Why I'm Resting Well

Riga at sunset, as seen from the other side of the River Daugava.

Dear Friends,

In June, my mother (who also happens to be my department head at school) and I flew to Cleveland for a weekend of Fulbright Teacher Exchange orientation. We almost didn't go. Flights were so terribly delayed in Springfield that by the time we actually had the chance to take off, considering the chunk of time we'd miss in Cleveland, I was ready to throw in the towel and catch up on the meeting over the Internet. Mom persuaded me to go. We had an impromptu overnight in Chicago and after no more than four hours of sleep, we were boarding the plane to Cleveland.

On one of the flights I remember telling her that I wondered if I'd truly relax -- truly be at ease -- until next summer, after the whole exchange experience would be over and I'd again find myself back in the Land of 62650.

I must have been overwhelmed and haggard at that moment. Truth is, I'm quite relaxed here and have been for some time. I've made friends. I really like my flat. I have a job to do and I like doing it. I'm comfortable. I know my way around... most of the time. The Latvian or Russian chatter in the shops doesn't unnerve me as it did at first. In fact, I hardly notice it. A little bit of confusion between myself and the check-out girl (or the shop door -- do I push or pull?) does not activate an internal emergency response. I've learned to roll with it. I've learned the value of a smile.

A few other factors of life in Latvia make me smile and have decidedly set my mind at ease:

• No car! I haven't felt this free since I was fifteen years old (and I'm sure my fifteen-year-old self at times felt anything but free). I never think about car payments, gasoline, maintenance, where to park. The shackles of searching for the perfect song or NPR piece on the radio are abated. I've been reduced to traveling by foot... and have been released of the confining seatbelts of the automotive life.

• No answering machine/voice mail! Like in Jacksonville, I have both a mobile phone and a landline. It's not common, so it seems, to have an activated message recording device here, and while I initially thought I'd miss it, I don't at all. If I miss a call -- you'll never believe it -- I miss a call! Turns out, the world does go on. If I don't want to take a call, I don't. And there's no "call me back" message weighing on my shoulders.

• No credit card! Latvia primarily operates as a cash-based society. While I use my debit card to withdrawal cash, my credit cards haven't left the pockets of my wallet for over a month. I'm avoiding fees. I'm not consumed with paying the bills. I'm limiting my spending to the money that I have in my pocket at the moment. So, Dad, this is what you've been trying to tell me all these years. Guess what? You were right.

As for sleep, the only thing that has kept me up at night is the childlike excitement about what the next day will bring. With a host of new experiences, I've felt very much attuned to myself and the world around me. I expend a lot of energy in a day, for which I'm grateful. Of course, the byproduct of such living by day is the necessity of good rest by night.

And, baby, can I sleep! Do I! Praise God for my wailing alarm clock.

My sleep is deep and good; my dreams are vivid. People ask me if I've been homesick, and unless I've missed something, the answer is no. But at night, my mind typically rolls the home scenes like an on-going movie mini-series. To my knowledge, nothing "Latvian" has colored my dreams. The places and people I dream about are red, white, and blue. (Don't freak out, but chances are, you, Good Reader, have been there!) I'll leave the analysis of my dream state up to the experts among you. Would Freud say I'm compensating for the unfamiliarity of my waking existence by visualizing "all the old familiar places that this heart of mine embraces" as I sleep? If you think he'd say something about my mother, I'd rather not hear it.

Forget Freud. Let's talk about another F-dude: Father. Heavenly, that is. Just as my physical and emotional being has been shaken and refined, so too has my faith life. In lieu of routine and the array of bounties and banes of daily life at home, here in Riga I've fallen back on my faith in ways new... and in old ways hitherto forgotten. My life has been blessed indeed. The term "smooth sailing" seems apt. What is it, though, that spurs our human need for the Divine in moments or months of significant change?

My first night in Riga -- a surreal experience as I look back on it now -- I made the zealous vow to journal and pray (write a prayer, that is) every night. A few weeks into it, I'm averaging maybe five nights a week. I'm okay with that. Sometimes, as I reach for the light, my silent prayer is simply this: God, you've shown me your love today. You've been so good to allow me to be so active and alive. So, you'll understand why I'm so tired...

I prefer to complete my prayer in writing, though, before turning off the light. In doing so, I make meaning of what I'm doing and who I'm becoming here. I connect on a higher, more intimate level with the on-going great needs among those I know and love. There is subversive solidarity in prayer. There is great contentment in maintaining an active prayer life.

Of several spiritual guideposts kept close at hand, God Calling continues to be a clarion source of guidance and inspiration. Here's an excerpt from September 26:

"Yes, come for rest. But stay for rest, too. Stop all feverish haste and be calm and untroubled. Come unto Me, not only for petitions to be granted but for nearness to Me. Be sure of My Help, be conscious of My Presence, and wait until My Rest fills your soul. Rest knows no fear. Rest knows no want. Rest is strong, sure. The rest of soft glades and peacefully flowing rivers, of strong immovable hills. Rest, and all you need to gain this rest is to come to Me. So come."

Sunlight as seen through a window in the sanctuary of St. Savior Church.

Yours... by day and by night,

Tim