Peregrinating Omphaloskepsis

7.27

The day after the wedding, I slept until noon.  Antii, Senikka, Tanele, Tony, and I had a 2 hour breakfast.  The mom cried and shared her sadness about Tuomas not coming home any more.  She said in halting, but perfectly intelligible English, “My emotions are like a storm.”  I wish my mom were there because she’s been through it.

Having a child is a 20 some odd year commitment to give your whole life to that child; anything less than your whole life is a disservice.  It explains why it is so hard to let them go (or better put, send them off).  I wish having spiritual children were such a momentous occasion and lifelong commitment.

Living with mostly male 20-somethings has made forget the tiny manners that others appreciate so much.

7.26

I drove home around 1.30a. The sun had set one hour earlier, but it never fully disappeared. A yellow light glowed along the eastern horizon and slowly moved eastward.

One night I want to stay up all night to watch the sun rise. They say in the Lappland during the summer the sun never sets. It bounces off the horizon like a glowing, slow moving, basketball.

The wedding party heated up the saunas around 9.30p and stayed their until midnight. They have a guys and a girls. It was quite a shock to walk into a steaming room full of naked Finns; the non-Finns wore bathing suits and towels, After a few minutes, with everyone talking, it began to feel natural, though.

Everytime someone enters they throw water on the hot rocks which thickens the steam. Eventually people leave because it becomes too much. We then put on underwear or a bathing suit and jump into the lake; it feels like a sucker punch to the stomach. Tuomas and Daniel, his Irish friend, tell me to get the blood flowing. My body adjusts, but my teeth never stop chattering.

In the winter, they tell me, they cut a hole in the ice and do the same thing!

After my last time in the sauna, I stand outside and let the breeze dry my face off. I’ve never felt so awake, refreshed, and clean.

Tuomas and Maria stay with their friends until well after midnight. In the U.S., the bride and groom rush off as soon as possible. Here, they stayed and enjoyed the company of friends and family. I like this way better; it seems more Christ honoring.

Marriage is difficult and difficult in ways we single people cannot imagine; that’s why we need a church. It is not just about my love for her and her me. That might or might not be enough. But, it is God and the church adding their yes to ours.

7.26

The wedding was beautiful. Antii has been pastor of the church for well over a decade. Possibly 26 years. It is moving to see him marry his son, even if I can’t understand but one or two words of Finnish.

He and Fr. Tony conduct the service.

Tuomas stands in the front in a hybrid suit: part tuxedo, part traditional (woolen!) wedding garb.

Marja enters to a hymn, but not one I recognize. She looks beautiful. Tuomas seems to thinks so even more.

Tuomas and Marja sit together on the right and, with rapt attention listen to Antii and Fr. Tony’s sermon’s, they watch the service, say their I do’s, and take communion. The rest of the congregation takes communion too.

An apple red Seabird waits for them outside. It’s illegal to throw rice in Finland. Everyone waves as they drive off to the retreat center for the reception.

7.25

The wedding is tomorrow, so every one else is busy. I have lots of time to think and read (and sleep).

The silence here is absolute. Occasionally the wind stirs the leaves and the sound of a car travels across half a mile of wheat crop, growing in silence in the fields.

I see why country folk talk less. In the city noise is waiting to greet your every moment of silence. You can talk as much as you want because when you stop, something else will fill in the gaps. Here, if you talked all the time, you’d miss out on all the noise; you’d never hear a thing. Silence is anticipation.

The mooseflies have taken a liking to my head.

These are Finnish thoughts I wrote each morning in my journal, with pictures.  I hope they offer you some insight into my time in Finland, though, as with most beautiful things, pictures and words fail the living reality.

7.24

The Copenhagen airport felt like an Ikea store, only, one that specializes in airline luggage and large groups of harried people.

Woods encircled the airport, looming in the distance like an army in wait.

The sky is a deeper blue, the air is cleaner, the sun shines brighter, and the people are blonder.

I took me an entire day to remember and repeat correctly the name of the city we were heading to: jalasjaravi.  Pronounced: y’all ass YAR uh vey.

The sun set after midnight!

The family dog is a German Shepard-Golden retriever mix, 13 years old, and has a bark that could frighten even the hardest of burglars into a new profession.

If you pretened to read something, the dog will walk away.  Otherwise he will bark until you pet him or feed him.  If you say makara (mock uh ruh, sausage) his ears perk up and he fixes his eyes on you.

The town has 15k inhabitants spread out from the city center in every direction on wheat farms.

We ate a thick cream with berries they grow out front.

Sinikka, the mother, wants to set me up with her niece.  Sinikka’s English, for not having used it in 8 years, is astounding!  I wish I knew Finnish.

It sounds like the niece, Saku (sack-oo, fairytale) only speaks Finnish and Spanish; darn me for forgetting Spanish!