the indomitable lake

i haven't been posting much, as you may well have realized.
life seems to hold so much else at the moment, and my daily structures keep changing and melting into new patterns that don't include energy to blog. instead, i bake cookies, clean, read about medieval literature trends, go to class, memorize arabic flashcards, make lattes, host out-of-town guests and see friends. mental energy is spent on a myriad of personal adjustments and some effort to get my thesis into a feasible structure so that i may begin writing.

but there are so many streams of ideas that feed into the lake called "thesis" that it would take forever to explore them all. so i have to choose one, or two. oh, but which one? and what if i choose one that is so small it is down to a mere trickle? or crazier yet, what if it were a stream that is only a figment of my imagination? hmmm. right now i am at the shore of the thesis lake, toes mucking about the sandy bottom where a little stream trickles into it, forming a narrow delta. it's about time to dive in!

walking in my new neighborhood

I smile when I pass by the local daycare center in the afternoons as I return from town.  Gore-tex clad in coveralls and colorful caps, little people scramble through the leafless branches of playground bushes, pat the ground with their plastic shovels and teeter around on toddler legs.  Who knows what goes through the minds of little ones at play.  I do remember that the world looks incredibly large when you're that small, and the possibilities for the transformation of one little pine cone or empty cardboard box into a pet or a house are limitless.  

Leaves are falling.  Most of the red ones from our front bushes are gone and yellow ones still cling to the birches around the neighborhood.  The past weeks have consisted of gorgeous days with little rain and cloudless skies to frame the hues of autumn that have taken over the trees and earth.  My new backyard is composed of sea and forest and plenty of trails that allow you to enjoy the scenery!  Sonja found a public sauna right near the sea and we have made plans to make use of it for winter swimming!

Logistically, I've learned what buses to take and the schedule of the metro, and how much earlier I need to leave the house if I absolutely don't want to be late for class. The smell of the sewer as I cross under the bridge is now an expected part of my morning walk. It actually takes me back to my childhood, when we used to have an open sewer behind our house at one point.  Sometimes we'd catch guppies in it, and sometimes we'd just try to jump it (and we didn't have gore-tex coveralls).

sister-roommate

Two is better than one:

especially when you have to clean the kitchen

or make food. one cooks, the other washes.

or for keeping each other up way too late at night.

one drags the sleepyhead other up for running in the morning.

for decorating, hanging up pictures and pushing heavy couches.

for coffee company at the morning breakfast table.

for sharing clothes, and

so our silly moments never go unnoticed...

and because life's just sweeter that way!

on living

In yesterday's blistering afternoon heat, Sonja and I walked around the ramparts of the Old City of Jerusalem.  We passed above the Armenian, Muslim, Jewish and Christian Quarters, descending to visit a shop where she had met an Orthodox Jew whom she'd promised to see again to continue a conversation about Abraham's nomadism.  "You see, in the West people have the mentality that life is about getting to a destination.  From A to Z, or A to B.  But here we see it as a journey. Abraham became Abraham on every step of the way.  God didn't tell him where he was going.  It is about the journey," he told us, among other things.  

A journey when you don't know your destination requires a lot of faith.  Faith to move forward. Faith to live with the hope that each moment has a reason and is an integral part of who you become, especially when it seems that you are encamped in one place, not moving forward at all. But such a location would not become so frustrating if our concept of life were less about the destination and more about the journey.  

Rainer Maria Rilke writes in Letters to a Young Poet, "Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms and like books that are written in a very foreign tongue.  Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them.  And the point is, to live everything.  Live the questions now.  Perhaps you will find them gradually, without noticing it, and live along some distant day into the answer."

And the point is, to live everything.  Live the journey.  

on the move

Yes, I am on the move, in more ways than one:

I'm moving my stuff! I've been busy packing up my little summer room in the city. It has been a lovely stay in this wonderfully located dorm situation with friendly theological inhabitants, but I'm thrilled to move into my own flat in eastern Helsinki tomorrow! My sis and I will be roommates (our dream come true!) in a charming flat that comes equipped with its own sauna! :)

Then, I'm moving myself...to see my sister! The opportunity came as a surprise, but since I can hardly resist travel offers, I definitely can't resist a subsidized travel offer to Israel! Plus, I have never been there before, and I get to see all that my sister's life has been about for the last few months! And not to mention the chance to meet new people, swim in the Dead Sea and bask in sunny weather. Bye bye, rainy Finland! Oh, and the icing on the surprise cake--Essy will be there!

I have the distinct sensation that God is spoiling me silly with his good surprises. Travel. Friends near and far. Sisterhood. Studies. Friendly flat. Oh, and a new job. After 5 months of "vacation," I am part-timing at a local cafe, learning to make cappuccinos!

So, that's the latest around these latitudes. Wondering and wandering continue as a new season begins. I hope the opening of a new season, wherever you are, finds you with much to be thankful for, and much to anticipate!

still

The wooden beams of the railroad bridge are still damp as I walk slowly over them, over the river running below, and over the island with the tall birch trees whose leaves glow in the evening sun. I enjoy the way the world looks after a rain. I'm glad I left the quietness of the house to feel the humidity in the air and hear the crunch of gravel under my feet. A sense of deja vu comes over me.

It is the fourth august that I have walked here, on this bridge, seen the boats docked on the shore of this city, and wandered the trails along this river. The returning feelings and senses that accompany the changing of seasons have invaded my afternoon stroll like companions set on taking me down their own route--I'd imagine down a familiar path called, "I wonder that I'm still here." But they take me down a road I've only seen a few times, into the forest trails of context and belonging, the hills of time where the sunset tells me how it has risen and set on generations of my ancestors in this land. I listen and look, aware that the view is friendly, yet foreign.

Will I ever stop counting the seasons I spend here?

Finnish Body Foreign Soul

Of all the things I could write about that are swimming around in my head, my mental fishing rod has hooked a big fat missionary kid fish. It's a species that looks much like the other lake fish but upon closer inspection has interestingly colorful gills that only appear if you stare long enough in bright sunlight, not to mention a slight twist in the flick of its tail that is typical of some South American species.

The fact that I'm a third culture kid (TCK) is not something I tell new acquaintances right away. It's so much easier to say, "Yeah, I'm from Helsinki." If someone sticks around long enough, or finally wonders why my English is more fluid than my Finnish, I will unwrap the package of linguistic and cultural history that has formed me. But sometimes, I just get tired of it, because I wear lots of other hats in life as well.

Last week I was a counselor at a camp specifically for TCKs with missionary parents. From the perspective of an adult TCK, this kind of camp is important because it creates a space and an atmosphere where an MK can process freely the thoughts and feelings that can't be shared with people who don't understand the experience of growing within many cultures. With kids from ages 13-20 present, eight counselors, two directors, a guest speaker and an observer, we were a very international crew! Because everyone involved belonged to the TCK world, it felt "homey" to be together, and very sad to leave.

I also took away a few thoughts from our sessions. One was a deep thankfulness for the decisions my parents have made in raising us, and how our family unity was important to them. Another thought was the correlation between inner well-being and the amount of yourself that is known to you and others. The larger the mass of things you hide beneath the surface, the more suffocated you feel. But when you are known by others and yourself, it is easier to breathe and feel free. Things get placed into proper perspective when they are "out."

So, proper encouragement to me to bring "out" the things that are easier to hide because they are complicated to talk about, or because I have forgotten them. Who knows, this fish could teach the other lake fish how to flick their tails with a new twist, and with a little encouragement the colorful gills could always be seen, not only in bright sunlight.

too much

The sky has been crying outside, the TV yelling inside with Olympic achievements. And I have come to the quiet of Heinola to rest and process the past weeks. They have been amazing weeks of new acquaintances, new contexts and encouraging thoughts. Not only did I spend some time in London and Brighton, but I have also been a camp counselor for MKs. What I have been ignoring is my studies....classes begin again in September.

So while I process and get caught up on my thoughts, here are a few pictures from my friends' wedding that I photographed last month:

3 days, 3 cities

Tere! I have returned. I ate my way through Estonia in three days, then had to be rolled back to the ship like one of those Finnish tourists' carts bursting with crates upon crates of alcohol. Ok, so that's a slight exaggeration about being roly-poly, but I'm not exaggerating about the amounts of alcohol that Finns bring back, it's embarrassing! With such reputation for being the drunkards that go to Tallinn for cheap booze, my friends and I made a point to speak English instead of Finnish amongst us during our trip!

And what a trip it was! We spent the nights at my friend's grandmother's place in the middle of the countryside, so far from anything that you could only hear the crickets whirring and chickens squawking. Our first day included a visit to Pärnu in the south. The windiness of the seaside city didn't keep (some of) us from taking a swim in the Baltic waters which were surprisingly warm! Lots of bodies roasting in the sun, beach volleyball and women in high-heels! A particularly fun invention was a swing-see-saw contraption where you hang instead of sit and let the other person's weight throw you up! The sense of being on vacation permeated our schedule as we wandered around, not only in Pärnu, but throughout our whole time in Estonia.

Day Two was for exploring Tartu, the beautiful university city to the east. After a late start and directions that contained a detour, we finally arrived and visited the KGB Museum, which is in a nondescript gray office building that used to incarcerate "enemies of the public" in its basement during Soviet times. It was a dark place, a physical container where the most evil inclinations of humanity became reality. But the rest of the city was charming, nicer than Tallinn, we agreed.

Our crew of six returned to Helsinki on Day Three, via Tallinn where we reluctantly joined the swarms of 8000 tourists who had arrived on six cruise ships! The day was gloriously sunny and warm, perfect for visiting the Kardriorg Palace and then people watching from beneath the opaque umbrellas of a cafe in Old Town. I have neglected to mention that we ate plenty in each city, and plenty on the road in between, and then at "home" in the countryside! I have an appreciation for the varied bread selection, cheese sausage and pelmeni. On the non-culinary side, I appreciate the bright colors of homes, the architecture that somehow hints at Germanic influences, tended gardens, funny street names, the sense of "wild" that pervades in a way that is absent here, and lower prices!

I'm looking forward to the next time our crew gets together for an adventure! But before that day comes, a jaunt over to England is in store. I'm headed to see friends and attend a conference in the south. I'm very much anticipating what God has in store for my time there!

Play me Poetry

Once again, on summer's balmy doorstep the 6th of July has presented herself, cool and windy. It is Eino Leino's day, or otherwise known as the day to celebrate poetry and summer! I went to a concert last night, and in honor of the lyrical poetry that swam into my consciousness from the vocals of the personable Jippu, my first selection of poetry is actually from one of my favorite songs of the evening:

Mun oli pakko kadota, mun oli pakko saada vajota
Mä tahdoin jäädä sun luo, mä tahdoin jäädä sun luo
Mun täytyy uskaltaa nukahtaa
Mun täytyy pystyä tuntemaan
Jotenkin ilman sua, jotenkin ilman sua

Sä laitoit mut piiloon, kaikelta pahalta
Suojasit syliin, pahoilta unilta
Kirjoitit selkään mua aina rakastat
Vaikka mä oon niin rikki ja sekaisin

I won't translate it, since it loses something in the process, but it has to do with being hidden safe in an embrace and being lost, and being loved. Now for a light-hearted selection from Shel Silverstein, one of my favorite writers of kids' poems. "Bear in There":

There's a Polar Bear
In our Frigidaire--
He likes it 'cause it's cold in there.
With his seat in the meat
And his face in the fish
And his big hairy paws
In the buttery dish,
He's nibbling the noodles,
He's munching the rice,
He's slurping the soda,
He's licking the ice.
And he lets out a roar
If you open the door.
And it gives me a scare
To know he's in there--
That Polary Bear
In our Fridgitydaire.

And an excerpt from Pablo Neruda's "The Art of Poetry":

To see in every day and year a symbol
of all the days of man and his years,
and convert the outrage of the years
into a music, a sound, and a symbol.

To see in death a dream, in the sunset
a golden sadness--such is poetry,
humble and immortal, poetry,
returning, like dawn and the sunset.

Sometimes at evening there's a face
that sees us from the deeps of a mirror.
Art must be that sort of mirror,
disclosing to each of us his face...

Art is endless like a river flowing,
passing, yet remaining, a mirror to the same
inconstant Heraclitus, who is the same
and yet another, like the river flowing.