Mid-winter

Jesus is (NOT) the reason for the season

(Wait a second… put down those pitchforks and torches… hear me out for a moment…)

Early humans, as they began to migrate northward, would have been shocked to discover that in some parts of the world, the sun not only got lower in the sky, it would even disappear for days, weeks, months at a time. This would have been cause for great concern. The sun gave warmth, light, and life; its disappearance meant Death. Appeals to the gods would have been made. Sacrifices, offerings, food, family, whatever it took to appease the wrath of the gods, it was worth it… if only the sun would rise again.

Eventually, year after year, the sun returned to its former glory. Clearly, this was because the people had been faithful with their gifts and offerings; what else could explain this phenomenon? So the rites and rituals deepened, like sharp lines being cut into stone, each passing year carving layers of meaning into humanity’s consciousness. 

Some rituals were fun and lighthearted. Others were desperately dark.

Time passed. Entire civilizations rose, fell, and were forgotten. But midwinter arrived every year like clockwork. In England, they built a maze of enormous stones, arranged them in a particular way, and watched the sunrise on the shortest day shine through. The Romans celebrated the feast day of their sun god, Sol Invictus (“the unconquered sun”). The Norse had their Yule celebration, derived from one of Odin’s names. All around the world, disconnected tribes and disparate civilizations unknowingly joined together in a global festival, both pleading with the gods to return the sun to them, and thanking them for doing exactly that.

Mid-winter has been a day of entreaty and enjoyment since time itself began to be measured. 

And then, some time around 2,000 years ago, a child named Yeshua was born. Year, month, and date unknown. Best guess? 4 BCE (the term “B.C.” doesn’t really seem appropriate here…), September or March, or sometime in-between. But probably, most likely, almost definitely, not on December 25 (or January 6, for that matter). His birth was observed by almost no-one, except for a strange cast of nobodies. The sun didn’t shift, the seasons didn’t rearrange themselves, and midwinter - with all its rites and rituals - happened that year as usual. And the next year, and the year after that, and for centuries to come, midwinter came and went again and again. Same parties, same sacrificial goat, same drunk uncle, same chant and dance, same dark fear and hopeful joy. 

Many years after the life and death of this man named Yeshua, it was decided that his birthday should be celebrated. Who decided it, no-one seems to know. Some of his early followers thought that celebrating birthdays was a pagan ritual that should be avoided; others clearly thought differently. How they picked December 25 and/or January 6 is unclear as well. The best evidence seems to point, however, to a deliberate attempt by the leaders of this new religion of Yeshua devotees to repurpose and repackage the midwinter festivities as a celebration of the birth of Yeshua.

They even gave the event a new name: “Celebration of the Messiah.” Or, as we call it now, Christmas. 

The man named Yeshua - anglicized as Jesus - did not start Christmas. He wasn’t born then, and the celebrations which mark the day predate him by centuries, if not millennia. So why do we still coincide these celebrations in the way that we do, birth and death, arrival of son and departure of sun?

This day in December continues to be a day of entreaty and enjoyment, as it has always been. It is humanity united in saying, “Deliver us from the darkness!”, and “Let us eat and drink and be merry, for the sun will soon return!” This is what we celebrate and hope for still, all these millennia later. Entreaty and enjoyment, pleading and partying, both have their place on this day.

Jesus the Christ is not the reason for this season. But it seems fitting the birth of Light is celebrated in the deepest Dark, that this person who lived and died and kept on living can point us in new ways to some old truths:

Dark turns to Light,
Death to Life,
Night to Day,
the Sun rises again.

Regardless of which day that Jesus was born, or whether we even believe such a person ever existed, we can all use Christmas to look back and celebrate the blessings we’ve received, and to look forward and ask for blessings to continue. And that is as good a reason for the season as any.

13 Books from 2016

These are some books I read this year.

Some came out in 2016, and some didn’t. They all made me think or feel or experience something significant. There were only going to be ten books on this list, but then it was really hard to decide which ones to cut… so it’s thirteen instead. I try to review/summarize them in one sentence, two max. I'm not linking to webpages where you can buy them because I'm lazy, and also because I'm assuming you are capable of operating The Google.

Books! Here they are:

The Emotionally Healthy Leader - Peter Scazerro

Most influential book I read all year; has shaped and informed everything from my marriage to my meetings.

The Divine Magician - Peter Rollins

That thing that you want is not actually the thing that you want, which you won’t ever realize until you get the thing and then find out that you don’t want that thing, but another thing. If that made sense, you should read this book.

The Sympathizer - Viet Thanh Nguyen

If you thought you could never sympathize with a Vietnamese communist spy living undercover in America, then you should not read this, because you will.

Divine Dance - Richard Rohr

Join the flow, and enter the dance into which the Divine invites you. 

Hillbilly Elegy - JD Vance

The “American Dream” does not working for the working poor, and negative cycles of family dysfunction are almost impossible to escape.

But What if We’re Wrong? - Chuck Klosterman

A book I was planning on writing, but Chuck got to it first, saving me a lot of time. Also, gravity might not exist.

Searching for Sunday - Rachel Held Evans

Leaving a church is easy; leaving a community is not, but sometimes it’s necessary.

Everybody’s Fool - Richard Russo

Unloveable characters that you cant help falling in love with, especially if you read or watched Nobody’s Fool.

Between the World and Me - Ta-Nehisi Coates

Black bodies matter.

My Struggle: Book 5 - Karl One Knausgaard

Part five of a long, slow, excruciatingly painful train wreck that you simply can’t look away from. Part six (at least, the English translation of it) can’t come soon enough.

Finding God in the Waves - Mike McHargue

Science Mike’s journey from Christian to atheist to... christian?, while deconstructing the ‘science vs. faith’ dichotomy along the way.

The Sin of Certainty - Peter Enns

Certainty is a good place to start, but a terrible place to stop; trust is a far better destination.

How To Be Here - Rob Bell

A very Rob Bell-ish book about being your most you self; if you already like Rob then you’ll love this book, and if you don’t, you won’t. (Could also be said of almost every book he’s written).

That's my list! What's yours?

September

It’s hard to believe that September is already at an end. But so it is. After a month of rest and recovery, now I’m back to the world of business and busyness.

I despise being busy. I don’t mind it when life is full - when there’s long lists of things needing to be done and the days are packed with people and places - but when things get busy, I start to lose steam very fast.

I’d draw the distinction between the two - busy and full - as this: Busy is when there’s lots of things happening. Full is when there’s lots of things happening, but they’re things with value and purpose to them.

Lots of meetings? Busy. Lots of meetings with people and about projects that I care deeply about? Full.

Lots of travel? Busy. Lots of travel to places and people that I care deeply about? Full.

This past month has been something of a mix between being busy and being full. I’ve spent time in three different countries (Norway, Lithuania, and eastern Latvia), all in the past week and a half. I’ve been working on three different projects (Master’s thesis, upcoming event in Rezekne this October, organizing Bible studies at my flat for the fall term). I’ve been trying to finish this newsletter for the better part of the month as well, which is kind of sad to think about. 

It’s been a full month, interspersed with bouts of busyness. 

I’m learning to say no to things. I’m still not good at it, especially when it involves people. But it’s becoming more and more essential for me to know how to say “No” well. 

My first year in Latvia, my goal was to say Yes to everything. If someone asked me if I wanted to go somewhere/ do something/ meet someone, I would answer “Yes!” almost before they finished asking. I wanted to be open to every experience and opportunity I could soak up.

My second year in Latvia, I decided to learn how to say “Maybe.” Still open, but slowly starting to filter through opportunities as they arose, trying to understand how to fit everything into my life and my life into everything.

This, my third year in Latvia, my goal is to learn how to say “No.” Not to be a negative person, or recessed in my own little enclave, sheltered from the world… but to have focus, direction, and clarity. Drawing from the experiences of the past years to understand, who am I, where am I going, and what am I supposed to be doing along the way?

It’s harder than it sounds. And it sounds hard.

One of the highlights of this past month was a time when I said “No.” I had scheduled something for the afternoons of the two days I was back between excursions. Return home Sunday night, full days Monday and Tuesday, leave again late Tuesday night. I should have said “No” in the first place, or at least “Not now.” But pride, coupled with a strong desire to please others (who of us doesn’t idolize the busy person who somehow keeps it all together), prompted me to fill the very two afternoons I needed some space with… busyness.

In another time, it would have been full. But at that time, it was busy.

So late Sunday night, after wrestling with my self all weekend over it, I emailed the appropriate people to reschedule what had been planned. My only regret is that I didn’t straight up say, “I’m exhausted, I need an afternoon to recharge in the middle of a very full stretch, can we reschedule?” Instead I said, “Sorry, can’t make it tomorrow- something’s come up.”

(Still overly concerned about the opinions of others, apparently).

Nevertheless, I was - and remain - quite proud of myself for recognizing (albeit much later than necessary) the difference between “busy” and “full” in this particular season. And in taking action to cut away whatever contributed to busyness, even if it was important business.

Small steps. But significant ones. Moving from busy to full doesn’t happen in a month.

With

"He's with Jesus now. ______'s with Jesus."¹


Really? We know this? How?


Was it something he said? Because people can say almost anything, regardless of whether they mean it or not.

Was it something he did? Because people can do all sorts of things. The worst person ever still had moments of good, and even the best of us still screws up more often than we'd like to admit.

Was it something he believed? if so, how would we even know what he believed? Well, we'd probably base it on what he said or did, which... oh... yeah.


We want to know. Something in us craves that knowledge, that certainty. We almost have to know... or to be slightly more abstract, we have to know that we can know. Or else, all that we believe or do or say is at risk of collapsing around us.

But my 'knowing' can't be based solely on what I see, what I hear, what I observe. My senses can be fooled. My powers of observation are limited and finite. I don't even know my self well enough to 'know' for sure, at times, what I think or believe. And if I don't even know my self, how can I know what anyone else thinks or believes?

There is one thing I'm beginning to know, however: 


Jesus. 


Incompletely, peripherally, humanly, haltingly. Truth be told, I know very little of or about him, especially in light of everything he was, is, and will continue to be. And even then, all that I know of him comes exclusively from his desire to reveal his deeply unfathomable self to me, not because of some bright insight on my part, or special knowledge I've discovered.

But what relatively little I know of Jesus leads me to believe, to cling to, even to say that I 'know' this about him:

Jesus has the power to save.

And not just people who do, say, or believe the correct or proper things, either...

Jesus has the power to save anyone.

                                                                 Everyone.

Even me.

Even _________.

Even the world, and all of creation.


Jesus, I trust, will not deny salvation to any who truly desires it.

(Not deserves...

                              Desires.)


Do I desire the salvation, the new Life, that Jesus offers? Or even more simply, do I straight-up desire Jesus himself?

I do. If there's one thing I desire - or, as could perhaps better be said, if there's one thing that I long to long for - that would be it.

My friend desired this. He longed for it, deeper and fuller than I probably ever have myself. And because of his desire that I witnessed, and because of the Jesus that I know, I also find myself able to say, 

"Yeah, he's with Jesus." 




¹I heard many people say this phrase, or something similar, after the death of a close friend earlier this summer. It rubbed me the wrong way at the time, and I couldn't understand why, since it should have offered me a lot of solace and hope. This is my attempt to make sense of some of the thoughts and emotions swirling around as I tried to process the meaning behind a statement that was simple on the surface, but got increasingly confusing and complex the more I thought about it.


                     

August

This was a month of recovery.

I had what was probably the best vacation I’ve ever taken in the middle of the month. It was everything I’ve ever dreamed that a holiday should be- restful, relaxing, restorative. 

What makes a vacation a vacation? How do you separate out work from relaxation when the people you work with are also the people you play with?

I don’t know. But this felt about right.

I’ve discovered that if I want to have a proper holiday, I need to get away. Leave my flat, leave the city, leave the country, find a cheap flight to somewhere - anywhere - where I don’t have to answer the door, my phone, or emails. Detach from one world, and allow myself space and time to reattach to my self, to my surroundings, and to God. If I don’t make space and prioritize this time, then I soon find myself drifting through life, never connecting deeply to anyone or anything, quickly becoming overwhelmed by the tyranny of the urgent.

Time to slow down. Breathe deeply. Sleep, Read, Repeat. To do exactly what my heart longs for, and nothing else.

I so rarely allow myself the luxury of doing something simply because I want to. Uninfluenced by the desires of others, fueled only out of my awareness of the echoing cries of my heart. I can become so attuned to others opinions that it’s possible to lose sight of who my true self actually is.

“Love your neighbor as your self” requires one to love themselves also. If I do a bad job of loving my self, how can I then love my neighbor?

Time in the mountains is always restorative for me. Being outdoors, hiking running walking boarding, exploring and adventuring. As I was sitting on one of my favorite spots on one of my favorite mountains, I asked God a question:

“How come you feel so close and easy to find here, but it’s so difficult to find you when I’m back home in Latvia?”

The answer came quickly, and surprised me:

“You expect to find me here, so you work to find me. Will you put the same effort into finding me where it’s difficult to do so as where it’s easy?”

The time to expend effort is not when the going is easy. It’s when it’s uphill and a struggle.

Walking down a mountain is, in some ways, very easy. Someone who is in poor shape can keep up (to a certain level) with someone in better shape. Of course it’s still work. Legs get tired, knees and back get jolted, you have to keep a careful watch on the path ahead. But it happens, almost whether you’re trying hard or not. You go downhill.

Walking uphill is a different story. Grinding, grunting, gasping, keeping legs pumping while your lungs scream for you to stop; that’s where training, dedication, and community keep you moving.

Where will I work to find God? I find him in the mountains, whether I want to or not. When I dive into a good book and am challenged by new thoughts and ideas, God is easily with me. 

But on a Monday morning, early a.m. while the coffee is still brewing; will I look for him then? When I’m feeling lonely and tired and frustrated, will I take a moment to find God then? When I feel like I’m in a spiritual smog and breathing air thick with pollutants, will I seek him then? When the long slow grind of living in another country and culture eats away at my precious reserves of energy and zoe, will I then keep hiking uphill, lungs gasping and legs pumping, searching for God?

Rest is important. Finding times and places where God is easy to find are invaluable. But the mountaintop experiences aren’t meant to be that which I strive towards and for. They arrive, they bless, and then we return to the hazy lowlands.

That’s where I live. That’s where I work.

I’m so thankful for the time of rest that I was privileged to have this month, and for the close and intimate way in which God met with me while I was gone. And I look forward to see how he will fuel my desire to find him in the hazy smog of the daily grind.

July

Every Zosna Camp is special, but this one was especially so.

That’s in part because it was the apex, building on 20 years of camps.
And it’s in part because it was the last, ending 20 years of camps.

At the beginning of the camp, I decided that my question for the week would be “How do I finish well?” I knew that this was likely the swan song for this particular iteration of the camp, and that this would, in all likelihood, be the last time that Zosna Camp as I’d come to know and love it, would be held.

How does one finish well?

I don’t know. But I feel like I - like we - did. And that’s an incredibly satisfying feeling.

I’m not sure that I’ve ever been more exhausted than I was at the end of the camp. I was wearing too many hats for too long, getting too little sleep and caring for too many people and programs during the day. By the end of camp, I was so spent that I was literally staggering around, barely enough energy left in my weary bones to drag my legs across the ground.

But it’s all worth it. Why? The smiles and tears.

The smiles are easy to fall in love with. Kids having fun, feeling loved, throwing water balloons and eating sausages and talking with friends and basking in the warm glow of the fire late into the night. Adults having fun, feeling loved, getting hit by water balloons and eating sausages and talking with friends and basking in the warm glow of the fire (not-quite-so) late into the night. The smiles take some time to warm up, but once they start, they’re hard to stop.

The tears are harder to appreciate.

The boy with developmental delays who wakes you up at 4am, crying, because people have been making fun of him around the campfire and he feels alone and left out and wants someone to walk and talk with.

The girl who can’t bear to leave camp, to say goodbye to the friends she’s made and the place she loves. Leaving a place of warmth and safety for the cold, uncertain world which she comes from and returns to. Tears running down her face as she says goodbye.

The student, from another country and here to help for the week, so overwhelmed by their experience here that they don’t know how to express the potpourri of emotions coursing through them - love, joy, exhaustion, confusion, anger, relief, disappointment, elation, longing, etc. - except through tears.

Me, as I say goodbye to this place and these people, to this camp. Eight summers I’ve been here. Eight out of twenty: not a majority, but still a large sample for a big kid from America who never lost his love of summer camp.

The rest of July has been a blur. In one sense, I feel like I’m still recovering from that single week of output. The team has been a blessing to have, but now that they’ve left I feel slightly guilty to admit that I’m glad they’re gone. 

Everything has a good time to end. Summer trips, naps, movies, even relationships are sometimes meant to come to an end. Nothing is designed to go on forever, and neither should we expect it to. Life itself has to end, in order that it may continue.

It was sad to say goodbye to the summer team - Than, Michelle, Sarah and Erynn. But the sorrow was largely balanced out by the joy I felt in the time we had together, the places we went, people we met, and things that we did. Our time was full, we used it well, and it came to an end.

I feel the same about Zosna. Twenty years, eight years, one year: the time was full, we used it well, and it’s come to an end.

And I feel that, as much as I was enabled to do so, I finished well.

June

This has been an odd month, filled with beginnings and endings.

It started with the sense of a new beginning. Along with some other friends of mine, we’d been trying for quite some time to help our mutual friend, Andrejs, to find some steady work and a stable environment. And while the way forward didn’t appear certain, it looked like - at long last - an opportunity to both serve him and enable him to serve others had opened up.

I was excited, and also relieved at the same time. His situation had been wearing on me for some time, wondering and worrying how to help my friend, and at the same time wrestling with questions about how to help. Was I reluctant to open up my home, my wallet, my life, simply because of the convenience cost to me? Or, as I was telling myself (and being told by others), was that something that would end up costing us both in the long run?

So when an opportunity surfaced to help him, and enable him in some small way to help others, I was thrilled. Both because it meant there was something for him… and also because it meant less would be demanded of me.

Beginnings can quickly end.

Less than a week later, my friend and flatmate sat me down, early on a Sunday morning, and told me that Andrejs was gone. Had been killed. Stabbed. Suddenly, bizarrely, without any apparent motive or backstory.

Did I kill him? Did my failure to invite him to come live with me, my insistence that he stay in his hometown and seek a way forward there, contribute to his death? Of course not. And of course yes. 

Decisions always have consequences. Can I live with the consequence of the ones I’ve made? Am I sure enough that I chose wisely, that I had his best interests at heart, and not just my own selfish needs? Of course. And of course not.

Calling friends. Making plans to attend the funeral. Ironing my white shirt and black tie. Driving to the funeral. Seeing tears streaming down the faces of stoic, otherwise emotionless men. Driving back. Emptiness.

And this was the beginning of the summer.

One week after the funeral, the summer team arrives. Four bright, eager, expectant Americans (are there any other kind?). Three of them in Latvia for the first time, and one who was back for his second trip. He knew Andrejs too, returned in no small part because of him. Somehow it was cathartic to talk about it, together, reminisce and remind one another of our friend. Share some tears of laughter and sorrow in the same conversation.

We prepare to go to Jani camp - a midsummer camp hosted by LKSB - but because I manage to misplace the keys to the van, we’re delayed. Eight hours of searching later, we find them, but not before we miss the beginning of camp. Another odd start.

And yet,

and yet,

life moves forward, and is filled with good.

Our delayed arrival ends up bringing us closer together as a team.
Shared loss draws me closer to many others who also loved Andrejs.
I speak at the last night of camp, and despite minimal preparation, God seems to use my raw and honest sharing in meaningful ways.

This summer started with an ending. But it did start. Questions still remain, wrestling amongst themselves in the back rooms of my soul. In some ways, the busyness of running a summer program, hosting a team and coordinating a camp provide the distractions that I need to keep from wallowing in a place of grief. But there’s still unresolved layers of sorrow waiting to be processed.

And yet,

and yet,

the summer has started, and is already filled with good.

Ukraine

"Have the events in Ukraine affected you at all?"

Yes and no.¹


First off, some geography: the Crimean region of Ukraine is about as far from where I live as Orlando is from New York, Denver is from San Francisco, or London is from Rome. So on one level, it's akin to asking someone in Colorado if they worry about earthquakes and tidal waves, or asking someone in New York if fears about alligators, hurricanes, and long lines at Disney World keep them up at night.² So in that sense, no, I wouldn't say that I experience a sense of unease solely related to geographical proximity.

Another factor which edges the answer towards "no" is that Latvia is a member of both the EU and NATO. Ukraine is not.³ This doesn't mean that a EU or NATO member country is immune from unrest or upheaval... but it does mean that the consequences of outside intervention are much, much higher, and - one would think - much less likely.

But on the "yes" side of the balancing scale, Latvia not only shares a border with Russia, but it also has the largest population of ethnic Russians in the EU. The country has only regained its full independence within the last twenty-five years, after multiple decades of occupation by multiple regimes, so there are some understandable question lingering at the back of people's minds:

"Is it happening again?"
"Are we next?"



Yesterday, when I was out for a run, I noticed that there was a plethora of policemen and women surrounding the freedom monument in the city centre. They were there to make sure that those commemorating "Legion Day" - which honors Latvian soldiers who fought for the Nazis in order to repel the Soviets during WWII - wouldn't clash with groups protesting the event.

Needless to say, it's controversial day, no matter which angle you look at it from. And I'd be lying if I said that it didn't take me slightly aback to see so many police gathered together, particularly in light of what was happening far - but not so far as it seemed at first - away in Ukraine. And until I recalled why they were there and what was happening, I found myself wondering, albeit briefly: 

"Is it happening again?"
"Are we next?"



Have you ever heated up spaghetti sauce in a pot on the stove? You know how it'll simmer for a while, heating up slowly, and then all of a sudden  - *blorp*⁴ - an air-fueled bubble of sauce catches you by surprise as it bursts, splattering red sauce everywhere?

Rarely is the blorp a random event. So many tensions still exist in so many places, slowly simmering until they come to a boil. Pressure cookers packed with so many diverse ingredients, all of them contributing - in different ways - to the blorp.



I became aware of something interesting a couple of years ago: my subconscious self was reacting to certain words and sounds in a negative manner. Even if I didn't understand the words or sounds - which I didn't - and even if they were being used in a positive and affirming fashion, they carried a negative connotation in my mind.

I was reacting to Russian.

Why did I have a mild but noticeable internal negative reaction to a beautiful, rich, and vibrant language such as Russian? 

Propaganda.

See, in the West, we tend to live under the assumption that the only propaganda which exists is being used by our enemies to defame and belittle us. We're awesome,⁵ and if you don't agree, then you're wrong. North Korea uses propaganda.⁶ Russia uses propaganda. Uganda uses propaganda.⁷ The West - and especially America - uses Truth, Justice, and Moral Imperative. After all, it's not propaganda if it's true, right?

Here's a question, though: Do you think the fact that the character with a fake Russian accent in the movie almost always turns out to be the bad guy has an effect on how you perceive the very sound of the language? Does the equation "Russia = Communism = Evil," which those of us who grew up during the Cold War era were taught, influence our perception of a language and culture?⁸

Do you think that the news coverage you're reading about the issue is free from bias or influence? That your perception of what is happening in the Crimean region of Ukraine is unaffected by decades of ice-cold conflict?

Do you think if there were unfinished hotels or bizarre toilets during the Vancouver Olympics in 2010 that we'd have cared?⁹



This isn't to paint the situation in Ukraine as entirely grey, or to frame the participants in the ongoing standoff there as having equal moral or legal grounds. There are shades of black and white, elements of right and wrong in even the most ambiguous of situations. But it is worth reminding us that the issues are rarely clear-cut, and that we - West or East, American or Russian, EU or CIS - are almost never as innocent and holy as we are told to think that we are.

Whenever ideological battles are being fought, and world powers grapple to see who is biggest and strongest, it's the average, everyday, normal people who end up getting hurt the most. Russians, Ukrainians, Crimean Tartars, the people who work jobs and hold pensions and sweep the streets and own shops and have normal human wants and needs and dreams and fears. People who will suffer no matter which side declares victory in the end. Economic sanctions, recession, conflict and struggle, toil and trouble... there's no easy way forward for anyone involved. 


The people who lose the most are always those with the most to lose.


And because of that, I pray that what's been happening in Ukraine does have an effect on me.






¹Please bear in mind that everything being written here is from the viewpoint of an outsider (and an American outsider at that). I don't have a firm grasp on all the intricacies and cultural complexities involved in what's happening in Ukraine right now, and am answering the question above only from my personal perspective
²It's New York, so the answer would still be "Yes." But you get the point
³One of the main catalysts of the protests in Kiev was an about-face by the government on some trade agreements with the EU
⁴About as onomatopoetic as it gets 
⁵This usage of awesome goes out to a German friend of mine who - correctly - thinks that Americans use it way too much. I consciously tried to avoid using the word in a talk I gave recently, and he still counted 4 or 5 times when it appeared in my vocabulary. Awesome
⁶Random but true fact #1: Kim Jong-un is the best friend of former NBA player Dennis Rodman
⁷Random but true fact #2: "Uganda" and "propaganda" are the only words in the English language that end with "-ganda." Hence my inclusion of Uganda
⁸This isn't meant to minimize the negative effects of Communism. But Russian culture existed long before Communism, and its roots run far too deep to ever be completely absorbed into whatever political structure is currently in place. Communism was an idea and a system; Russian is a culture, a language, a people. Very different
⁹Technically, yes, we'd have cared; making fun of Canada is a time-honored American pastime. But it would have had a completely different tone and agenda to it; more like a big brother quasi-affectionately making fun of a younger sibling, and less like the high-school hallway, mean-girl gossip which it came across as

Riga sunset