I saw Joel and Heikko last week, playing at the Eesti Rahva Muuseum.

The Trio has become a favorite; I have a playlist of many of their tracks that’s a go-to for road trips, sometimes for home evenings, sometimes for just because. I like that there are no lyrics but that they all mean something. It’s nice to have playing in the background if you need to focus on other things, but there’s also plenty to sit and follow along with if you need to un-focus.

Heikko was in the entryway before the performance,

“Heeey, you came to the gig?”

The “gig” was so enjoyable, to forget everything else for an hour and got lost in something good. I hardly understand how it’s happening, but it’s always clear what is happening and why. It was a break from the rest of life, where it seems like you’re supposed to think the other way around, mostly about how.

Maybe music balances us. Maybe it reminds us of something.

“So what have you been up to?” Heikko had also asked, before the concert.

“Me? Um, everything..?”

“Everything?”

I’m realizing that I’m going to have to come up with a  (very) short answer that sums “everything” up, but I don’t know what that could be.

Yeah, pretty much everything.

More vague-y chit-chat. They were starting soon so he had to go.

“Great, I’ll see you out there,” I said.

“I’ll see you in there!” he grinned, and left.

I showed my ticket a few minutes later and went down the stairs to the teatrisaal. I searched for a place that seemed right, settling for stage-left, three rows up, second seat from the aisle.

Music’s better live. You do get used to tracks, though. Like when Joel started playing You’re Welcome To Stay I kinda wanted to cry, but then when the guest-trumpet came in the feeling went out because all my feelings were wrapped up in the original track.

Like days off in Maine, staring out the window with a cup of tea, wishing there it was true.

Or those quiet mornings babysitting, “Canon, let’s dance…”

In the slower pieces the drummer changed his sticks for wire brushes that looked like meat basters. Right then I so wanted to have a sibling or friend next to me who’d get the joke as he tapped and moved them around and around… “Look what he’s cooking up,” I wanted to say. And how many times something like that can work all over again.

But I just laughed to myself and tried to un-see it, tried not to lose it.

As the concert continued I began to understand something about what made it so enjoyable. I started to recognize a feeling there, the same feeling I have when I talk about ideas with Geoff, the feeling I get when I’m sitting around with the family on a spontaneous game night or laughing with Stephany about something stupid — something was happening between the players, the same thing that happens between people who know each other so well and for so long, when what’s done together takes on layers and layers of meaning.

I know that thing. Not the music and how it works, but what powers it and why it works.

You could see it most clearly between the brothers. One of them would do something amazing and the other would seem proud of him; then later he himself would play some terrific solo and the first would clearly approve. It was more than just being happy or having a good time, they were communicating, back and forth, with music.

I thought, they might change the drummer and the Trio would survive (as it has), but if either brother was replaced the thing would be gone. The heart would go missing.

But the heart was there and it was good to sit into. I did enjoy it, every bit.

Peter Kreeft talks about the Spirit being what exists between the Father and Son, the third thing that comes from Them. It was something like that.

And then it was over. They returned for their encore, bowed once more, and left.

The lights came up.

Joel was already greeting attendees when I came upstairs; the trumpet player was signing cd’s. I realized that I didn’t know how this part was supposed to go and suddenly felt awkward. What do you say to people you kinda know but don’t?

I just stood there uncomfortably in line while the couple in front of me talked with Joel. I’d already been seen so it was too late to disappear. And anyway I couldn’t move around the nice people in front of me.

They really did seem nice, that couple. You could feel the sincerity of the thanks and praise, and it seemed to fit. Joel is a brave person I think, and one person’s courage has a way of giving others strength.

That was a good way for God to make it: that courage feeds courage, beauty feeds beauty, life feeds life.

After they left, Joel turned to me. “Haven’t seen you for a long time…”

“I know, how are you?”

Small talk is the worst.

“I’m good,” he said.

Joel’s “good” probably has as much in it as my “everything.”

I didn’t know what to say next. “Um, that was really lovely,” I ventured. “Will you guys be playing in Tallinn in November or December?”

After the old days, Heikko still came to a few camps and things, but I really hadn’t seen Joel in many years. Except that one time a few summers ago.

It was early the morning the Thompsons were moving. We were all in line for airport security and he ended up being in line right behind us. I was wrapped up in the family, in what I was losing, in Ella’s stories about mosquitoes at their friends’ summer house.

I’ve since understood that what was happening in his life can’t have been easy, but at the time I had no idea. I’ve felt sad sometimes since then, for not having said anything, for not having been nicer. I wish I had spent that half a second seeing the human in front of me (or behind me, in that case) instead of letting that half a second go in thinking that I was wearing a t-shirt and hadn’t washed my hair, and then returning to some new blood-curdling tale. (You have to know Ella.)

What should I have said? I’ve wondered when putting Some Things Never Change in at the beginning of a road trip, or when I’ve remembered the drug lady next to me and the chanter behind me on the bus ride from hell, and how Mul On Hea Jeesuses kept me from feeling afraid.

“Um, I think we’re playing in Tallinn in November, just the Trio. And then I have some solo work for a jubilee thing in December… Honestly, I don’t remember. You can check my website…”

I checked later. It was all there. The “jubilee thing” is Joel’s own jubilee, and to celebrate he’s giving a concert for other people.

Heikko came upstairs, then I was sandwiched between a quiet Joel and Heikko’s conversation with someone behind us.

Eventually the other person left; Joel was wanted elsewhere. I turned to Heikko. I said that it had been great. And then more small talk. They were on tour, Võru next.

At that point there were so many people and I understood that I was out of place. We said goodbyes, I retrieved my coat from the nice lady at the garderoob, dressed and headed out to walk back to town.

The night was perfect: windless and very dark. The way back was downhill. I crossed on green; I dodged a bus. I stopped at Konsum and irresponsibly bought a Regatt ice cream cone for dinner.

Estonian ice cream.

Since the weather was good, and since I felt so empty and so full, I stayed long enough at home to grab my camera and walk right back out.

When I came back later all the exposures were still on the roll but one: a picture of a swing by the river, under some street lights.

I sat in that swing after taking that picture.

I listened.

There was the river. Mostly the river. An old man went past, walking two little dogs. There was the sound of the swing, back and forth. I thought that if the city ever replaces all those swings I would like to take one of the old ones home.

It was such a contrast, the brotherhood, the stranger-hood, the way people are when there are layers and layers of meaning, the way we are when there aren’t.

I thought about the people I’ve always had, the ones I’ve gained along the way, the ones I’ve lost somewhere.

I missed the family and the inside jokes, and the friends between whom that heart-thing exists.

Brotherhood. Friendship. Philia.

It’s when one of you does something amazing and the other is proud; when another solos well and is met with approval;  when you get the jokes and know which ones to tell; when you know what to say and not say.

And someone’s sitting there in the audience, on the left, three rows up, second seat from the aisle. They might not know how it’s happening, but they might can see what’s happening.

And maybe why.

That was a good way for God to make it.

My suitcase was four and a half pounds overweight when I got to the airport on Wednesday. The lady checking me in didn’t say a word, she just printed off my tag and smiled and told me my bag was checked all the way to my destination.

That meant I didn’t have to leave my shampoo and conditioner and buy more when I got here, and now I’m getting to use them and I’m grateful.

Four and a half pounds of The Little Things.

Last Thursday was my last day off. I kept it clear for a couple of Acadia must-do’s that I’d left undone.

I walked all the way from Bar Harbor along HWY 3 to Great Head, then climbed down to Sand Beach and followed the Ocean Path down to Otter Point – as far as it goes.

It was foggy for most of it; the clouds were low enough to hang and roll off the mountains. I heard the thunder at Thunder Hole.

The path wasn’t crowded. It seemed the weather kept most people in.

The next few days were the Acadia Night Sky Festival. After work Tara, Danny, Mack and I grabbed blankets and snacks and drove out to the Park Loop Road. We left the car at Sand Beach and found a spot on the rocks somewhere in the dark to sit and watch the stars.

Only in Acadia have I ever seen such The Milky Way.

We watched shooting stars.

Those were the highlights of my last week. Those couple of things, and getting a hug from Karen at the Flowered Apron too.

Tuesday night before I left, Tara, Danny and Mack came over and hung out in my kitchen for a while. We had blueberry floats and I packed all my food from the cabinets and fridge for them to take home. It was the kind of night that I’d imagined the whole season would be. I feel I could have done a much better job to create more times like those, but I also realize that it took the whole season just to make those friends, just to apply for and rearrange everything so that I did have space to invite them into. It always takes longer than you think it will.

And then it’s time to leave.

I just have to trust that God knew what he wanted done, and as long as I kept moving in that direction it was enough.

Nikolai, Jerry, and Trina were at the airport when I flew in Thursday. Have I ever been so happy to see people?

The Rosses and Grays let me hang out with them all of Thursday, crash with them at their AirBnB, and we did things in town together on Friday before all leaving for the retreat. It was so refreshing, coming from months of being alone, just to be around people who knew me, and who loved me too. I really was deeply grateful.

And the retreat was so good, just being together. And it’s not that each of us talks with each other one, but that we’re all in the same place for a little while, and that we all listen to the same messages, and that we all are ordering our lives around the same central thing. Whatever our differences, though there are many, we’re people of faith.

I moved myself from the Green House to the cabin with Triin, Priidik, and Iiris. That’s family.

After the retreat I came to Nikolai and Olga’s place. We sat at their table and had tea and candies and talked. Warm and safe and gracious; like sitting with kindness. They’re letting me stay a while.

I haven’t forgotten Russian. It’s still not great, but that’s mostly what we speak when it’s just the three of us. I hear my mistakes, but I feel that, especially with Olga, it’s not about my mistakes but about what’s being said.

Surely that’s how God sees us.

I ran over to Old Town last night and said goodbye to the Rosses and Grays. I loved spending time with them here, on my turf; I’m also really so glad that I’ll get to see them when I go home for Christmas.

Today I went to Asunduse for church then ran to the station to hop on the bus. A couple of friends from my IPS era were driving through the Baltics and were coming up as far as Pärnu for the afternoon. We had the best time over lunch, a walk down to the sea, and freezing with ice cream in the park. Again, such good people. I was so happy to see them.

Sometimes I’m surprised to remember that I have friends.

And now I’m back at Nikolai and Olga’s. Olga made tea and pulled out a giant fresh bulka and some homemade cranberry jam. Soft and chewy, tart and sweet. We talked about so many things.

I’ve slept well every night since I got here; I think because the days have been so full.

Monday night. I have my own room now; it’s nice to come home.

Yesterday was the last day for the ministry. No one came to the campground amphitheater in the morning, and in the evening the road to the mountain summit was closed off and we didn’t make it to the second service. I came back to town and went for a walk instead, and crossed the sand bar to the island as the sun set.

I found a crab shell.

Anyway, there the season went. Here the season goes. It’s the 2nd already; in a month I’ll be somewhere over Iceland, heading east. I’m really almost ready to believe it.

I realized the other day that this is who I became. Like when I think about being a kid, being a teenager, being 20s, wondering who I’d be… And now it’s now and here I sit in a small room with some rugs I found in the closet, with some furniture that doesn’t belong to me, with a crab shell I found on a sand bar.

I made myself little tuna sandwiches when I got off work and ate them with the potato chips that my manager didn’t want that I hated to waste. And after sandwiches there was a cup of the tea Iiris sent from Finland, and some frozen mint Oreos.

Now the karaoke across the street is singing Benny and the Jets. Would they still sing if they could hear themselves like I hear them from here? Honestly, doubtful…

That makes me wonder about life in general, and about all the ways I wouldn’t live if I could know myself from the outside. It probably sounds like karaoke to the people around me — putting my whole heart into a life I’m not great at living, probably keeping them awake in the meantime, just being loud.

That makes me think of Jesus, how he’s the original artist, the one who will forever sing the song best. Every imitation of him is only an imitation and only ever will be, but he’s the sort who cheers us on, who loves it when we sing his song, when we sing with all we’ve got.

It’s service, I think. That’s the song he is and loves. It’s the kind of life that gives.

One of the humbling things this summer has been realizing just how tone-deaf I can be when it comes to service. I do try to sing, but I don’t always listen to the ones around me, I don’t… blend.

But occasionally… When I know the song better, and when I learn how to hold the microphone, and how to sing with others, occasionally it sounds a little more like the original.

Oi… It’s too late at night for analogies.

My poor blog, so neglected; left alone for this season of other pursuits, like Jesus karaoke, and looking for crab shells.

“These are the freshest blueberry muffins you’ll ever have…”

Got up this morning and hiked Cedar Swamp mountain with Mack and Lizzie. It’s so nice that they invite me to do things. I’m twice their age and get that they don’t have to include me, but they do and I love it.

Came home and speed-showered and got ready for work. I ran into the Country Store with my little thermos for an iced chai and made it to IT in time to clock in a couple minutes early. Cadi worked for an hour with me (which was a treat) and then I had the store by myself the rest of the night.

But the point of this post is that I had a great morning, and that there were several really nice things that happened while I was at work as well.

When we were at the bakery on Saturday, Lizzie and I met and spent quite a while talking with one of the retired guys who do the lobster boat tours. He stopped by the store this afternoon to personally hand me the brochure for the tour and say that it was so nice talking with us and that we should come learn about lobsters one day while he’s working.

And then Alyssa came and covered a 15-minute break so I could run back to the Country Store for more chai (my water bottle was at home with floating blueberries we picked on the Cedar Swamp trail), which Karen and Marco, who were working then, gave me for free.

If anyone ever reads this the names won’t mean much to them, but they mean a lot to me. Alyssa is one of the girls I worked with when I first came, Karen’s my roommate and I see her every day, and Marco is on the ministry team. But the names… they are something to me.

Later at work Lizzie appeared and handed me a package wrapped in foil. “You’ll understand when you see…” she said.

She’d gone home after our morning hike with the blueberries we’d picked on the mountain and had made muffins. “These are the freshest blueberry muffins you’ll ever have…”

And then there was a group of 7 or 8 kids that kept coming in and out of the store to buy hats. I counted 5 different visits — to look at visors, to try on visors and hats, to buy visors, to bring their parents in to buy hats… The second time the parents came in one of the moms was apologizing about how much they’d been in the store when one the kids looked at me and said to her, “It’s ok, Mom. We’re basically friends now.”

And then Marco and Rebekah knocked on the window outside and laughed and waved while I was vacuuming the carpet after I closed.

And then I came home and had a postcard from Geoff.

Also, I poured myself a cup of tea out of my new big thermos and found that the water in it, which I’d boiled yesterday afternoon, was still hot.

And now I’m going to go eat the freshest blueberry muffin I’ll ever have…

I heard the voice that I love best
say, ‘Come with me and get some rest,
and find a little comfort where
the saints are known and loved and blessed.”

And so I climbed the silent stair
and stepped into the sanctuar’
at once to find all fear and stress
confronted with a holy air.

Compassion filled the ancient place
and softness touched my fix’ed face,
a presence like a friend was there
and met my sudden tears with grace.

So there I stayed and prayed and cried
until I felt my courage rise,
and somehow lifted up with care
I climbed back down the silent stair,

And now again I’m all alive.

I’ve been grumpy the last few days. I’m tired of everything, mostly of not having my own space to recharge, I think. And I’m tired of not having any free days, tired of putting on Sunday services, tired of eating on the go. Tired.

Took my hammock out to the harbor again this morning since I wasn’t scheduled till 3. As soon as I set up a text came from a company manager saying that if I was interested in extra hours they could use help at one of the stores, and that there would be free ice cream.

It was tempting. I’m over 40 hours so the pay would be time-and-a-half, and then ice cream…

But I decided that if I was stuck at work I’d be thinking about the harbor, and I’d be willing to pay all that extra money (and give up all that ice cream) just to be right where I was.

So I ignored the text and stayed put. And it wasn’t a whole week or a even whole day of rest, but it was a little while. And I’m glad I drew a line in the sand (so to speak) and said, “No further.”

Some things are worth more than money.

Well-being being one of them.

It’s Pappa’s birthday. He would have been 83. I think about him sometimes and wonder what he would think of me.

I’m grateful for the good men in my life.

Things here are fine, though I’m tired. I don’t really know what I’m doing here and don’t seem to fit anywhere — with the ministry team or the kids in the company or the older women I live with. Like an island in the sea, or a puddle in a field.

But I took my hammock to Compass Harbor before work yesterday. I climbed on the rocks and stepped into the ocean. I thought about the part the Atlantic has played in my life, and about how many times I flew over it before I ever touched it. And I thought about my hammock and about friends swinging in it in my studio space, and about good times with Barrett and Canon in the park. It’s a cheap hammock from Sam’s Club, but it’s held so many good people, and it’s here with me now.

It doesn’t have to be expensive to mean something.

Like the 50-cent plate I came across on the porch of the antique store across the courtyard from housing. “If you find something outside and I’m not here,” the note on the door read, “just leave the money in the mail slot!” So I ran upstairs for two quarters, left the lady a nice thank you note and the coins in an envelope, and a came home a plate the richer.

A plate with cornflowers.

It helps the meals I eat mean something too. It reminds me that I’m here for more than folding shirts and maneuvering around the schedules and lives of others. All of this is for something.

And there’s happiness along the way, happiness that’s not expensive.

Little things that mean something.

I had it in my head that it would be fun one week to stay on the mountain after our sunset service, stargaze all night, and then be there when the sun came up. Cadillac is one of the first places on the east coast to see the sun, and it’s a thing to drive to the summit very early and watch it rise.

But we were already going to be there for the service; it seemed easier to stay.

Mack came with me. We layered well and brought blankets. We found a place among the rocks to sit. I was afraid that it would be too cold or too windy, but it was more than pleasant enough.

Best conversations, best company. Mack is easy-going and makes life seem effortless. She believes the best about people and has taught me a lot about being gracious and patient and inspiring change in others instead of trying to somehow create it.

We get along.

The stars really came out around midnight. The Milky Way started in front of us and as the night went on it moved right over our heads.

It’s been a long time since I’ve seen stars like that…

Mack bought a peanut butter and raspberry jam sandwich and had an extra packed for me. We ate them slowly and talked about ideas and events and wonder-y kinds of things.

In the morning we watched everything turn blue and pink and yellow. The sun came up. We waited till the colors were gone then climbed down the gorge and walked back to town around the Great Meadow Loop.

Doing things out of the ordinary is inconvenient because it’s just that: out of the ordinary. But I’m so glad we did, even if it made yesterday hard, and even though today I still feel it, it doesn’t matter in the long run.

I won’t remember the tired, I’ll remember the sun and the stars and the conversations with the friend.

It’s good not just to be alive, but to live.