A July hello

It's a sunny day in Helsinki.  Since last posting, I have been to Israel and back with my family to visit my sister.  Like most trips, it was quickly gone, but it was good to be together. There's always much else going on as well, but this post is more to just say hello. 

I also wanted to take the moment to remind you of some basic things: Be of good courage. Don't lose heart.  Trust God. Be thankful. Rejoice in this day.

Yep, that's it for today!

Lingualympics

My two weeks of teaching in at West Finland College are drawing to a close.  Only tomorrow left, and then I can officially begin my summer holidays.  It took a while to switch gears from teaching English to adults to teaching it to Russian kids.  The teaching tactics and levels of conversation suddenly went from knowledge management concepts to "What's the weather like today?" (It's windy, cloudy and cold and sunny right now, in case you wanted to know.)

I've had thirteen 9 to 11 year-olds in my class for five hours a day.  That may seem a bit daunting, but there has been grace for every day and I have a good group of kids.  I was also here last year, but somehow this year has seemed a bit more draining.  Today was a fun day though, as we had Lingualympics in which student groups competed through various language-related tasks.  At my station, I had a relay race where they had to collect letters and form as many words as they could with them.  Then in the second round they had to sing a song in English and choreograph it as well.  The day culminated with fairy tale presentations that incorporated the teachers as characters in the script.  I think I was a goldfish-fairy godmother in a presentation that included Johnny Depp and Lady Gaga!

I still have a final lesson plan to compile, but all in due time.  A little nap, and I'll be good to go.  Greetings, from this little town almost in the middle of nowhere.  I have, among other things, learned two new words:

budgerigar--represented by the picture to the left.

ret--verb,  to soak in water or expose to moisture, as flax or hemp, to facilitate the removal of the fiber from the woody tissue by partial rotting.

from a late night on TED.com

"Vulnerability is our most accurate measurement of courage.” (Brené Brown)

you think you oughta wait, ya know--until you're perfect, until you've got it together--before you head into the arena of risk we call life.  so you build walls and watchtowers where you sit pretty with your binoculars, watching the compelling drama of life, imagining yourself in it, but not letting anyone get too close, lest they see through you.  your heart even begins to to palpitate and spread fire and adrenaline through your body as you see something or someone you want to respond to, a situation that calls your name.  some small part of you is convinced even, that this very door of opportunity is meant for you.  

but a vicious enemy has crept into your thoughts with a poison dart the minute you begin to move, "why are you even thinking of this? you're not enough. you're too fat.  you're too weak.  you'll never amount to more than your parents did. think of where you come from, why would they take you? they'll laugh at you." and thus you find the carpet swept out from under you with your first step, tossing you flat on your back, with a deep shame for even having wanted to try. you're pinned to the floor with an excruciating pain, afraid you are doomed to be disconnected and alone.

let me tell ya something, though.  we don't need more photo-shopped princesses and cutout heroes trying to maintain a status quo that is based on greed and appearances anyway.  we need people who are real.  ya know, the sort who are gentle and kind with others because they are that way with themselves in all their imperfections. the disappointments, glorious wins, lost loves and twinkles in children's eyes, bankruptcies, cancer, first homes, challenges, salient summer days, moments of joy and weakness--they live it all with a sense of gratitude for the immense scope of human experience. 

we don't look down on them because they don't succeed, but we admire them, because they keep going. so i wanna see you in the arena, because you belong there, my friend. i wanna see you try.  i don't care if you made poor choices in the past, or whether you keep falling with the same struggle, the same lie.  you can fail and you will fail. but don't stay down.  stand up, lift your head, wipe the blood from you face, and look around. 

you'll see me right in there next to you--just as imperfect, just as scared--saying, "oh, yeah? me too." 

keep on keeping on

good and perfect gifts

have their source

from above, from

the Father of lights

whose goodness

joy and love

leave no room 

for shadows and

the darkness of doubt.

so receive with an

open and trusting heart

what he is placing

before you, in faith

taking hold of his

promises, for he--the

very fountain of all--

is forever faithful.

Allu

may be he was 14.

perhaps older, perhaps younger.

either way, too young to be drinking

hard liquor on a saturday night

bus ride into town.

he kept looking at

us to see if we really saw him,

talked loud and downed a swig then

made a scene about vomiting

in the garbage bin.

the worst part

was hearing that the bottle in

his jacket was given by his mother

and he was the supplier for his

surrounding friends.

this band of boys

of foul language and dulled

eyes is but a mimicry of adult ways

they see at home, on tv and

in the streets.

the tragedy of

it all, more than this one

boy and his guilty mother, his

using friends, is that this

is not the exception.

(I found this in my drafts from way back in 2008. I still remember this bus ride.)

the primitive way

I spent three and a half days on the Camino de Santiago, as mentioned in my earlier post. It was an atavistic urge, the desire for adventure with a friend, and fodder for a column that I am at best piecing together.  Pardon me as I use this forum to brainstorm through some of my thoughts.

The region of Asturias in northern Spain is charming--snowy peaks in the distance, verdant pastures dotted with cows and the ring of their friendly cowbells, flowers of sunrise colors and blooming apple trees, muddy mountain roads, towering bridges, curious horses and small towns with friendly inhabitants who willingly help you with directions along the way.

I don't believe we got more than 77 km under our soles, but they were sure worth it! I enjoyed the Primitive Way more than the French Way (completed in 2009) because of the scenery and the smaller amount of pilgrims.  The hostels were clean and cheaper than on the French route.  The people we met were mostly Germans and Spaniards of middle age and above.  For many of them, it was not the first Camino they were walking.

The best thing on the Camino is peace of mind.  Yes, you tax your body and you get wet and tired and have a few blisters.  But somehow the slow pace, the nearness to nature, the lack of technology and the quirky people you meet all help you wind down and open you to being "present." It limits you (from all the opportunities, duties and connections you have in your everyday life) while at the same time expands you (to see beauty, meet new people, push you physically, help you think new thoughts).  And there is nothing mystical about it, quite the contrary--it's plodding one step after another, day after day.

But isn't that life?  One step at at time, day after day in the same direction until the arrow at the crossroads shows you which way to turn.  You know, the word primitive denotes not only the early stage of the historical development of something (the Primitive Route is the oldest section of the Way of St. James) and something with a basic level of comfort or convenience (hostels have the basics, you are also reduced to basics), but it also means "of or denoting a simple, direct style of art that deliberately rejects sophisticated artistic techniques."

The Camino, both a metaphor for life and a lesson on how to live it, is about the art of living. When you go on the Camino, you are deliberately rejecting the sophistication of your life--with its demands, comforts and technology, and opting for simplicity and directness.  You have very little with you--so you are freed from wondering what to wear every morning and what you should do that day.  You walk, very simply, one step at a time.  You are direct in your purpose, because it has been defined for you if you choose to walk the way--your daily agenda has one goal, which is to arrive at the next destination on the way to Santiago. 

Now, the reasons that spur people to seek this simplicity on the Camino are way more complicated and diverse! But I'll leave those stories outside the scope of this rambling and leave you with a picture worth a thousand words...

Leaving Oviedo

Spring in Madrid

I am seated on my aunt`s red couch after a lovely day of visiting Miguel Cervantes` town of birth, Alcalá de Henares. My aunt and uncle and I had a great tour guide who was full of intellectual anecdotes and details from the 16th century. Among other places, we toured the University of Alcalá, where the defence of a doctoral dissertation could take two days and involved standing in a room filled with professors and peers to question you.  If you did well, they cheered.  If you did poorly, they jeered.  And if you passed, you had to provide everyone with dinner and organize a bullrun in the town,  which was heralded by all the university and church bells of the area. 

I´m seeing family here for a few days, before I head up north to visit a friend and walk a few days on the Camino de Santiago.  It brings back memories of the walk Sonja and I did in 2009, but nothing along the same scale, as a few days is all I can give.  But the idea of walking through mountainous Asturias with great company is compelling.

Three years have passed since I was last here.  The garden at my grandfather´s house has flourished and he has a satisfactory sauna installed in the patio. My cousin has moved out and lives nearby, and age is a creeping vine that has not left me untouched either. Some things don´t change though--the Spaniards love of food and their own history, and the unexpected itineraries of daily life hereabouts.

pop!

The spring season has officially been uncorked.  I'm not toasting with champagne, but with a steady flow of sunshine mingled with the seawater that let my kayak glide through its glistening waves yesterday. 

When I get to be out and about in nature without the layers of clothing required by minus degrees, it heralds a new season.  Not only was Sunday the first kayaking day, it was also the first biking day!  

Here's to wind in your hair, a chorus of birds and purple crocuses in the yard! Prost!

It's spring fever.  That is what the name of it is.  And when you've got it, you want - oh, you don't quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!  ~Mark Twain

Expectation

noun

the act or state of looking forward or anticipating the occurrence of something

 

An act of expectation stems from a deep conviction or hope that what you are waiting for will happen. Expectation is embedded into all our activity.  When you pick up your phone and call someone, you expect to hear a voice on the line, to communicate ideas and words.  You buy books because you expect to read them.  If your guests say they are arriving at 6 pm, you will act accordingly to have the refreshments ready by then.

 

A state of expectation is a paradoxical coin.  On the one hand, expectation entails waiting.  Waiting can be agony if the thing desired is of great value and is not regarded as sure. When the little element of uncertainty enters the field of expectation, it is difficult to charge fearlessly ahead.  On the other hand, expectation is a sweet anticipation.  It imbues you with energy and adrenaline and helps you direct your gaze ahead at the goal, instead of at the past with its tangles and failures.

 

In terms of word history, originally it appeared in the 1560s: "wait, defer action," from the Latin expectare "await, hope," from ex- "thoroughly" + spectare "to look," frequently of specere "to look at." The figurative sense of "anticipate, look forward to" developed in Latin, attested in English from c.1600. It's been used since 1817 as a euphemism for "be pregnant."

 

I'm just pondering this word--this state and act--once again because it is my constant companion of late.  I expect change in my country, fulfilled personal hopes, God's direction in everything, deep conversations with friends and abundant life in Christ.  Just like I anticipate Spring and rejoice in lovely purple crocuses, I look forward to the fragrant blossoms of faith.  

Spring is here, both inside and out!

Your invitation

My lover spoke and said to me,
   "Arise, my darling, my
    beautiful one, and come
     with me.            See!
         The winter is past
   the rains are over and gone.
      Flowers appear on the
        earth; the season of
     singing has come, the
        cooing of doves is
     heard in our land.  The
          fig tree forms its
 early fruit; the blossoming
       vines spread their
                       fragrance.
          Arise, come,
my darling; 
           my beautiful one,
  
           come with me.


Song of Songs 2 v 10-13