't listen to it. Once. Or twice. Or maybe three times... Never mind. It is heavenly music (quite literally, when women sing Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus in the very end of that piece I always think that's what heaven is going sound like). And I think this is the other way I've learned to pray now. Through music.

It's almost time for Te Deum and Psalm 4 now. It has imperceptibly turned into the best part of my day. :)

Last week dad came over to my place. We both took a day off and headed out, he took his bird watching equipment, I dusted off my camera, and we drove along the coast for the better part of the day until it got dark. The views were absolutely picturesque - now that the whole world is covered in snow and the photos are everywhere it's not a big thing. But it's something that's an essential part of any Estonians life. Estonians need snow. We need some real winter. We need some cold. Last week we had all of those things, thank heavens. :)

Bird watching

On a cliff. Breath taking.

Fifty shades of gray.

Needles.

A frozen waterfall.

It was quite a sight. Tons of frozen water.

And then we ended the day in a wondrous restaurant in the Old Town with dad and brother K. It was a good day indeed.

When it comes to New Year's resolutions, generally I don't do very well. Over the years there have been a few I have been able to keep but usually not much happens. For example, let's take 2015 - I did make a promise when the year began. But, uhmm, let's just say I still don't have the driver's licence. So I didn't bother with any resolutions this year (and as I was preaching just three hours before the new year came and was generally exhausted by midnight, I didn't have energy for lofty ideas anyway). I sort of expected everything to continue without any changes.

But surprisingly enough, after the first week of January I realise that changes - non-resolutionary changes as they are - have still happened. And there's one word that keeps coming back to me when I think about this year and what has happened so far. The word is 'simplify'. I don't know if it has been a conscious or rather a subliminal choice but it seems that I have set out to simplify my life this year. I tried working myself to death last year and although that way of living certainly has its perks and pros, I doubt I could pull it off in a long run (which is a paradox in itself now that I think of it, lol). So what I've done instead is that I've thought very seriously about my priorities. After the new year's eve I was was sick in bed and isolated from the rest of the world for two days so I've had time to engage in some serious thinking business. And this is what I've come up with:

Don't try to do everything at once. Don't think you're some genius who can waltz through the PhD studies while working full time. Nah. Simplify! So after some consideration I have decided to put my studies aside for a while. I'm not flying out to Amsterdam next week. I just can't do everything and I might just as well admit it. I am prioritising my work this year. I want to visit more people. I want to give myself more time for lecture prep - Newbold's Licence teaching is coming up this summer in Riga and I need to deliver there. New Testament Greek in the Seminary as well. Do it and do it well! And take some other stuff seriously as well. Take actual days off! (That's a real struggle - last week I held a Bible study and took almost two hours to help I. with some book stuff during my free day...) Spend more quality time with friends (I have done wonderfully well on that front during the first week of this year, and I will do my best to keep it up). Visit your relatives more often. When you have your annual leave - leave the country! Accept one or two preaching invites from abroad. Go to a concert to listen to classical music - I've already chosen one concert, that's a start. And if a guy happens to show up and to show some serious interest in you, firstly, don't panic, secondly, consider it seriously, and thirdly, enjoy the thingy even if it doesn't last (i. e do everything diametrically opposite to the way you did it two months ago - and regretted it bitterly afterwards).

And man, I want to write a book! That's probably something that would make my life not simpler but a lot more stressful but I can't get it out of my head. I had such a good time at M's place last week who's one of my few friends who's actually written a book with everything that comes with it (publishers and fan mails and all:) and she was so nice and supportive when I told her about it. I really need to consider it seriously. There's a good chance I don't really have it in me but if I don't try I'll never find out. Hmm. We'll see.

But honestly, sometimes the very best use for your life and the very best you can do it to be a pillow to a friend's dog. That's also part of life, simplified life.

So much happened last year I don't know where to begin and where to end with all those memories.

I remember that early morning in January when I got up to go to Tartu to lecture again. It had been a while since I had last done it and I was nervous. I didn't know that it would turn out to be a wonderful semester full of teaching and good conversations and lovely students. I remember my birthday evening when Dr A. N. skyped me and told that Newbold would send their lecturers to Baptist Seminary to help us educate our students. I remember the overwhelming sense of pride when I heard my dad's song closing the Christian song festival and saw thousands of people clapping and waving to him. I remember my birthday weekend with a road trip and good times. I remember the excitement when I landed in Amsterdam to start studying again. I remember the thrill of giving the Diversity Lecture in Newbold. I remember sitting in my favourite Old Town restaurant with A. N., discussing life. There's a lot to remember. It has been a wonderful year.

And on the other side. I have lived through two very serious heart breaks this year. I haven't recover from either one of them. To go through it once would have been bad enough, but twice... I'm still getting used to living with constant grief, two years down the road. But I have also welcomed a new friend this year - loneliness. Most of the time we can exist side by side quite peacefully but there are moments when loneliness attacks me with such force it literally makes me wish I was dead. There have been many tears. It has been a terrible year.

But despite all this I still hear that small voice every morning that makes me continue my journey, through joy and tears. As Frederck Buechner puts it: Come unto me. Come unto me, you say. All right then, dear my Lord. I will try in my own absurd way. In my own absurd way I will try to come unto you, a project which is in itself by no means unabsurd. Because I do not know the time or place where you are. And if by some glad accident my feet should stumble on it, I do not know that I would know that I had stumbled on it. And even if I did know, I do not know for sure that I would find you there. And if you are there, I do not know that I would recognize you. And if I recognized you, I do not know what that would mean or even what I would like it to mean. I do not even well know who it is you summon, myself. 

May the Almighty be with us though our joys and tears and adventures and heart breaks and achievements throughout this coming year. Amen.

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!