Almost there

Two days remain until I'm back in Latvia.



Eleven miles left to run.



In the meantime, there's a wide array of bittersweet - albeit temporary - farewells to bid here in Southampton. Clothes to pack. Last-second errands to run. English-speaking opportunities to relish. Games of squash and Settlers to be played. Coffee shops and pubs to squeeze in one last visit to.



Next stop- Riga!

Discipline

Four more days and I'll be back in Riga.


On a purely practical level, I'm looking forward to getting reacquainted with the rest of my wardrobe, especially my fall and winter collection.¹ Having been living out of a suitcase since late July, the majority of clothes I packed are of the distinctly warm-weather variety. I'm wearing one of my only two sweaters I managed to bring along; the other is in the wash. Thankfully the weather in southern England never gets what I'd call properly cold,² even in the dead of winter, but it will be nice to reintroduce some warmer elements into my clothing repertoire.


The running target is still within reach. By the end of today I should be just past two hundred and ninety miles, which would leave a seemingly achievable twenty miles left to run over the next three days. I'll admit, as much as I enjoy a challenge, I'll be ready to take a couple days off from running once this is done. I've managed to fit in one light-to-no-running day per week, just to give the body some time to rest and recover, but it'd be nice to wake up in the morning, see the thermometer uncomfortable close to 0˚ C with rain pouring down, and think to myself "not today" for a change.


When I started this bizarre "run across Latvia" challenge, I wasn't entirely sure why I was doing it. It seemed like an adventure, an engaging way to pass the time before returning to Latvia, and a challenge to test myself against. It's been all of that, but I think that God's been using it as a backdrop for some larger lessons that I've been re-learning.


I have a complicated relationship with spiritual discipline. Once I begin to integrate a discipline into my life, I find myself swiftly veering towards internal motivators like rote and duty instead of obedience and joy. Not necessarily a reason to automatically abandon any discipline, but a cause for concern nonetheless.


Over the past couple of years, the Lord has been stripping away many disciplines that had ceased to be that; they had instead transformed into spiritual crutches, enabling me to prop myself up but not bringing about any real or significant momentum. The removal process has been painful. As much as I love being free, flexible and spontaneous, I also relish having some useful foundational material with which to structure my life. But operating out of obligation instead of obedience is not sustainable long-term. 

Hence the need for incisive therapy.


Stepping out of discipline for a time is a painful process. Stepping back into it can be equally trying.


As I've practiced physical discipline this past month, there's been an unmistakable stirring in my spirit, a still small voice whispering the word

  
                                                                                               "return"



And so as I run, I also begin the long, slow walk back into a more disciplined approach to my spiritual life.³ It's early miles yet, so the legs are stiff and the will is uncertain about this endeavour. But the road is familiar, the wind is behind, and there is both present and future joy to be found amidst the painfully awkward attempts to kickstart this long slow walk towards Jesus.



¹It's not exactly as if I have the worlds most extensive clothing collection to begin with. But wearing the same subset of my already limited assets has been growing slightly tiresome, even for a notorious black-tshirt-and-jeans kind of dresser like myself. #firstworldproblems, I know, I know.
²Does my snot freeze to my nose when I step outside? No? Then it's not really cold.
³I hope I don't give the impression that my life has been completely devoid of any of the traditional spiritual disciplines as of late. Not that I particularly care what impression I give, but I also don't want to mislead. It's more that my spiritual life has gone from being characterized solely by discipline to swinging towards a less-structured and more open approach, and now the pendulum is swinging back towards the middle where - hopefully - it'll come to rest in some sort of sustainable equilibrium. And if that makes zero sense and sounds like a vague sort of excuse for not reading my Bible every single day, you're probably right.

Church

A week from now, I'll be back in Latvia. 


I'm still on track to accomplish my "running across Latvia, but not really" goal. I've logged over two hundred and fifty miles, which means I've got less than sixty left to run over the next six days. Finishing this run and returning to Latvia both seem like virtually sure things at this point, barring any major last-second catastrophes.¹

In the midst of all the movement I've experienced over the past six months, I find myself looking for something to cling to for a sense of grounding. Something that's normal, something that's consistent. I'm moving in and out of countries, cultures and relationships on an all-too-regular basis, and that can be an emotionally draining experience. Having some sort of steady line to hold on to through the various places and phases of life can be a life saver.²


Oddly enough, one of the most consistent threads through my life has also been one of the most varied.



While in Southampton, I've been attending the same church I did when I lived here three years ago. It's been such a blessing to slip back into fellowship with some familiar faces. As an introvert, I can often find church to be an emotionally draining experience - so many people! So many conversations! Impersonal small talk while holding coffee in one hand and your Bible in the other!³ - so it's very helpful for me to have a context in which I'm already somewhat connected and adjusted in which to worship. Otherwise, it can be a long and demanding process to make new connections and become comfortable enough in order to be able to truly worship.


As I travel, and connect - and re-connect - with church families that I now have in England, the U.S., and in Latvia, there are threads that join these different people, places and even languages together. God is there. His Word is alive. People come together to serve, to worship, and to grow in their knowledge of the person of Jesus.


My church here in Southampton recently concluded a series of studies on some of the post-exilic Biblical writings (Haggai, Zechariah, Malachi, etc.). In my current state of exile,⁴ I have found myself connecting with the story, and with the Word within the story, in a significant way. It's almost - almost - as if the messages were tailored to my needs. As if someone, somewhere, knew what I needed to hear, what would speak to my soul, and then proceeded to create an environment within which I would be able to hear it.


Church isn't just about the people and the building and the songs and the coffee⁵ and the liturgy and the activities and programs and ministry opportunities. It's not less than that - not by a long shot - but it's so very, very much more.


Finding a place and opportunity to meet with God - and to be met by Him - on a consistent basis can be a challenge. But when you do, it cuts across cultures and languages and time zones, and allows one to be fed and to to grow and to serve no matter where one finds oneself.



That's the sort of consistency that keeps my soul going.

¹Famous last words, I know. Hopefully I'm not tempting fate here...

²The best source of grounding and consistency is undoubtedly found in the person of Jesus. But I think he often chooses to meet our needs through human agents and tangible elements, and it's those that I try and look for.

³I'll be honest- sometimes it's the coffee, and not the fellowship, that gets me to stick around afterwards. I'm usually glad I did, but there's definitely a strong urge to escape that usually kicks in right after the end of the service

⁴Granted, my situation pales in comparison with pretty much any other exilic scenario one could imagine. But there have been just enough shades of similarity between my experience and that of the Jewish nation for me to be able to identify in a small, but new and deeply meaningful way

⁵Church coffee is usually a pretty dismal experience. Just saying. I can't remember the last time I had a decent cup after a church service (not counting the pastor's study).

Two Tickets

Yesterday, I finally did something I've been waiting for over two months to do:


I bought a plane ticket to Latvia.¹


Granted, it's not until October twentieth. And that's still a lot later than I thought - or hoped - that I'd be back. But, it's a ticket. And a date. Two things I've waited a long time for.


The real irony is that I also booked another ticket back to England only two weeks after I return to Riga. Two very good friends of mine are getting married in Southampton the first weekend of November, and I'd be hard pressed to miss an event of that caliber. 

So it's back to Riga. Then back to Southampton. Then back to Riga again. And then - hopefully - I get to stay there for a while.²



In other news, I'm still on pace - for the moment - to hit my "run across Latvia" target before I return. This is the end of day nine, and I've got ninety-one miles under my belt. So far, so good. No major aches or pains outside of what one would normally expect. Enjoying it for the most part, although some classic British weather has dampened my enthusiasm slightly the past couple of outings. Nothing like a cold, dark rainy morning to make you think twice before you head out the door.



Tomorrow evening marks the first event of the school year for the student ministry here in Southampton, with a start-of-term barbecue to kick things off.  As the sole American around, I've been pressed into duties as grillmaster. Couldn't be more pleased. I love this time of year in student ministry; so much excitement, new opportunities and initiatives, reconnecting with old friends, and seeing familiar rhythms and routines begin again. Glad I get to experience all of that - at least in part - yet again while I'm here, and hopefully help out in some small way.



Looking forward to the same experience back in Riga someday as well...



¹Which is in itself no small task. Trying to compare airfares from different carriers - all with different fees, baggage allowances, and "credit card processing charges" that don't pop up until the transaction is almost complete - is like trying to compare apples with things that aren't apples. In other words, it's a pain. Not to mention the fact that many European air carrier's websites don't take kindly to American debit/credit cards. Ugh. #firstworldproblems, yeah, I know, I know...
²At least with all of this travel I'll be able to rack up some extra frequent flier miles! And thankfully intra-European flights are typically much more affordable than flights of equivalent distances in the U.S., so this will hardly break the bank.

September

There's something about September that induces adventure.


One year ago, two of my best friends and I did this.

Three years ago, I moved to England on short notice¹ to start a new job in a new country.

Seven years ago, I road-tripped with a friend from Maine to Alaska, spending two months living in a van and traversing over twenty thousand miles of highway.



There are myriad other examples, but I think you get the picture.²



Maybe it's the crispness in the air, the cool nights and still pleasantly warm days. Maybe it's an escape mechanism to postpone acknowledgment of the swift arrival of winter. Maybe it's just an artifact of post-educational life, when you find yourself subconsciously seeking to start something new, something different.³ Whatever the case, September has often been a month which has included some new life course, some challenging adventure, or some pursuit of a dream realized.


Recently, after a weekly 5K community run, someone asked me what I was training for. I found myself at a loss; I didn't have anything on the horizon, which is a bit of a rarity for me. And it made me realize that this September was currently void of anything epic.



That was easy enough to fix.  

New challenge: Run across Latvia. In a month



Not actually, of course. It'd be a little bit difficult since I'm not in Latvia at the moment.⁴ But as soon as I found out that my return to Riga was going to be delayed for yet another month, my mind immediately jumped into adventure-planning overdrive mode. I've usually got at least a half-dozen crackpot schemes being juggled around at any given time - some feasible, most not - and this was one of those times when several ideas melded together quickly to point me in my current direction. Here's a rough outline of how this worked:

First, the idle thought. "I wonder how far it is across Latvia; could you bike or run across it? In a day? A week? A month? How long would it take?"

Second, the math. Latvia is, by my best estimate, 500km across from east to west.⁵ That's too far to do in a day by either foot or by bicycle; you could do it in a week on a bike, but my bike is currently in transit to Latvia, so that's out. A month would be about right for running distance; that's sixteen kilometers (ten miles) a day, which is strenuous but hardly ridiculous. It'd be a challenge, but wouldn't completely consume your entire life either.

Third, the timing. At the moment of this line of thought, it was almost exactly one month until I'd be back in Latvia. Hmm.

Fourth, the ability to do the challenge. Fair chance, but definitely not a sure thing. Enough training to make it possible, but not enough to make it probable. Perfect. 



There's probably a need for control creeping into this sort of idea; when everything seems to be out of my control, I'll just manufacture a situation which I can then control completely! There's probably a desire to remain relevant, to convince myself that I'm not growing older and more feeble, that I'm not a washed-up old man yet. Most likely, I'm trying to impress people with my discipline and physical training regimen.⁶ And there's of course the element of "what on earth am I going to do for this next month to keep myself distracted from the fact that I've been exiled in England for close to an entire season?"


More than that, though, is the fact that at this point in my life I know myself fairly well. I know that there's something in my soul that craves a challenge, even if it's a manufactured one. I know that I need routine, discipline, and structure in my life in order to be a healthy and functioning member of society. And if there isn't going to be any challenge or any routine, my best bet is to create something to fill that void.


So, we're five days into this silly plan, and so far it's sixty miles down, two hundred fifty to go.⁷ Feeling good at the moment, but this isn't a one-day sprint; it's a month-long marathon.⁸ Hoping to avoid any injuries along the way that could derail my attempt to traverse the width of Latvia (in England). 


It reminds me to pray for Latvia as well. For my friends there, for the country itself, for all the ministries already established and those that haven't yet begun, for the spiritual darkness which seems to hover over this country to be lifted, and for wisdom and strength for myself as I prepare to return there in a month's time. As the miles roll away and I slowly - yet surely - tick off the days until I am back, I hope that these weeks remaining in England can serve as a time of training, of seasoning, and of growth.







¹Short notice, as in "less than three weeks to pack, get a visa, buy one-way ticket to London, and raise financial support for an entire year." 
²I'd like to tell you that I'm not bragging about former exploits, or trying to draw renewed attention to some epic events from my past. But that's probably not true. After all, who doesn't want to be admired and respected for what they've accomplished? The flip side of it, however, is that I can't brag too much, because then someone who has actually accomplished something truly impressive would be forced to pipe up and say "Yeah, a while back I cycled to Mt. Everest from Sweden, and then hiked it with no oxygen or sherpa support." (True story). And then I'd just feel sheepishly unaccomplished.
³Maybe it's just the fact that I already gave this post the title of "September" and am now forced to prove a theory which I made up about my own life as a convenient framework for introducing whatever it is I'm about to write next. 
⁴And won't be for another four weeks. Not that anyone's counting.
⁵That's 310 miles, for all those who have yet to discover the beauty of the metric system.
⁶What is this, high school all over again??
⁷Ok, so I switch back and forth between miles and kilometers depending on which is a more attractively round number. So sue me.
⁸Just under twelve marathons, to be precise. 

Prolonged

Yesterday (Monday) I took the train to London to visit the Latvian embassy. I couldn't reach them by email or phone, so it seemed a personal visit might be the best way to get a swift answer. 

It was.


Long story short, the decision on my application has been "prolonged until October the twenty-fifth" pending submission of "additional documents and information." There's three reasons they gave for the denial of my application, each of them fairly minor and (hopefully) easy to correct. The best one of all was that the university did not include my middle name, which for the sake of this post we'll call Anthony,¹ in their official invitation which they filed with the government. Easy mistake to make - I don't hold it against them, especially as there were a couple other elements of the application which need to be amended² - but it's slightly comical as well. 


Of all the things that could hold up my return to Latvia, I did not expect my middle name to be one of them.



I actually felt a sense of relief when I finally realized that I wouldn't be back in Riga by this weekend. Not because I don't want to be back there as soon as possible - I do - but this has carried on for so long, I had reached the point where I just wanted to know. Something. Anything. For the past two months, I've been in a state of constant anticipation. Any day could herald my imminent departure. It makes it hard to plan and get on with life when you're always on call.


Well, at long last I know the day I can return. October twentieth.³


This means I'll need to delay the start of my studies until next semester,⁴ and that I've got one more month⁵ left here in England. 


Disappointing? Definitely. But after two months of uncertainty, it's good to know something, even if the information is not what I'd hoped to hear.



I was reading in John chapter eleven while on the train back from London yesterday. It's a great story - Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead! How can you top that? - but hidden behind that bright and glorious overlay are some other truths which are harder to understand. 

Jesus could have gone straight to Lazarus as soon as he heard he was sick. That would have made sense. He also could have not gone at all - after all, there were people in that region who wanted to stone hime to death - and that would have been understood given the circumstances.

Instead, he waits - long enough for Lazarus to die - and then he goes anyway, so that "the Son of God will receive glory from this."


Ok, so we know the end of this story: Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead, God gets glorified, and everyone lives happily ever after. Right?


Well, except for the part where the religious leaders redouble their efforts to kill Jesus.

Oh, and they decide to kill Lazarus, too.⁶


Happy endings don't always have happy endings.


God's timing does not always make sense. Even if a situation is designed to give him glory, it may not even look like that in the short-term. Frankly, in my finite understanding and feeble grasp of God's purposes and intentions, I struggle to see how delaying my return to Latvia by three months - especially after it took so long, with so many prayers and tears and effort to get there in the first place - does anyone any good.


In the divine timeline that God operates in, there is room for us to be confused. To not understand. To say "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died." To be frustrated, angry, and to question his timing. To say "Hey, Jesus, you could have easily had me back in Riga by now; what gives?"


And in between the divine and the human understanding of time, Jesus enters in not as someone who wants to judge us for not understanding how or why or when...


He comes to cry with us. 

To feel the burden of confusion, the pain of not knowing, of loss, of unmet expectations.



It's a relief to realize that I don't have to understand. And it's an even bigger relief to realize that Jesus does. 



¹Because that's what it is
²Including my diploma; apparently it needs to be "apostilled,"whatever that is. I thought I'd already been through enough diploma drama; apparently not.
³I can be in Latvia - or anywhere in the Schengen zone - for up to ninety days every six months. Since I initially arrived in Riga on April 19th, that means that a "new" six month period will start six months later. I need a residency permit if I want to stay for any longer than ninety days in a six-month span - which I obviously do. In other news, I have learned far more information about visas, residency permits, and other related topics in the past several months than is likely healthy.
⁴Classes start this week, so this semester is a wash. I still need to find out if I can defer my enrollment until next semester or not. 
⁵Thirty-two days, to be precise. Not that I'm counting.
⁶Has to be one of the more illogical decisions ever made: "What should we do with the guy who Jesus raised from the dead?" "I know, let's kill him! That'll teach him to stay dead!"

Friday

So, it's Friday.


Still no residence permit.


*sigh.*


No one at the embassy will answer my phone calls or reply to my emails.¹ This is simply ludicrous. I'm at a loss for how to even proceed, and perhaps even more worryingly, I'm veering dangerously close to the "I just don't give a damn anymore" side of the road.


Look, I know this is hardly the end of the world.² I know that once this all gets sorted out - maybe tomorrow, maybe next week, maybe next month, maybe whenever - I'll look back on this as a minor hiccup in the overall scope of my ministry and studies. I'll see how essential this extended time in England was for the development of some spiritual depth and insight. The ridiculousness of the situation will go from gut-punch to punch line. 

That will all happen. Eventually. I know that. I've been down enough strangely similar roads in the past to know how journeys like this usually end.

But right now - today, tonight, this moment - it's incredibly discouraging and frustrating. I don't yet understand the how's and why's, and this delay strikes me as incredibly unnecessary and inopportune. I'm tired of living out of a suitcase, weary of waiting, and sick of being stuck in a seemingly never-ending swirl of uncertainty.

What makes all of this all the more difficult is the fact that I am aware of how blessed I am in the middle of an otherwise unenviable situation. Getting to spend a couple months in England, being dropped into a familiar community of close friends and co-labourers,³ having so many friends and family supporting me through this process with their prayers and support, fed and clothed and sheltered and loved and healthy and... well, you get the point. The list goes on.


Compared to what many others are enduring, this is nothing. But to me - in my life, in my world, in my conscious reality - right now, this is just plan awful. I'd like to pretend that it's not. I'd like to be able to say that this hasn't gotten me down, that it's no big deal, that it'll be all right and God will work everything out and hooray, I'm in the centre of His will, where else would I rather be?


Well, Riga, for starters...


The worst part of all is I know that this time of disillusionment and frustration will probably be short lived. I might even wake up tomorrow morning to a new awareness and thankfulness for some hidden beauty within my current predicament. I'd prefer, though, to let the bitter taste of frustration and anger linger for a while, giving me cause to shout my grievances to the night sky and hold God on trial for all the injustice He's allowed me to endure. I want to remain in this state of disappointment and disillusionment, but I know it will be short lived. It sounds sad, petulant and incredibly immature, but those feelings are all very true.


Which is why I'm taking this verbal snapshot. It's more for me than for you.⁴ 


I need to be able to look back and remember the dark, the down, and the depressing in order to fully appreciate the beauty of that which may be ahead. 




Why, my soul, are you downcast?
  Why so disturbed within me?
Put your hope in God,
  for I will yet praise him,
my Savior and my God.⁵





I'm a optimistic realist. I hope for the best, and expect to have those hopes dashed. So this is no surprise that things aren't working out the way I'd have hoped - having to leave Latvia, getting stuck in England while waiting for some paperwork, having my application processing take longer than promised, etc. - but I must keep allowing myself to hope, in spite of those hopes continually seeming to be unmet. 



After all, worse things than "not getting a residence permit"have happened on a Friday before.⁶  And in that case, the worst thing ended up turning into the best thing just a couple days later.



Sunday morning is never fully appreciated without a Friday night. 




¹My tone in my email correspondence over the course of the week has transitioned from including lines such as "I know that a result isn't due until this Friday, but I just wanted to ensure that there hadn't been a decision returned to you early by any chance. Please let me know if so. Thanks!" (Monday) to "I'm not sure whether to find your lack of communication amusing or insulting, but I'm leaning towards the latter." (yesterday)
²Although, it is 2012 after all...
³British spelling used here in recognition and honour of my many friends here in England. Also, because the U key gets lonely when I'm not in the UK.
⁴No offense.
⁵From Psalm 42 and 43
⁶See Mark 15

Time

In two days - possibly sooner - I should have my residence permit issued, and be able to head back to Latvia soon thereafter.¹ I was reflecting last night on the time that's passed and realized how much has happened in the seven weeks and four days since I left Riga. Time is most often measured in well-known conventional units,² but as I've remained in this holding pattern I've become aware of some lesser-known - but every bit as significant - measurable units of time...


The Haircut. Defined as "the length of time, on average, between haircuts." By this standard, I've been gone for approximately 0.8 haircuts. In other words, it's getting close to clipper time.

TV Show Season (DVD or Online Streaming). No easy equivalent to conventional time, it's a complex product of the relationship between how busy your schedule is, how gripping the TV show is, and how much you're able to resist the urge to watch "just one more."³ I've been gone for approximately two and a half TVSS's.⁴

Bottles of Body Wash Used. There are a lot of variables in this time unit as well - temperature, frequency and intensity of athletic endeavours, water hardness, etc. - but there is a surprisingly close correlation to The Haircut, as it's been about 0.8 BOBWU's since I was last in Latvia.

Tour de France Titles Vacated. This is a somewhat standard unit of time; over the long run, approximately one TdFTV will occur per year. I've been gone - unofficially, at least⁵ - for seven TdFTV's, but it hasn't really felt that long at all. 

Epic Collapses by the Boston Red Sox. Very similar unit to above, but averages slightly less than one per year (thanks to 2004 and 2007). Hard to predict when it will occur, but it almost always does at some point over the summer.


...you get the idea. 


Time is a funny thing. This period of time away from Riga has, on one hand, been a blur - seven TdFTV's have gone by! - but at the same time, it's managed to drag along very slowly. Perhaps the most frustrating part of this period of time has been the uncertainty surrounding it; at no point have I known how long I would be here, which has engendered a constant feeling of being on-call. Any day, any moment, any week, any TVSS, I might get that call or email or piece of paperwork that will kick-start the next step in this process.


Time is supposed to be linear, but it appears that I've somehow turned into a cul-de-sac of sorts along the way forward.


I've been re-reading Four Quartets by T.S. Eliot this week. Time is a subject which keeps arising throughout all four parts of this work, and this section (from Burnt Norton) struck me as being especially pertinent in speaking into my current state of affairs:



At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.
I can only say, there we have been: but I cannot say where.
And I cannot say, how long, for that is to place it in time.⁶


Strikingly apt.


Trying to force my linear understanding of time onto a situation can tarnish the beauty of the loops and swirls that one finds oneself in along the way. The pause might actually be part of the progress.



That being said, and all those lessons being learned and all that... I'm ready for this time to be over. Ready to be back in Riga. Ready to start my language studies. Ready to escape this inward spiral and start heading back towards the place and the people that pulled me into this life in the first place.



I wait for the Lord,

                          my soul waits,
     

   and in his Word I hope.⁷


¹"Should" being the key word in that equation. 
²Such as "the duration of 9,192,631,770 periods of the radiation corresponding to the transition between the two hyperfine levels of the ground state of the caesium 133 atom." Which is neither well-known or conventional, but that's apparently how you measure a second.
³For a perfect illustration of this concept, please watch this.
⁴Seasons One and Two (which was only half a season- thanks for canceling it, CBS!) of Jericho, and Season One of Prison Break. A recurring theme in my life is falling in love with TV shows which are cancelled after one season, leaving me frustrated and disillusioned and swearing never to make the same mistake again. Terriers, Boomtown, Awake, Firefly, Jericho, the list goes on. Sad story.
⁵Sorry, Lance, but this is one of those instances where you're not "innocent until proven guilty." You doped. Everyone knows it. Having never failed a drug test is no longer a valid claim of innocence. And if you still think that Lance never took performance-enhancing drugs, then I have a Nigerian prince I'd like to introduce you to who has ten million dollars he needs your help investing.
⁶Don't worry, I'm not about to turn into a poetry-spouting rhapsodist, but Four Quartets is undoubtedly one of the finest pieces of literature written in the past 100 years. Staggeringly deep, and gets better each time you read it. Check it out.
⁷Psalm 130:5, ESV

Solitude

I'm an introvert. That may come as a surprise to some, but trust me, it's true. On the Myers-Briggs personality test, I'm about as far towards the I end of the scale as you can possibly be.¹ Some of that probably has to do with my educational background - being homeschooled can certainly foster isolationist tendencies² - but personality type is at least partly inherent. Whether it's more nature or nurture is beside the point; what matters is that I get my energy from being alone. I love spending time with friends, but I can only be around even my closest of friends for so long before I need to withdraw and recharge by myself.


One of my favorite pastimes - thanks again, at least in part, to my years being homeschooled - is reading.³ I've discovered that in order for me to be a well adjusted, fully-functional member of society, I need to spend a significant amount of time each week reading. Not only that, but the more diverse the range of material I'm reading from, the better.


This past week I've been on a bit of a reading binge.⁴ One of the buried beauties during this time of exile from Latvia has been the opportunity it's afforded me to rekindle some integral disciplines that I've mistakenly sacrificed at the altar of the urgent during this past year. Reading, running, writing, solitude, long nighttime walks to think and pray, community, celebration, interpretive dance,⁵ fasting... these are all things that I've discovered are essential to a healthy and full life for me.


One discipline that's kept cropping up during my recent spate of reading has been that of solitude. Now, you'd think that being the introverted, bookish homeschooler that I am, that solitude would be a very easy discipline to practice, right?


Wrong.


In actuality, I'm rubbish at it. Which has been an oddly painful discovery, because I always sort of assumed it was something I should - and could - excel at. 


See, here's the problem: there's a deep ocean of difference between being alone and being in solitude. Plenty of people spend plenty of time alone.⁶ But to be in solitude requires stepping away from both the external and internal world. And as an introvert, trying to quiet my internal world enough to allow time and space for the Lord to speak is like trying to find the right analogy to finish this sentence; difficult, and emotionally and mentally taxing, but worth the time and effort when you finally find what you're looking for.⁷


I spent most of today in solitude. I knew I needed it, both from internal notifiers (restless spirit, uncategorized thoughts and ideas, etc.) and external (readings this past week which have re-reminded me of the essential nature of solitude). Experience has taught me that I have to cut off all contact with the outside world - no phone, iPod, internet, etc. - if the time is to be at all productive and meaningful. 

I hate being out of touch with the world: what if someone needs me? What if I get an important email that needs an instant response? What if someone posts something wrong on the internet that needs a prompt rebuttal? What if... well, you get the point. Even as an introvert with a capital I, I'm every bit as susceptible as the rest of humanity to the trap of being well connected but poorly grounded thanks to the onslaught of communication opportunities we have at our pinch-and-swipe fingertips. Henri Nouwen describes the sensations as thus:


“To bring some solitude into our lives is one of the most necessary but also most difficult disciplines. Even though we may have a deep desire for real solitude, we also experience a certain apprehension as we approach that solitary place and time. As soon as we are alone, without people to talk with, books to read, TV to watch, or phone calls to make, an inner chaos opens up in us. This chaos can be so disturbing and so confusing that we can hardly wait to get busy again. Entering a private room and shutting the door, therefore, does not mean that we immediately shut out all our inner doubts, anxieties, fears, bad memories, unresolved conflicts, angry feelings, and impulsive desires. On the contrary, when we have removed our outer distractions, we often find that our inner distractions manifest themselves to us in full force. We often use the outer distractions to shield ourselves from the interior noises. It is thus not surprising that we have a difficult time being alone. The confrontation with our inner conflicts can be too painful for us to endure.” ⁸


Here's a funny thing about solitude: making space and time for God means you might hear from him. But it doesn't guarantee it. And even if you do hear from him, it might not be in the way you would have expected. It's not an equation; it's an opportunity.


I didn't get any grand words or thoughts or insights today. On the contrary, as is usually the case, I feel like I'm exiting this time with more questions than answers. Which is no complaint. But I do somehow feel more grounded, and strangely fulfilled, as a result of the time spent.


True solitude never isolates; it always connects you more deeply to the world. It doesn't empty your mind and your soul; instead, it fills you in such a way that you have something worthwhile to offer. 



Solitude seems, to my untrained eye, to be a very passive discipline. But in reality, I'm not sure there's a better way to have an impact on the world than to occasionally withdraw from it. The real question is whether I believe that enough to do it; one day does not make a discipline.⁹


¹I'm an INFJ overall, in case you're a MBTI junky. Quite the bizarre combination, which helps explain - in part - why I'm such a bizarre person.
²My favorite homeschool joke:
     Q: What did the homeschooled kid say to the public school kid?
     A: Nothing
³Sad-but-true supporting fact: I was the only kid in my neighborhood who got reading privileges taken away from them as a form of punishment. Multiple times.
⁴Tomes of note, either started, finished or in-progress: Cloud Atlas (fantastic), Strengthening the Soul of Your Leadership (very timely, very good), The Brothers Karamazov (incredible book, but not the easiest of reads; been working on it for a while now), The Latvians: A Short History (history, yes; academic in nature, yes; short, definitely not), Consider the Lobster: And Other Essays (DFW could write about sand, and it'd be fascinating and painfully self-aware), and Introverts in the Church: Finding Our Place in an Extroverted Culture (one of the best books I've read all year).
⁵Kidding.
⁶A little known fact: the loneliest places in the world are in the middle of an anonymous and unknown crowd. Ever been on a packed bus/subway/train during rush hour? There are few lonelier experiences than traveling by yourself amidst a horde of strangers staring at silver screens.
⁷I gave up at trying to finding the right analogy. Insert your own as you see fit.
⁸Excerpt from Making All Things New, by Henri Nouwen
⁹"Remember, it is sin to know what you ought to do and then not do it." (James 4:17). Uh-oh.

Settlers

I don't pretend to be an expert at many things. In fact, a long-standing frustration of mine has been the imbalance between things I'm good at (quite a few), and things I'm truly exceptional at (close to, if not actually at, zero). I have a strong competitive streak which runs just beneath my seemingly easygoing demeanor, so it galls me somewhat to have a skill set which enables me to be competent - but not exceptional - at a wide array of things.¹

One possible exception to this trend of exceeding-mediocrity-but-not-approaching-greatness would be my track record in playing Settlers of Catan: Cities and Knights.² When I moved to England three years ago, I soon managed to indoctrinate several friends into the cult of Catan, and we started playing religiously. And not just east-coast U.S. religious, but proper Bible-belt America religious at that.³ We had a wreath of laurels which was transferred upon whoever the champion was, and the current victor would often be known to flaunt their title as "Lord of Catan" in conversations. 


Yes, it is every bit as nerdy as it sounds.

For a while, I reigned supreme. Having taught others to play, I had a head-start on strategy and technique. And even as the rest of the crew honed their skills, I managed to stay just ahead of the growth curve. That isn't to say that I won all the time, but I definitely wore the victor's wreath more than most.⁴

Being involved in any sort of full-time ministry has a way of blurring the lines between what is work and what is normal life. If your job is investing in people - and if that's something you'd be inclined to do anyways - how can you draw a line through relationships, carving some off as work and others as not? How can you make the distinction between creating community as part of your duty, and spending time with friends who you care about because that's just what you do?


Beats me.


There are dangers with shades of grey, with blurry lines and unclear labels. There are times for defining the context of a relationship as either professional or personal. Too much ambiguity can diminish the simple joy of spending time with a friend, or of trying to help someone become a fully devoted follower of Christ by using the gifts, skills and training you've been blessed with.


But clear demarcations can cut deeply as well. Forcing anything into a box - especially a relationship - can stifle it.


We never defined those games of Settlers as ministry. There was no "plan to generate authentic community and regular fellowship opportunities through frequent interactions in  a neutral, seeker friendly context while also enabling a creative outlet for the competitive nature of university-age males."⁵ We played because, well, that's what we liked to do. 

Here's the funny thing, though: the core group that met religiously - and still is known to frequent the gaming table⁶ on occasion - has stayed connected and committed to one another. Not only that, but over the past few years, all of the guys have been involved at a significant level in ministry, whether it be the campus ministry in Southampton or their local church or in some cases both.


So was it work? Or fun?



Yes.


This isn't meant to generate a ministry template which I, or others, should attempt to repeat or recreate. And it isn't an attempt to over-spiritualize a mainly recreational (and thoroughly enjoyable) pastime. But when I sat down last weekend with this particular group of guys, it struck me just how much a silly board game had drawn us together over the years. How the friendly rivalries and in-game banter have somehow generated greater depth and commitment in our relationships. How hanging out with a bunch of guys around a multi-tiled board game can be an undefined and yet integral part of my life and ministry.⁷


And it dawned on me that, just maybe, the real skill I brought to this equation wasn't an exceptional talent at board game,⁸ but was instead of a more garden-variety nature: a simple love for games, for small groups of close friends, for fun and laughter and stupid jokes, and an ability and desire to use all of those loves to help cement a small community of friends together


Just maybe. 

¹Upon mentioning this to a mentor of mine a couple years ago, he said: "Perhaps your competence in a wide range of things is actually an exceptional skill in itself." Hmm. Something to bear in mind, I suppose.

²Sorry to reveal my inner geek, but I'm a sucker for board games, and this is one of my favorites. My all-time favorite, which I would contend that I have no peer in and also confirms beyond reasonable doubt just how much of a nerd I really am, is Epic Duels, but that doesn't enter this particular line of thought.

³East coast religious is once-a-week at best, with twice a year - Christmas and Easter - being closer to average. Bible-belt religious is three times a week, at a minimum, and possibly more if you're on some sort of board or committee. 

⁴Sadly (for me), that streak has not continued. Over the past few weeks I've been soundly thumped each time I've played. There goes yet another dream of dominance up in smoke...

⁵Although in retrospect, I'd feel like much more of a genius if I had developed a plan, implemented it, and then watched it subversively work. In fact, who's to say I didn't?
⁶Board games. Not gambling. Come on, seriously?
⁷Also, "How I tend to ramble on about life events and try to lend the air of importance to what I do by creating spiritual parallels for even the most mundane of occurrences."
⁸Although I would argue that I definitely brought that as well.