Mnemonics

I rely on some rather eccentric tools to enhance my recollection of new vocabulary words. One of my favorite methods is to use word association as a mnemonic device. If I can pair a new word or phrase with either another word I already know, or even better some vivid mental imagery, the odds of me remembering it are much higher.

Here are some of my favorite categories for word association:¹


Sounds Almost Like The Same Word

Kafija: Sounds like "coffee," which is what it means.

Žakete: Sounds like "jacket," which is what it means. This is easy, right?

Sort Of Sounds Like Something Sort Of Similar

Nauda:  Sounds kind of like "nada," which is Spanish for "none," which is the amount I usually have of nauda (money).

Kārdināšana: Sounds kind of like "Kardashian," which is the name of an American family with a questionable moral compass - as well as their own reality TV show and clothing lines - who  might conceivably be a kārdināšana (temptation) to someone with a questionable moral compass of their own.

Sounds Like Something Not At All Similar, But The Visual Imagery Is So Striking That You Easily Recall It Anyways

Vēders: Sounds like "Vader," last name of former² galactic overlord Darth Vader née Anakin Skywalker. Darth Vader had a very distinct-looking control panel for his breathing and life support apparatus situated above his vēders (stomach)

Zils: Sounds poetic when paired with zivs to produce zils zivs, (blue fish), which is the last line from the title of a critically acclaimed piece of literature by the late Theodor Seuss Geisel.

Sounds Nothing At All Like Anything Similar, But The Imagery Produced By A Direct Translation Is So Striking That You Easily Recall It Anyways

Kājas pirksti: Literal translation would mean "leg fingers." The imagery produced of fingers dangling at the end of your legs is so striking that the word for kājas pirksti (toes) is burned into your brain forevermore.³

Lieldienas: Literal translation would mean "great/big day." Makes you think of a day that's, well, great. Huge. World-changing, even? If you throw a "the" at the front, it becomes even more striking:


The Great Day.


A far better word for, well, The Great Day than "Easter" is, in my humble opinion. Far more striking. Far closer to the feelings and imagery that should be associated with the event that forever changed everything.

One of the purposes of the season of Lent is to rekindle in us a longing for The Great Day - both past and future - and to remember just how in need of Lieldienas I continue to be.

Sometimes verbal imagery helps you remember vocabulary words. And sometimes the Spirit sneaks into your mundane mnemonic learning methods and reminds you of something even more important than language acquisition. And you recall the reason you're even in Latvia learning to speak Latvian in the first place:


The Great Day.⁴

¹All of these are actual trains of thought that go through my mind whenever I'm attempting to conjure up the word in question. Scary but true
²Or possibly future, I'm not too sure about chronology within the Star Wars universe
³Vibram's FiveFingers line of footwear would be a natural fan of the Latvian language
⁴As good a mnemonic as you could hope to find.

Humor

If asked to quantify my progress thus far in language learning, I would sum it up like this:

The frequency with which I say something unintentionally humorous is now less than the frequency with which I say something intentionally humorous.¹

Case in point:

When I started attending language classes about two months ago, it was a real struggle at first to understand what was being said or even what was being taught. Some of this was probably due to the fact that I'm probably not the sharpest knife in the language-learning drawer, if you know what I mean. But an even greater debilitating factor was the fact that I was the only english-speaking student in the class.²

My survival strategy quickly evolved into a nearly foolproof setup. If I sat in the middle of the semi-circular arrangement of seats, then whichever end the teacher started talking to or asking questions of, I'd have hopefully four or five responses to listen to and try to filter out some recognizable meaning or pattern before it was my turn to respond. If you hear one word that keeps changing in an otherwise consistent reply, well then it's easy: just plug a different word - with the correct grammatical ending, of course - into the formula, and all is well.


Example: the teacher states "Katru dienu, es pērku..." and then points to the student at the left-hand side of the class, three seats away from me:

First student: "Katru dienu, es pērku pienu."
Second student: "Katru dienu, es pērku maizi."

Me (thinking): Ok, so there's only one word changing. "Piens" and "maize" are both feminine nouns for milk and bread, declined in the accusative case. Perfect. I don't know what "pērku" means, or even "katru dienu," but if the next response also includes a consumable item, then I should be home free."

Third response: "Katru dienu, es pērku kafiju."

Me: Kafiju = kafija = coffee. Boom. My time to shine. Code cracked. I'll use "cukurs," sugar, since that's an easy noun to decline. Time to answer:  "Katru dienu, es pērku cukuru."

Cue bemused looks from several people, one half-hearted chuckle, and a brief pause while the teacher acknowledges my grammatical correctness before the next student replies. While responses keep coming in from around the semi-circle, I steal a moment to look up the unknown words in my Latvian-English dictionary, upon which point I discover that I had stated the following:

"Every day, I buy sugar."

Not incredibly funny, but in the spectrum of responses mine definitely stood out as the oddest sort of purchase one would make on a daily basis. Bread, milk, coffee, newspapers, cigarettes, train tickets, sandwiches... and sugar. I could only imagine what must be going through the minds of the rest of the class: "Who is this crazy kid from America? And why does he buy so much sugar? Does he collect it? Is he a baker? His teeth look fairly healthy, so he can't be eating it all himself. Is he a food hoarder? Saving up sugar for the upcoming apocalypse? Does he know something we don't know about the current geopolitical state of affairs? Perhaps there's an impending global sugar shortage about to take place. Should we start buying sugar every day as well?"³


Last week, by chance, the teacher asked the exact same question. The point of the exercise had changed, but the pattern of the response was similar. Note my response and the dialogue that followed this time:

Me: "Katru dienu, es pērku dzīvokli." (Every day, I buy an apartment)
Teacher: "Katru dienu jūs pērkat dzīvokli? Faktiski? (You buy an apartment every day? Seriously?)
Me: "Jā, protams! Kāpēc ne? Es esmu no Amerikās, un visi Amerikāņiem ir daudz naudas... tāpec, man jāpērk dzīvokli katru dienu. Ko vēl darīt?" (Yeah, of course! I'm from America, and all Americans have lots of money... so, I have to buy an apartment every day. What else to do?)⁴

(cue scattered laughter and mild chuckles from around the room).

It's interesting to observe how different motivating factors have influenced my language learning. In the first several class sessions, my major concern was to avoid making mistakes. Comprehension at almost any level was far beyond my feeble powers, and real dialogue was nothing but a distant dream. My studies in between classes had the primary goal of learning enough so I could survive the classes. Being laughed at isn't a debilitating thing for me, whether intentionally produced or not, so I don't mind those moments when I say something stupid and it garners a mirthful response.⁵ I do, however, despise the feeling of not knowing, being in the dark, and being unable to communicate or understand.

Now, though, with just enough language under my belt to be able to comprehend the majority of what goes on in class, my motivations have started to change. My hope each class is not just survival, but instead to learn. To converse. To have some meaningful dialogue, learn some new words and important grammatical rules, and take another small step towards fluency.


There's a strong temptation to motivate myself purely out of fear. Fear of failure, fear of sin, fear of falling flat on my face. This isn't to say that fear isn't healthy, in proper proportions. A fear of failure can be a good tool in your motivational arsenal.⁶ 

But it shouldn't be the only one.

A far greater motivator is the freedom and joy that comes with fluency. That's what progressing in my language skills will - eventually - offer. And of course, this principle extends way beyond the realm of just my language studies.


The best motivator - the motivator, singular - trickling down and influencing all other factors, is the freedom and joy that comes from knowing Jesus and walking with him. 

Being able to live - and laugh - freely is a beautiful thing indeed, and will be worth every moment of confusion and frustration along the way. That is my hope, greater than any fear of failure I might have. 

And that is what motivates me to learn Latvian... and to try and sprinkle in some humor along the way.

¹At least, I hope this is the case. I could be wrong. 

²This means that I'm trying to learn Latvian in a class being taught primarily in Russian. Even just typing that sentence makes my brain ache.

³A more probable line of thought: "Huh, that's mildly amusing. Kid likes sugar. And he also doesn't seem to know many Latvian words. Oh, wait, my turn to reply..."

⁴I realize how horribly culturally insensitive this appears; the rich American flaunting his wealth while abroad. But believe me, I've cultivated enough of a reputation among my classmates by now for slyly poking fun at American culture and stereotypes which, I think, gave me the ability to say this tongue-in-cheek while also stretching out my lingual limbs. Also, I have such a limited vocabulary - which is usually peppered with grammatical missteps, some of which I'm sure crept into my Latvian phrases above - that I just have to work with what I've got.

⁵I kind of look on those moments as minor accomplishments, actually. If I'm not pushing my language to the point where people are laughing at me on a fairly regular basis, then I'm not giving myself a valuable opportunity to practice, to learn, and to progress.
⁶1 John 3:3

Thanks to the miracles of modern technology, an English/Latvian joke book is readily available for "homework."

Unplugged

Sometime around Christmas, I dropped one of the glowing rectangles that I own. You know what they are; there's a good chance you're staring at one right now.¹ Phones, laptops, tablets, media players, e-readers, etc. We use them all the time - all the time - to the point that they have become nearly essential components for our society to function normally.

What shocked me was not the fact that I dropped it; I am a clumsy oaf in the best of times, and eight a.m. before my first cup of coffee is decidedly not the best of times. But my reaction to this seemingly inconsequential event was sobering.


I check it for scratches, and find some. Small crack in one corner. Still works, but with some visible scars.

My pulse quickens, and I taste anxiety at the back of my throat.

Sure, it works, I try to remind myself, but its former lustre is now lost. The magic spell is gone. Post-purchase cognitive dissonance has now arrived.

My temples tighten. My jaw clenches, and I begin to sweat. What will I do? How can I replace it? I do a quick google search - not on the tarnished device, heaven forbid, the mere sight of it now fills me with dread, but on one of my unscathed devices - for repair solutions. Warranty information. Replacement options. Anything which will let me return to my fantasy world in which technology exists only to make me happy.


I was terrified by my reaction and what it represented. Clearly, mine was not a healthy relationship with this thing. And as I examined my reaction, I discovered that my soul was even more uneasy about the connections which this thing - and so many other things that I, and you, and most everyone we know are possessed by - created between my heart and the world. Internet, email, facebook, twitter, blogs news sports videos youtube movies music games...


Millions of ways to connect to millions of people.²


I was so plugged in that when my connection was seemingly threatened by some superficial scratches, I immediately panicked. Sad, but true.

So, as soon as I reasonably could, I stepped away. It was long overdue and difficult to schedule, but well worth it. A rule of life that I've tried to maintain over the past few years is that an hour a day, a day a week, a week a year, I disconnect and unplug from everything and everyone (except God).³ The year was almost up, and I hadn't yet taken a week off from the world.

It was obviously high time that I did so.


While on my technological and communication sabbatical, I came across an entry in my journal from earlier this year which really struck home:

my truest self
can be seen 
in my ocular sheen,
foci of my gaze revealing
the center of my soul.
shades of white and not
glimmering, glistening, a
barrage of flickering pixels
delineating my desire.
can i bear to discover
the heart of my heart?
or will i bury
behind bright barriers
the restlessly lonely,
paradoxically unconnected
truth of my self?

A stark reminder of how persistent the struggle is to remain unpossessed by my possessions, and to be unconsumed by that which I consume. And how important it is for me to regularly step away from the distractions of this world in order to allow my soul to be stilled.


"For the world offers only a craving for physical pleasure, a craving for everything we see, and pride in our achievements and possessions. These are not from the Father, but are from this world."⁴


¹Unless you've printed this off and are reading it in print form. In that case, touche.
²Or, perhaps better put, millions of way to feel connected to millions of people. 
³My views on my relationship to technology have been highly influenced by the writing of Jacques Ellul, Richard Foster and Henri Nouwen in particular. I can't recall which of them deserves credit for the "hour per day, day per week, week per year" formula, but it's definitely not my own concoction.
⁴1 John 2:16, NLT

Advent

I was expecting a package last week.

It contained some important documents,¹ and I wanted to be sure I was home to receive and sign for it. So I cleared my calendar and planned on staying home all day to await its arrival.

Have you ever noticed that when you're expecting someone or something important, the anticipation heightens your awareness of otherwise routine and mundane? Suddenly,

footsteps on the stairs,
trucks driving by,
knock on a neighbors door,
phone ringing,
voices in the hallway,
all trigger a reaction in your fast-twitch package-arrival nerve centers.


It came,

(eventually).

But not on the day or in the way I expected.²


I've been waiting for my residence permit for over six months now. I might get it soon; maybe today, possibly tomorrow, and hopefully by the end of this week. I thought I would get it last week, once I submitted the documents I received in the package I had been waiting for. But apparently there's at least one more step; I remain cautiously optimistic that it's the final one.

My anticipation has been heightened. I'm ready for it to be here, to hold it in my hands. To sit on my couch and exhale, deliberately and deeply, letting the hopes and frustrations of the past several months slowly fade into the past tense


I'd like to think that I'm waiting for Jesus with the same fervor and anticipation that I have been for these packages and permits. That my anticipation will heighten my awareness of the otherwise routine and mundane, so that


footsteps on the stairs,
trucks driving by,
knock on a neighbors door,
phone ringing,
voices in the hallway,
all trigger a reaction in my fast-twitch Jesus-arrival nerve centers.


Rarely do I wonder as I answer my door, "maybe Jesus is here, at last!"


Perhaps I should?


Anna and Simeon³ seemed to have a mix of awe and wonder in their reaction to Jesus. Awe, because their long-awaited dream was finally realized, and their waiting - measured in decades, not days - was finally at an end. Wonder, because this was most likely not at all what they had expected. And yet, their expectations did not prevent them from holding their⁴ Messiah in their arms, and recognizing him as being the answer to their prayers, the fulfillment of their dreams, the answer to their questions, the end to their waiting.


As I wait for Jesus' return, may my anticipation be keen enough to see Him everywhere, and my expectations wide enough to be able to someday say "of COURSE! I didn't imagine it would be like this, but now everything makes perfect sense!" Heaven forbid that, as He returns, I say "Wait, no, not like this, Jesus! This isn't how it's supposed to work!"


And so, I wait. Imperfectly, impatiently, but with awe and wonder growing all the while.


¹My long-awaited apostilled copy of my diploma. What's an apostille, you ask? Having received it, I'm still not sure I know
²It took several long detours in Ohio along the way.
³Luke chapter 2
⁴"Their" in both the personal and the corporate (kin, country, and culture) sense

The Middle

There's a safety zone about a meter wide¹ in the middle of most sidewalks in town.

This varies from day to day, strongly influenced by the weather. Some days it might widen to include the entire sidewalk, and other days it might disappear entirely. Location matters; some sections might retain an aura of safety over their entire width, and others will be constantly fraught with danger.

On one side, you have water, ice and snow falling from the rooftops. You might risk venturing beneath the eaves in order to escape other dangers, but you will eventually be rewarded with a deluge of cold rain pouring off the rooftop directly down the back of your neck, a cascade of snow sliding down upon your person, or, in colder times, chunks of ice falling with enough angry velocity to leave marks on the asphalt threatening your old age.

Duly noted.

Closer to the road lie different, but equally disconcerting, hazards. One could write about the danger posed by reckless drivers - which is real - but I find this to be something of a constant in most city environments,² so I won't delve into that particular risk here. Of greater significance is the splash radius which passing vehicles generate as they drive through puddles of water and slush. I have seen old women who looked arthritic and fragile one moment suddenly appear as though they're channeling their inner Neo³ as they leap and dodge the diluvial waves of water sweeping across their paths

Say hello to the safety of the middle.

Here's the real problem, though: there's not enough room for everyone in the middle. When the sidewalks are jammed with people, you can try and stay in the center, but there will come moments when someone has to move towards the edge and the dangers awaiting them there.⁴

It's easy to say that everyone should stay in the middle. But some must risk dancing on the edge so that others can walk in the safety of the center.

The body of Christ needs people on the edges, pulling on our sensibilities and living out radical expressions of Christianity, every bit as much as it needs people in the middle, walking steadily and faithfully down familiar paths.⁵ There is a strong temptation to take a personal calling and apply it to the general population. And even greater is the temptation to take general truths that are indeed applicable to the entire body and use it as an excuse to avoid your personal call to a certain part of the sidewalk.

Not everyone is called to sell everything and live in poverty. This is perhaps most obvious to those who do not have this calling, and least obvious to those who do. But some are, and they challenge and inspire the rest of the body to ask hard questions about their relationship with material possessions. Not everyone is called to memorize entire books of the Bible, or to rescue victims of human trafficking from captivity, or to mop the church floor every Tuesday morning. But some are, and they dance on the edges of our comfort zone and cause us to pause and reflect on our place in the body as we journey together.

It's far easier to judge someone for not pursuing my idea of what their calling looks like than to sort out exactly where I'm supposed to be walking myself.⁶

In other words, the best question is not "How then shall we live?," but "How how then shall I live?"⁷

After all, to live on the edge simply to avoid the safety⁸ of tradition and routine is every bit as dangerous as staying in the center to avoid the extraordinary.

¹If you're not accustomed to thinking in metric units, that's about the equivalent of "one quick google search for unit conversions of meters to feet" wide. 

²I don't want to introduce hometown bias here, but if you've spent any time driving in or around Boston, it's hard to be overwhelmed by displays by bad driving. I've also been in Rome, so nothing shocks me any more.

³Are "The Matrix" references too dated? Does anyone else conjure up vivid imagery of a man acrobatically dodging bullets on a rooftop when you hear the name Neo, or has that become too obscure of a name-drop? 

⁴"Dangers" might sound like a bit of an overstatement, but go pour ice-cold water down your neck and then tell me how safe it felt.

⁵It's also worth saying that if you're not walking on the sidewalk that's headed towards Jesus, then the question becomes more "where am I going?" as opposed to "what is my calling?"

⁶If, however, you see someone about to veer into the street and get smeared by an oncoming trolleybus, it's a good idea to pull them back onto the sidewalk.

⁷Of course there are questions to be asked about the direction and calling of the body as a whole. I'm dancing on the edge and focusing on only one aspect of an entire spectrum of ideas so as to play my small part in the body. (Hey, see what I did there? Avoided potential criticism by using my own argument as an impregnable defense shield!) But if you don't include the aspect of personal calling, then you end up with a giant army of clones. Ask Obi-Wan and Yoda how that turned out for them. (In a word: poorly)

⁸There is nothing safe about this sidewalk, of course. Everywhere is dangerous; just some parts more obviously so than others. It is, in fact, decidedly unsafe. The risk is more relational in nature: people who dance on the edges are sometimes rejected by those in the middle, and vice versa.

Light

I don't think I can recall the last time I saw the sun. 

I know it was sometime in the past week. Or has it been two? I honestly can't recall its last appearance. My memory is as cloudy as this vintage November weather. Grey skies, drizzling rain, ice-cold chill in the air.¹

I love the changing seasons, but I don't love November.

Imagine if you were observing the change of seasons for the first time, with no concept of what was happening. What would you think? As the days got shorter and shorter, you'd probably start to wonder: will the sun ever come back again? Is this the end of the world? Is light soon to be forever gone? Should I buy stock in a candle-making company?²

Now think of that day - the solstice, the shortest day in the year - when the darkness stopped advancing. You measure the minutes, and soon realize that the light is returning. Days lengthen, winter eventually releases its icy grip on the world, and you rejoice in the return of the light.

When you see enough seasons come and go, you start to recognize a pattern: there are times of darkness, and times of light. One follows another. Seasons change, years pass by, but the pattern holds true: light follows darkness. Sometimes the winters are particularly cruel and dark, but summer always - eventually - comes.

Life has more than one kind of season. Years go by, and you notice patterns similar to those of the seasons: times of darkness, followed by times of light. You move from doubt, to despair, to hope, to joy. Sometimes the seasons are out of proportion, but there is a certain rhythm which we can find comfort in. With enough perspective, you start to realize that darkness is always followed - eventually - by light.

I was reading from Psalms 42 and 43 with a friend earlier this week, and I was struck once again by the refrain that the writer David repeats three times over those two chapters:

    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 ³

I don't think I have it in me to be truly thankful for grim November weather. Neither do I have the capacity to give thanks for difficulties and hardships in the midst of them. Those one-degree days without a drop of sunshine in them, and those times when nothing makes sense and God himself seems to have left you high and dry; those are hard, if not downright impossible, to be thankful for.

But the seasons always change.

I put my hope in God, not because I can always praise him in the dark. I put my hope in him because I know the light is always just around the corner, because I have hope that one day I will yet - future tense - praise him. I've seen enough seasons change to have faith that the light will eventually break through, and that this dismal November weather will soon be a thing of the past. And I also know that in times of sunlight and joy, it's worth pausing to remember: this won't last. I need to soak up every minute of this, and do whatever it takes to remember the summer weather while it lasts.⁴

Even when one's soul is being blessed with summer weather, though, this dreary November drizzle is still pretty tough to appreciate. 

¹This is a rare case where there is no culture shock, or a longing for things back home, or a celebration of how much better things are here in Latvia. My suspicion is that Novembers are pretty dismal no matter where in the upper half of the northern hemisphere you reside
²You'd probably be better off just buying some candles.
³Psalms 42:5, 42:11, and 43:5
⁴For the record, I love winter as a season of the year; I do not enjoy it as a season of the soul. 

Thankful

A couple of weeks ago, in a small Bible study group I attend here in Riga, I was challenged to write down some of the things I'm thankful for. 

Here's the thing: once you start making a list like that, you realize that it's a never-ending task.¹ There truly is an incredible amount of things that I can be thankful for. More than enough to fill two pages without even really stopping to think.

Family,
friends,
pens that write well and don't bleed,
health,
Jesus,
chocolate chip cookies,
resurrection,
hope,
clean water,
blueberries,
                       (and so on, ad infinitum).


The interesting part of this exercise, at least to me, was how many things showed up on the list that I'm thankful for now, that at some point in my past I wasn't.

School,
work,
pain,
heartbreak,
brokenness,
broke-ness²
loss,
failure,
mushrooms,³
the New York Yankees.⁴


That's not to say that I'm now thankful for every circumstance or situation. I'd rather have not broken that bone, seen that relationship dissolve, been downsized from that job, failed that class, or watched the Red Sox lose to to the Yankees in 2003.

But pain is often the catalyst for growth. Hardship fosters endurance, which brings about strength of character and eventually the state of being "perfect and complete, needing nothing."⁵


So there's that.


I would never wish pain or suffering on anyone, including myself. And neither, I think, would Jesus. But I am thankful - deeply, heart-swellingly so - that he can create opportunities for genuine thankfulness from the worst that this world can throw at us.


And for that,

(among many, many, many other beautiful and wonderful things), 

I am thankful.



¹Perhaps a shorter - and infinitely more revealing - list would be one of "things I'm not thankful for."
²The state of being broke, i.e. dirt poor, i.e. "I have no money and lots of bills."
³Maybe to say I'm thankful for mushrooms is a bit of a stretch. But I used to despise them, and now I quite enjoy a mushroom under the right circumstances. I'll chalk that up as progress
⁴How else could the Red Sox have vanquished all those years of frustration and futility, if not for the NYY?
⁵James 1:2-4

One again

Today marks my first birthday in Latvia. I say that not to elicit congratulations or birthday wishes or anything of that sort;¹ as I see it, a birthday a paradoxical combination of celebrating surviving another year² and realizing that death is one year closer.

Yay.

I've recently started receiving some language tutoring in Latvian. I'd like to dazzle you with my newfound language knowledge, but in fact the single greatest lesson that I've learned thus far is just how much there is to learn.
Words, phrases, thoughts and concepts which are familiar friends in English have turned into strangers. I am far from being the most eloquent speaker even in my native tongue, but trying to communicate something - anything - in Latvian sends my brain into overdrive. Just to be able to utter a single phrase, which may or may not even be correct, causes smoke to pour out of my ears.

This would be frustrating if I was an adult, trying to communicate using adult language in an adult world

Thankfully, though, I'm not.

I've only just had my first birthday, after all

If I keep that in mind, then I suddenly feel much more optimistic about my chances of someday speaking something which sounds like Latvian. I can't expect to have the vocabulary and communication skills of an adult while still a child; this process has just begun, and there is still so much to learn, to hear, to discover and absorb.

But while there is an awareness that this process will take - is taking, is going to continue to take - considerable time, I also want to be sure that I do in fact grow up. I don't want to remain at this age of fluency; I'd someday like to be able to speak like a five year old. Maybe even, someday, at the level of an adolescent.⁴

I'd like to tell you that my spiritual maturity mirrored my actual age more than my Latvian age. That would be great. It also wouldn't be true. In fact, I feel like what I've been learning in my life with God mirrors my biggest lesson from Latvian as well: 

There is so much to learn, and I know so very, very little.

Therein lies the beauty, however, of both language and life with God. One never truly finishes learning. There is always more to discover, words to learn, different ways of communicating the same timeless truths.

And to learn, one must first acknowledge that one does not know.

Humbling, but also empowering.

So, it's back to the words⁵ I go. Es nerūnaju Latviski vēl; tagad man ir tikai viens gads.⁶

¹That, among a few other things, is what facebook is good for: guilting people who are stuck with the "friends" label into sending along birthday greetings when facebook prompts them to. It makes birthdays much more enjoyable to get a deluge of well-wishes from around the world!

²No small feat for some of us.

³And which almost assuredly has the wrong case ending on some - or all - of the words used.

⁴Because that'd like, be, like, you know. Yeah. 

⁵And the Word

⁶If you speak latvian, please feel free to correct me on my grammar!

Icy cobblestones

It snowed a few days ago here in Riga. It wasn't a big storm, and what snow it managed to deposit on the sidewalks and rooftops and park benches has now all but disappeared. I did a peculiarly sensible thing - peculiar for me, anyways - while it was snowing and stayed inside. I abandoned my morning run,¹ enjoyed a good book, and spent some time doing some organizing and unpacking - a seemingly never-ending task - around the flat.

The next morning - Saturday - I ventured out for my first run of the winter. The snow of the previous day was, by this point, compressed into a microscopically thin layer of clear-coat icing over the sidewalks and streets, pavement and cobblestones. Running in a straight line was a minor issue. Turning and stopping were major ones.

Somehow, I survived without any major catastrophes. I'm not the most coordinated person in the best of circumstances, and traversing icy sidewalks is definitely not the best of circumstances. I've had my share of falls and tumbles,² so to return with both my body and my dignity intact was a source of great pride and satisfaction.

At least, it was until the next morning. Upon awakening, it seemed as if every muscle in my body - legs, back, arms, even my neck - had decided to age about fifty years overnight. After all the miles I logged this past month, I did not expect a low-intensity morning run over a middling distance to leave me feeling crippled the next morning.



Have you ever been in a Wal-Mart? If you're an American, then surely you must have at some point. Have you been in more than one? Have you noticed that the layout of most of the stores is very similar but not identical? I find this phenomenon to be incredibly disorienting. You walk in, and there's enough visual cues to give it the air of familiarity. But no two are the same. Something's always different, and that's what causes the synapses in my brain to misfire and throw me into utter chaos.³ If you expected it to be different, it'd be no problem, but because it looks almost the same, you anticipate a structure and layout that exists only in your memory.


Have you ever driven on the other side of the road? You know which side I'm talking about.⁴ The one that takes you off of autopilot and makes you think about every single little thing you're doing while driving. You don't notice how much effort it takes to drive until you've had to re-learn how to navigate and shift and even turn, for goodness' sake. The weird part about it is that it feels so incredibly similar to driving on the usual side of the road, but something's just not quite the same. It's incredibly disorienting. You sit down in the driver's seat, and there's enough visual and even tactile clues to give it the air of familiarity. But it's not the same. If you expected it to be different, it'd be no problem, but because it looks and feels almost the same, you anticipate a structure and layout that exists only in your memory.



Welcome to culture shock.


The hardest things to acclimate to are not the obviously different, but the subtly dissimilar. They catch you unawares, stretching muscles you thought were well-conditioned and tasking your brain with mental exercises it long ago relegated to the realm of the unconscious. 


Sort of like running on ice.


You expect a phrase spoken in a language you understand to mean exactly what you think it does.⁵ This is how you purchase something in the supermarket, since it feels and looks so similar to the ones back home.⁶ When you cross the street, this is the direction you look and that is the moral compass you use to decide whether you can cross on red without breaking the spirit of the law.


So familiar.
So foreign.


At the end of my run, just about when I was beginning to feel firm on my feet,⁷ and while I had cautiously begin to congratulate myself on making it so far without any dramatic flailing and falling, I saw something which made me realize just how far I had to go:

A woman crossed the road right in front of me.
Running at a full sprint, so as to beat the traffic light.
In high heels. 
Across icy cobblestones.⁸


Respect.


Despite having spent a fair amount of time here in Latvia over the past several years, I'm constantly reminded of the following fact:

I know nothing.

I try and repeat it to myself at least once a day. It helps. It re-orients. It puts the focus on learning, and not on assuming. It makes me stop, look, and listen. It explains sore muscles, tired brains, and baby steps on icy cobblestones.


If I know nothing, then I can learn something. (I hope!).


Most importantly of all, by embracing my own ignorance, it helps point me towards Jesus, where I know I can find the strength and wisdom I need to walk these familiarly different roads.


And hopefully when the inevitable and ungraceful swan-dives onto the pavement do occur, I manage to keep the injuries just to myself, and avoid taking anyone else down with me.


"If you think you are standing strong, be careful not to fall."⁹



¹Needless to say, I've dialed back down the mileage after reaching my goal of traversing the length of Latvia before leaving England. My legs have been rejoicing at the lighter load
²Three broken arms, two broken ribs, and a broken collarbone, foot, and toe (all at different times, thank goodness) would all attest to both my clumsiness and frailty
³Slight over-exaggeration here
⁴I'm intentionally avoiding using the word "right" to avoid being accused of attributing value to one side of the road over the other. Even though one side is clearly the right side.
⁵It doesn't.
⁶It's not.
⁷Mostly because the ice had a good start on melting by that point
⁸I neither recommend this particular activity, nor do I hold it up as the pinnacle of cultural acclimation. It merely serves to illustrate the fact that it doesn't pay to pat yourself on the back for accomplishing pedestrian tasks.
⁹1 Cor. 10:12

icy cobblestone street in Old Riga

Back again

It's four degrees celsius and raining hard, but even this dismal weather fails to dampen my enthusiasm for being in Rīga.¹


The journey back was uneventful, and I'm mostly unpacked and resettled. The five days I've been here have been a friendly blur, filled with meetings and reconnections and bringing some order to my chaotic life.² 


It's good to practice what little Latvian I happen to know,³ be back in my flat, enjoy wearing clothes that are more fitting for the current season than what I packed in my suitcase three months ago,⁴ and - most important of all -  see friends, old and new alike, for the first time in a very long time.


Three months is a long time. Since I was last in Latvia, a man has jumped out of a balloon from the edge of space (and survived).⁵ Something called "the Olympics" happened, which caused a massive increase - and subsequent fall back into obscurity - of interest in sports which end in "-thlon." Three presidential debates among the two leading candidates in the U.S. caught the attention of the world, and brought phrases like "horses and bayonets" and "binders full of women" into popular vocabulary. Apple came out with an array of new products, which caused half of the world to dissolve into a state of lustful desire and the other half to staunchly resist the allure by clinging tightly to objects such as droids, windows, and in the case of one man alone deep in the wilderness for the past ten years, something called a "zune." Several friends have moved from Rīga to places such as Hungary, Norway, the U.K., and even (ironically) the U.S.  


A lot can happen in three months.


(Thankfully, though, some things haven't changed) 


This is my home - whatever that word even means - and this is where I'm meant to be.


Absence might make the heart grow fonder,⁶ but presence makes the heart remember. This is why I'm here - this person, that place, this gloriously difficult opportunity - and this is why it's so good to be back.



It'd take a lot longer than three months to forget how much this place means to me.



¹Lest you think I take this whole writing thing too seriously, let me be the first to state the obvious: This is a truly cringeworthy start to this post. But my weak attempt at a meaningful metaphor amused me so greatly that I decided to leave it in. 
²Not to mention my cluttered possessions. As scant as they might be, they have a way of expanding to fill the entire volume of whatever area they are enclosed within. Kind of like a gas, except with a slightly less tendency towards being malodorous.
³Most recent phrase I uttered: "Man lūdzu melna kafija." Perhaps the single most important Latvian phrase I've yet to learn. Google translate it if you don't speak latvian.
⁴Including sweaters. And long-sleeved shirts. And wool socks. And other assorted cold-weather gear and clothing. *bliss*
⁵That incredibly captivating freefall was quickly surpassed, oddly enough, by a cyclist.
⁶A saying with low credibility, in my opinion, but it's repeated so often I think most people take it to be true. Absence might make the heart grow fonder, but that's only because the difficult and painful slip through the cracks in ones memory far quicker than the bright and beautiful do.

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.