Laura's Front Porch

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Coming Soon...

...when two blogs collide.

The other day, it came time to do Mike's homework.

"I want Laura to help me."

"Why," asked Jim.

"Because she's smarter than you," he replied.

A very perceptive little guy, I must say! The homework subject was spelling and Mike was required to find a synonym or antonym for 8 of his 10 spelling words. In order to accomplish this task, I taught Mike how to use a thesaurus. He balked at first, like he always does, but eventually came to like the thesaurus, my thesaurus, given to me by my 8th grade librarian (yes I was/am a nerd), before my family moved from Maine back to Southern Virginia, and as such, it has a degree of sentimental value...and thanks Mrs. Newcomb it did come in handy.

"Can I have this book? It's really cool," Mike asked.

"Well, no Mike, it's mine and it's kind of special. It's also 20 years old. We can get you a new one," I answered.

"Please?"

"No, Mike. Come on...drop it. You can use it when you need it until you get one of your own." I answered.

Mike was undaunted. "Can we trade it back and forth. I get it first. I'll take good care of it. I'll give it back, I promise!"

(Can you believe all this was over a thesaurus? The kid is 8 years old. I am glad he's learning the power of words!)

"No, Mike."

"What about if you die, like in a car crash. Can I have it then?"

I laughed then. I don't remember now how the whole thing ended...but the way that kid's mind works never ceases to amaze me. Such tenaciousness can be a good thing if we somehow manage to turn it's focus in the right direction(s).

We now have baby Basil, baby Oregano and Four O'Clocks pushing through the soil in our little peat pots. Woo-Hoo! I'm still holding my breath. I don't know if this little experiment of starting my plants from seed is truly going to work. The plants are still going to have to grow a bit and survive transplantation before we'll know if it's a success. Hopefully it will work and I will have discovered an incredibly cheap way to pretty up my yard in the spring. All the supplies cost about $10.50...keep in mind we live in a tiny Baltimore row-home with a postage stamp sized yard. Doesn't take much! I will have to buy more potting soil before it's all over and perhaps another planter for the herbs...although my absentee neighbor has one sitting unused in his backyard in good shape. So I'm hoping to bum that from him the next time I see him!

David looks like a little boy in his summer shorts. It's killing me! My "baby" is growing up. He's also beginning those really interesting two-word sentences, "Socks, Mommy," "Shoe, Mommy" and he says, "It's ober 'dere" when I tell him I don't know where his blankie is. There's a lady in my play-group who has a little one she's nursing. Every time I look at them I think, "that was me, last year," and I get a little sad. It is a tough time of life and its ending is certainly a mixture of sorrow and sweetness...like all new beginnings.

Ana is irrepressible as ever. She loves play-group, loves going to the mall( a rere occurrence), loves her tea parties and carrying her little pink purse. What can I say...she's a girl.

Me? I'm beginning to treasure my time at the end of the day, in bed, all alone with her prayer rope. Why? Because it's the only time of day that's truly mine in any sense at all. The kids now get up when I do...so if I want to write I have to put on a movie (as I'm doing now) and I feel like a heel. At the end of the day, I can slow down and it's just me and God...I whisper to him the names of those most important to me...and those who asked me to pray for them...and beg for mercy for myself as I live this life of wife, momma, friend.

Just before supper, she walks out to the deck to inspect the plants. Still nothing growing in the pots containing the flower seeds. Something catches her eye as she glances at the mini-greenhouse containing the herbs. "Could it be?" she thinks. There, in the corner of the soil is a tiny speck of green, a seed, unfolding itself heavenward. "Wow!"

She is excited. It seems silly to her to be so excited about a little seed sprouting. But, she is and even more so is astounded that she had somehow played a part in this tiny beginning of life. She can hardly wait to show her daughter and grabs the kids' baby books, the ones with the sonogram pictures of when they were just tiny specks of life. She wants to tell the children how they came to be in the world, just as they are witnessing the beginnings of life in the soil, in the pots, on the deck.

"Come here Ana, I want to show you something."

"What?" the little girl replied.

She lifts Ana up and points to where the tiny stalk is barely visible, pushing out of the dark soil toward warmth and light.

"Do you see that little bit of green?"

"Yes," Ana replies.

"That's our basil we planted the other day. It's growing. It starts out tiny, but just wait, it will be huge and smell wonderful if we take good care of it."

"Oh," the look on Ana's face is incredulous.

"Now look at this," she says pulling the pink book off the deck railing. She finds the first page, where the 6 week sonogram was pasted. "Here is Ana when she was even smaller than that little seedling. God saw that Daddy and Mommy loved each other very much and so he took a little piece of Daddy and a little piece of Mommy and mixed them together in Mommy's tummy. Then, He breathed life into the new piece, and there you were. That was the very beginning of Ana."

"Yeah!" The little girl replied, hungrily turning the pages in the book.

She explains the pictures on the pages, parties for Mommy before Ana was born, ink stamps of her tiny feet. They hold up her little girl feet to the baby girl feet. Ana's big girl feet were twice the size of her baby feet, "Look how much you've grown!"

"Yeah," Ana says again. That seems the little girl's only reaction to the pictures, besides the incredulous look on her face. Ana takes the book inside the house to show her Daddy.

"Look Dad! It's my book," she says excitedly.

The little girl spends a few moments trailing through its leaves, narrating the pictures. Ana is learning to tell her story.

Her mother thinks, "I pray I take good care of her, so her story is one of growing huge and smelling sweetly pungent, always one of unfolding from the darkness and stretching toward warmth and light."

She inspects her ragged fingernails. They were in sad shape before her activities this morning, but now they are morose, dark lines of dirt making trails underneath them. Early this morning, she had felt heat trailing up her legs and creeping down her spine as she sat at the computer, getting a little quiet time before the children woke and her day began in earnest. Unlike most people who are flattened by summer's heat, she is somehow energized by it. She wants to throw open the windows and let the warm spring breezes into the house, but doesn't want to remain inside. Outside is where her heart leads her.

A plan forms in her mind quickly. Seeds, she wants to buy flower seeds for the yard. As much as she'd like to escape the neighborhood she currently lives in, she knows the reality is next to impossible. She thinks, "While we're here, we should make the best of what we have." Buying plants "Pre-grown" and setting them into containers is too expensive, but seeds and dirt she can likely afford. The kids will enjoy the activity as well.

After breakfast and a quick house tidying, she bundles up the children and heads to the home store, to get supplies. She and her daughter decided on Four O'Clocks and Phlox. They also purchase a small starter kit of herbs. She can't wait to get home and get her hands in the dirt. "Where does this obsession with digging in the dirt come from," she wonders.

"I just want to dig in the dirt."

A connection sparks in her memory. Back in grad school she completed her externship at Duke University Medical Center's Neuro-Rehab Unit. Sounds impressive, but not really. All she did to get the externship was ask for it. It was a time of great "in the field" learning. One of her patients was a tiny, middle aged, woman who had a glioblastoma resected from her brain, commonly called a "glio." Glios are vigorous tumors and even when sectioned they often return. This woman's prognosis was "guarded."

When she first started seeing the tiny woman she couldn't speak at all. Little by little, probably more through a natural recovery than through any of the her attempts at "rehabilitation," the woman regained halting speech skills, but was shy and hard to engage in conversation and therapy. Finally she landed on a subject in which the woman wished to engage, "What's the first thing you want to do when you get out of here?"

The woman's eyes lit up, "I just want to dig in the dirt."

She understood. Once upon a time, her own grandmother had loved to dig in the dirt. When in her 70's, her MeMa chopped down a maple tree in her front yard because it wasn't turning a pretty color in the fall. MeMa was now part of the earth she loved so much, and her little lady patient likely was as well. "Some day we all will be," she thinks looking at the lines of dirt under hands.

Her daughter had loved the planting. Her son was just happy to play in the bag of potting soil. She's not sure her little experiment of starting her own seeds is even going to work, it may fail miserably. But something spurs her on to try, to take the earth and a tiny little seed along with some water and a generous sprinkling of hope, in order to create something beautiful from raw material.

Right now, the little peat pots full of earth look dead. Her daughter continually checks to see if anything has happened and says, "the plants are growing!"

She answers, "Yes, they are growing honey. We put the seeds in the dirt, gave them a little water, placed them in the sun and now the rest is up to God."

Glancing again at her nails, she decides not to clean them just yet...not yet. She wants to treasure the memory of the feel of soil in her hands, its scent as it invaded her nostrils, pungent and clean in it's own way. She wants to remember "hope" when all appears dead, knowing that someday even she will some day join the earth, but won't remain lifeless....

Portions of this entry are not for the faint of heart. Read at your own risk

Yesterday began quite beautifully. The sun was shining, the air was warm...not a cloud in the sky. Gorgeous weather, an ice cold lemonade and chocolate chess pie day I called it in my mind. We went to the church to help pick up the bay leaves and scrape up the candle wax left behind by the Holy Week and Paschal services. Then it was off to baseball practice for Mike. The younger two and I hung out at the playground beside the ball fields where Mike's practice was. David slid unaided down the two "big" slides. He's not much of an adventurer when it comes to these things so I was glad to see him taking a bit of a risk. His sister Ana, however, has always been a bit of a daredevil and raced down the slides headfirst, wind streaming through her golden curls.

Practice ended and Mikey went home with his Mom to celebrate his birthday with her. The rest of our little family went home to finalize our birthday preparations for Mike that evening and to grab some lunch. All of the baseball buzz put me in a mind for hot dogs. Ana and David enjoy hot dogs as well...in fact they each had 2 1/2 hot dogs, sans buns with potato chips and grapes. The grapes were my attempt at redeeming a mostly unhealthy lunch.

We played outside a bit more, nap time rolled around and Ana came inside to watch a little TV while David slept. Ana's head was soon nodding on the couch as she watched Black Beauty for the 3,000th time. When she awoke, Ana was not happy. I thought it was because she had to go potty and wanted me to carry her upstairs and put her on the toilet. I don't do this for her anymore as she is big enough to do so herself, so much whining and carrying on ensued. Finally, Ana walked up the stairs to do her business...soon after I heard wretching sounds, upon which I raced up the stairs to find Ana sitting on the toilet throwing up.

Now, if only she had managed to actually get the stuff into the toilet, it would've been fine. But as I said, she was sitting on the throne, not prostrated in front of it. There was hot dog hurl everywhere, all over Ana, the floor, sliding down the sides of the toilet, splattered on the bathtub and walls surrounding her. It was pretty incredible. Hot dog hurl is pretty disgusting, even for the likes of me who is not terribly squeamish about such things. I believe hot dog hurl could be used as psychological warfare. Can you imagine, "Please sir, don't make me see it....smell it....not the hot dog hurl. I'll talk, I'll talk."

At any rate, Ana appeared to have contracted a little bug as she couldn't keep anything in her tummy...not even the tried and true warm ginger ale I offered her. She wanted to eat, but couldn't. I regretted the chocolate ice cream I let her taste after we sang "Happy Birthday" and "God Grant You Many Years" to Mike. That made its second appearance right after bath time...after I'd put Ana in her third clean outfit since the first eruption.

Ahh....motherhood. It's not for the faint at heart.

On a side note, Ana has developed an unhealthy fear of bugs. Tiny little ants have her screaming bloody murder. I don't understand this as bugs have never scared me. In fact, I recall playing with them as a kid. I pick up grandaddy long legs spiders and let them crawl all over me. I'm not sure what to do about this. If we're going to be outside in the summer time, we're going to see bugs. Jim hates bugs. I was once preparing for bed when I heard him calling for me...He was cowering in a corner of the bathroom pointing at a spider which was measured maybe 2mm. I picked it up and took it outside where it could kill as many "bad bugs" as it wanted.

Ana gets her fear of bugs from Jim. It's all his fault...just kidding. I do hope Ana gets over her bug fears though!

because it has a cool picture of Ralph (my inner teenager is swooning) Macchio and Mr. Myagi...

Whatever happened to those guys anyway?

ETA: the picture's not posting. Sorry. It was a cool picture. Im sur u all wantd to no im a master at inglish...rite?!


You are a MASTER of the English language!


While your English is not exactly perfect,
you are still more grammatically correct than
just about every American. Still, there is
always room for improvement...


How grammatically sound are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Yesterday started out in a decidedly typical fashion. Ana was perched on my lap as I perused a few blogs and David finished his breakfast. I felt warm moisture spreading along my lap. Ana had peed on me. Well, not intentionally. She still had on her bedtime diaper which apparently picked that moment to overflow. Ahh...the life of a mom! Moving right along...

Yesterday morning was fun. The kids received some money in the family Easter Egg Hunt. Grandmom was very fair this year and made sure that each child "found" the same amount of money by writing their names on the eggs. They were only allowed to take the eggs with their own name on it. Gotta love grandmom! So off we went to the dollar store with their spoils.

I have tried in raising my daughter, not to turn her into the caricature of a "girly-girl." I've failed. Her purchases at the dollar store included an umbrella (which she took to bed with her last night), a miniature porcelain tea set, a barbie-like doll (this is the dollar store), clothes for the barbie-like doll and a little spangly purse. Ana found the doll all by herself. I tried to sneak past the barbie-like dolls to no avail. "Look Mommy. Dollies. They pretty." And so it begins. I could forbid the doll, I suppose. That seems silly though. Hopefully we'll convince her that these dolls bear an unrealistic and unnatural representation of the female body and Ana will then have other matters to discuss with a therapist some day...

David's purchases were a water gun, a toy drill, colorful plastic animals (including snakes) and a box of matchbox-like cars. He's such a boy. David makes what my husband calls the "universal man noise" when he plays now. Be it an airplane, a car or a tiger in his hands, the soundtrack provided by Dave is always a growl. He's also enjoying throwing balls around. But he's too little to play football. I'm hoping he'll like soccer (my teeth are currently clenched).

And did Mom go shopping...oh yes she did. Our anniversary was also Sunday and Jim's parents provided us with a gift certificate to outback and some spending money besides. I asked Jim if I could take part of the money to buy some gum as I'm trying to take care of a habit that has re-surfaced (I'm sparing you the details this time). His response, "Just consider the money yours." Woo-Hoo! I didn't take all of it though...just half and I didn't spend all of that.

I needed a new pair of Khakis since my others have some sort of mysterious stain on them. Truly, until my kids are grown I should just stick with black and navy! At any rate, I went to Value Village, which is a thrift store five minutes from our house. I found some Khakis, which were just a tad tight when I got them home...but doable, and pair of shorts and a "grown-up" Raincoat as I'm calling it. It's beautiful...looks like something Audrey Hepburn might have worn. Only it looks like no one ever wore it...closet kept so to speak. The pants and shorts also look brand new (The shorts were Liz). I also found four wooden puzzles for the kids and a Hi-Ho Cherry-O game for Ana. How much did I pay....$26 something (I forget the change). I think I like shopping at thrift stores because of the thrill of the hunt.

I think I like being a girl too. Clothes are fun. Make-up is fun. Perhaps Ana gets it more "honest" than I want to admit...

Speaking of Ana...the other night as I was putting her to bed, I placed my hand on her back while singing and praying to her. If ever I moved my hand from her back, she grabbed it and put it back in place. Ana is a physical girl...loves hugs and kisses and jumping and slamming into you. It's how she shows affection. She also likes to be hugged, steadied when she's unsure or hurt.

I thought of the words contained one of the prayers I say..."and steady me with a guiding spirit." Ana is lucky (and I'm not talking myself up here) that she has a physical example of what those words could mean. I wept in that instant for all the children I've worked with and the many more I know exist but I have never seen who are never steadied by a guiding hand attached to a physical person or love of any kind for that matter. How much more difficult is it for them to accept love from a being who seems so intangible? Lord have mercy on those babes...

There are many things I suppose I could write about today. I read a portion of a blog yesterday that kind of got my panties in a wad (no one who reads here) and then spent quite a bit of time composing an email to this person in my brain...then decided it would be fruitless. I'll just pray for them and move on.

We were chrismated on Holy Saturday. That was nuts! I mean nuts in a good way, but I had no idea what was happening even though we had practiced it. I kind of just followed along. Jim says he felt a change come over him as he was being annointed. I can't say that I did...I just felt at peace and was glad to be official...even though I have felt Orthodox for a long time.

I think the biggest thing right now is the change from Lent into "normal life." We went grocery shopping on Good Friday and I bought meat again, and cheese. It just felt bizarre. We were able to eat meat again after the midnight liturgy on Saturday. At 3:00 AM, there I was downstairs in the fellowship hall of the church with a plate of quiche, ham and sausage and a glass of champagne. I tried not to overdue it...but it still had a negative effect on my digestive system the next day. Let's not wade into those waters...K?

The Paschal Liturgy was beautiful, even though I was exhausted. It was hard to stand up. Jim looked at me and said, "Isn't there a homily? When is the homily?" No homily. One of our fellow parishioners remarked that, "there is no sitting on Pascha." Oh! But the symbolism of sitting in a darkened Nave, save the light of one candle symbolizing Christ...and then having each parishioner receive light for their own candle from the "Christ Candle"...watching the room light up...was really beautiful. And then returning inside after the "rush procession" to a swirling chandelier and joyous singing...well...it's just stirring.

And then there's today. After weeks of Lent and last weeks intensity of church services, I'm supposed to just fall back into life again. But it's hard. Working back into the things I gave up is weird. I visited the discussion boards I frequent and it felt..."weird." Not weird in a bad way, but just like I was wearing a new pair of shoes and needed to get used to the way they hug my feet. Only these aren't new shoes...they're old shoes I haven't worn in a while.

I find myself re-prioritizing again. "How much time am I going to devote to X, Y, Z..." I learned to fill the time I'd spent doing "normal" things during lent with "other" things. I don't want to give up the "other" things, yet I'd still like to have some of the "normal" stuff back. And I do want to start that other blog reviewing children's books. It would be a challenge for me to write that way...and a good one, I think.

Suffice it to say, I'm confused and befuddled and I'll just have to walk this way for a while until I figure it out. That's usually how I figure things out...as I go along. Which un-nerves my husband. It's not always fun for me either, but my best thought out plans never work anyway...such is life.

I'm sure that made no sense to anyone...but thanks for listening...or reading...or whatever!

(Reduced and re-hashed. I may submit this to my church's website as they have a "testimonials" section)

“I do, however, miss that good spooky church feeling. I felt connected with God in that holy spookiness as I entered the sanctuary. Going to church now almost feels the same as going to the mall. There is no stillness upon entering the worship area. Nothing brings to mind angels’ wings or the millions of people who have prepared to worship before me down through the ages. I don’t feel that chill radiating outward from the center of me. I’m sure there is a way to get some of that spookiness back into the rock and roll. There has to be. My soul wants for it. I know I can’t be alone in that wanting.”

More than a year has passed since I wrote those words. They were the conclusion to an essay titled, “I Wish Church was Spooky (the good kind),” detailing my frustration with the “post-modern” church movement. I began a journey in the space between that moment and this one that I never in my wildest musings imagined taking. I left the Western Church and began marching eastward, backwards in time to the very foundation of the Christian Faith, to the Holy Orthodox Church.

My experience with Orthodoxy prior to the beginning of my family’s investigation was limited to attendance at a Greek Orthodox wedding and to the movie, My Big Fat Greek Wedding. I remember sitting in that wedding as a teenager, thinking the symbolism and pageantry contained therein was beautiful and hoping some handsome Greek boy would sweep me off my feet so I could have a wedding just like that one. Needless to say, I knew little about the theology underlying the symbolism, but I dare say I felt something of a deeper nature than I had felt in prior weddings I had attended. Fast forward a decade and a half finds me where I now stand on the threshold of what that something is.

No, my husband, Jim, is not Greek, but we did together decide we needed to go deeper with our experience of the Christian faith than we were at that time, no different than “going to the mall,” as I had said. We began praying and making plans to search for a new church, hopefully geographically closer than our previous one in order to be more involved in church life. Surprisingly, it was I who pointed us in the direction we now find ourselves. I had come across some Orthodox Christians on a post-modern web forum, read their words and started to feel that something again. That something was calling me into a deeper and grounded faith, yet also something more mystical at the same time.

When I first mentioned the idea of Orthodoxy to Jim he was taken aback. He had grown up in a more fundamentalist type of Baptist church and Orthodoxy to him was equivalent to Catholicism sending up all sorts of red fundie-flags for him. I asked him to remain open and read and dialog with the Orthodox on the web forum. I think mostly to humor me, he tried this, and ended up in an email exchange with an Orthodox deacon from New York. Eventually, the deacon sent him the link to a book on Amazon’s website called, Becoming Orthodox: A Journey to the Ancient Christian Faith by Fr. Peter Gilquist. We began reading the book together in the evenings after the kids went to bed. Jim was astounded. I remember him saying “I never knew any of this.” The book essentially revealed to us that the church Christ started existed today, and it was to be found in Holy Orthodoxy. Some of the Orthodox beliefs were high hurdles for us, such as the Marian dogmas and the idea of venerating icons. Time, further study and participation in Church life helped us to come to terms with these beliefs.

After reading the book, we became involved with a parish, Holy Cross Antiochian Orthodox Church, on the recommendation of our friend in New York. We were surprised to find it was a mere seven-minute drive from our house! The priest and all parishioners made us feel at home and welcomed us, but with absolutely no pressure, no “hard sell” that is often felt in protestant denominations. We were encouraged live life as an Orthodox, read, study, pray and listen to God. Slowly, we began to experience a little of what life is like as an Orthodox Christian. We were like children at Christmas, unwrapping brightly covered packages to uncover the hidden treasures contained therein, and they were all treasures…there are no “socks” hidden among the Orthodox present pile.

That’s not to say it was always easy. Accustoming ourselves to the fasts, to “praying Orthodox” was different and difficult at first, but well worth the battle. Having children with us in the Liturgy was a struggle we deal with to this day, but these struggles are becoming familiar and part of us. Our little family is to be Chrismated on Holy Saturday. I was at first unsure if I was “ready” for what seemed like such a huge step, but I also knew I wasn’t going back where I had come from. For I finally knew what that something was that first spoke to me so long ago and it wasn’t a something at all…it was The Existing One, the Holy Trinity, One God in three Persons.

I skimmed the surface of the huge waters of Christianity for a long time. But God called me to go deeper, to plunge in head first to all he has to offer. Yes, I feel like a babe yet, but it is time to take the swimmies off my arms and learn how to dive and uncover all God has to offer me within the deep waters of the Holy Orthodox Church.

Yesterday was absolutely glorious. The first two days of this week were cold and it felt as if winter had returned. I was also fighting some mysterious bug, the only symptom of which was a low grade fever and a slight runny nose. I lived with the fever, since it is one of the body's natural defense systems, drank lots of gatorade and rested. Yesterday, however, dawned bright and warm and very spring-like and whatever that bug was seemed to have banished. I think taking lots of vitamins every day with zinc and vitamin C helps keep the bugs to a minimum as well...

But anyway, yesterday...My neighbor called in the morning and asked if the kids and I wanted to come and play in her backyard, "It's nothing but a big dirt pit," she said, "but I know you don't mind if your kids get dirty." No, I most definitely do not. Dirty kids are happy kids is my motto...using their brains to discover the world. B. (what I'll call my friend since I haven't asked if I can reveal her name here) is somewhat uptight about dirt and germs...etc. So it was an interesting morning!

We ended up putting together one of those "little tykes" play sets in her back yard. If you've never done this before, let me tell you, they are a pain in the butt to put together. We also didn't have any directions as it was a hand-me-down. B. was the brains and I was the brawn in the operation. Using "strike pound hammer" I managed to connect the pieces while B. braced and figured out where they went. Within about 15 minutes the kids were crawling all over it...after B. had wiped it down with a cloth!

B. has three rambunctious boys ages 2, 4 and 5. I am quite sure the play set will help her run off some of their energy. We ate popcorn outside, some of which was spilled on the ground. B. wanted to sweep it up...to which I said, "the birds will eat it, or the kids will!" I think I might be a good influence on her, or she on me. I suppose it depends on how you look at it. We had lunch there and then I went back to our house, grabbed the dog and Ana, David and I took Baby for a walk. It was warm enough that she was panting in about 15 minutes.

The afternoon routine was usual...David napped and Ana fell asleep on the couch during her TV time so I had a few moments to read undisturbed...woo-hoo!

After dinner, the kids played outside in our back yard. The rain had filled a plastic baby buggy with water which Ana put to good use. She dumped the water out into a hole previously dug by Mike when he was "looking for fossils," and then she jumped in it. "Look Mommy, a pud muddle!" I let both kids play in the mud. Am I nuts? Maybe...kids are washable after all!

Jim went to church, I bathed the kids and they watched a little TV and ate some popcorn...it was a good day. Except for the fact that Jim and I continue to remain on the outskirts of a fight. My parents are coming on Friday to see the kids baptized. The tension level always increases just before they come. Hopefully, we'll get this one worked out before they get here. It's going to be a busy, exciting and joyful weekend.

I hope all is well in your neck of the woods...wherever it may be!

Yesterday, we received a catalog from Victoria's Secret in the mail. It is the second such catalog we have received in a week. This is likely due to the fact that my husband ordered several shirts for me a few weeks ago. I like those built in bra tank tops by VS for summer...very comfortable.

At any rate, I perused the new catalog with mild interest. Actually, I chuckled to myself a few times at the perfectly pressed, wrinkle free underwear coupled with the severe come hither looks the models tend to strike. By the time my husband were to see me in a VS get up, it would be wrinkled and sagging in places because I had worn it all day long. Whenever I try to strike one of those "come hither" poses I feel ridiculous and start to giggle. I can't help it and I wonder if anyone really does that.

My husband, God bless him, complains that the models are too skinny. "Look at her, that's disgusting!" he'll say. I've never paid much attention to the amount of fat the woman may or may not be carrying. I think I continue to have a warped sense of body image from times past when I was overweight...I think everyone is skinnier than me...

I did decide to take an informal little poll on my own using some information I learned last week. This was just out of general curiosity on my part. I read an article last week detailing all the changes woman go through during pregnancy and most importantly after. I'm not going to post the article because I didn't read the whole thing...it kind of plucked my nerves the wrong way. It was also incredibly looonnng.

So anyway, the fun fact I learned was this...before a woman bears a child, her belly-button has a decidedly vertical appearance and after it is more horizontal. This is how coroners can first tell if an unidentified (dead) woman has given birth...by the shape of her belly button and not by any whizmo-geeko science. Disappointed? So was I.

There were many belly buttons on display in the latest VS catalog so I took a look...no horizontal belly buttons to be found...nope...not a one. This doesn't really mean anything because I would venture to guess there is plastic surgery out there which would take care of such things and one model had a huge navel ornament which could have obscured a horizontal button. But who knows?

I didn't think much of this, really I didn't. It was just idle curiosity, until I landed on a particular page advertising, "Young attitude: Playful, pretty fashions in grown up sizes."

Ewww!

I can deal with the fact that women who haven't had children are more likely to be underwear models...and more power to them. I'm glad they've found success and what I hope is a fulfilling career for them. Really, I mean that. But, ads for underwear that looks like it belongs on a seven year old "in adult sizes" kind of creeps me out. Perhaps there's something wrong with me...

The woman are thin, very thin. My husband describes them as emaciated although I wouldn't go quite that far. Maybe they are. One does need a certain amount of body fat in order to maintain a pregnancy. Somewhere back in the recess of my brain is a fact I learned in my college anthropology class that men were supposedly attracted to women with curves, knowing they'd be more likely to successfully bear children.

So what happened? Why is "a woman who looks like a 12 year old with big boobs" (that's how my husband put it) now the standard for "desirable"? I've heard of and also heard many men say they don't like overly skinny woman. So...what the heck is going on here? Anyone know?

I'm completely lost (in more ways than one).

I'm sorry there have been few updates here recently. My only excuse at this point is weariness. Ana had yet another throat infection last week with fevers spiking up around 102 degrees. I asked her doctor if a tonsillectomy (sp?) was in order as she seems to have some sort of adenoid/tonsil infection around every six weeks...he said, "not yet." I had not intended to be silent during Holy Week, but it seems it may sort of happen anyway.

Then there is the time change (cursed thing) which screws up the kids' sleeping schedules and the whole 15 minutes I may have had to myself in the morning to write evaporates. I must say though, for some weird reason, I like getting up in the dark. Saying my morning prayers by the light of a vigil lamp seems more "holy" to me somehow...symbolic of the light which I believe Christ brings into our darkened world. As someone said on the Orthodox Convert listserve I read..."truth is not a body of knowledge. It is a person." That one stopped me in my tracks.

I cried yesterday as we processed around our little Church waving palms, the children with candles and all of us singing, "Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal, Have mercy on us." I don't know completely why yet, except perhaps that I felt connected to the Truth of my faith in a real and tangible way. I could feel a connection to the Saints of old...I don't know. I'll just leave it at that.

The world has brought old age into my soul. It has stamped my entire soul and left its seals on her, so that from them she is suffering, agonizing, and --   dying.

Once my soul is born anew in my bones, my bones will also be rejuvenated. And there will be only one seal in my soul -- the seal of the gift of the Holy Spirit. In vain will the world try to stamp its seal on me, to brand me as its own sheep -- it will find no place for its seal. For the one born anew will be filled with Your seal and Your life, O Life-creating Trinity.

Bishop Nikolai, Prayers by the Lake

The entire text of the above prayer can be found here.

The US has cut off all aid to Serbia. Pray, light candles, send good thoughts. Do what you do. And remember our brothers and sisters serving in Iraq and Afghanasitan as well.

Blessings...

It was Jim's turn to attend The Liturgy of the Pre-sanctified Gifts last night and so after I had put the kids to bed and said my prayers, I curled up on the couch with a tattered copy of Northanger Abbey, I had checked out from the library. In between reading about Miss Morland's trials and triumphs with Mr. Tilney, I reflected on the whole Orthodox thing. That's the way my crazy mind works. I almost have to go somewhere else to think about me.

One aspect of the whole Orthodox journey I thought of were the blogs written by Orthodox I often read. I am amazed by their knowledge of Saints and Orthodox dogmas and etc... And then there is me who will be officially Orthodox as of April 10, but has felt Orthodox for quite a while. But my blog doesn't necessarily reflect this change. I talk about bumps on the head, and teacups and my children...because I like to tell stories and also to have some written record of significant and sometimes not so significant events and epiphanies in my life. I have been heard to say, "the un-examined life isn't worth living." I think that's a true statement, Orthodox, or Buddhist, or Jewish, or Secular Humanist, or PoMo or whatever you choose to call yourself. Maybe I'm wrong...

I'm nervous about relating the truths I find in Orthodoxy as I don't want to get something wrong and misrepresent the faith somehow. I've spoken at times about some personal insights I've gained along the way. However, I don't quote saints very often, or expound on heavy hitting foundational beliefs. Part of this is my lack of knowledge and part of it is my fear in "getting it wrong." I also believe it comes from experience I've had teaching middle school youth groups.

Way back, prior to when I met Jim and was attending a large non-denominational church (the same where my beloved and I met and were later married) I worked with the middle school kids. At one point, I was teaching the middle schoolers just about every other week. I enjoyed this immensely, but it was also a burden. Spiritual attack would rear it's head as I was preparing. Crazy things would happen...brand new tires would explode, house keys would disappear (well, that we could blame on my natural scatter brained-ness), clutches would disintegrate while I was driving...you get the picture. I'm not quite prepared to have that happen here...of course I did set my own hair on fire the other day...

Of course now that I'm Orthodox (well...almost officially), I realize the fullness of the faith is to be found within Her walls, but I also still feel as if there was some truth to be found in my upbringing in the main-line protestant church. It was Grandmother who taught me the Lord's Prayer, which I now say 4 times a day. Mema gave me an example of humility I've yet to see matched in any other living human as well as giving me an appreciation of nature and how we are called to care for it. Summertime found her leaving pans of water out for birds and squirrels so they wouldn't die in the hot Alabama sun. The funny thing is she was constantly warring with the squirrels to keep them out of her bird feeders. Crying now...leaving memory lane.

I don't discredit those lessons learned from those women just because they weren't baptized into the "true faith." Is that bad? I don't think so.

And then there is my love of popular culture. You know the girl who always had a copy of People and Rolling Stone tucked into her back-pack in high school...the one who could relate all the facts of Bob Geldolf's recording of Do They Know It's Christmas. Well, I was that girl. I will admit that I have watched, The Osbournes and enjoyed it. I like movies, particularly old ones since Mema and I used to watch them and I can now check them out from the library. And I often getsomething deeper from this stuff. U2 and Peter Gabriel lyrics have led me at times to deeply explore facets of my spirituality long ignored and in need of watering. The explorations have certainly taken on a different turn since becoming Orthodox (well...almost officially). But, I suppose it's easy to look at someone like me and think..."how superficial." Those who know my inside know that's not true...

Ok...going to attempt to cut to the chase here and end the rambling. I'm truly thinking with the keyboard...aren't I! All of this and other thoughts ran through my mind last night. Somewhere in the midst of it, a thought sprung up. "You aren't reallyOrthodox and you never will be." So, just where did that come from? I had a pretty good idea just where it came from. I entertained the thought for about three seconds and then completely discredited it.

I live (and love) "The Way" and try to live within it's precepts...although I'm sure I fail. I pray and fast and try to read some of the Church Fathers (mostly from The Psalter and the Holy Fathers and The Bible and the Holy Fathers), I've read up on Saint's lives here and there and consumed a few Orthodox-themed tomes; however, I am by no means an expert. One of my Lenten goals was to read, Brothers Karamozov. I learn more from stories than I do from didactic tomes...so there you go. And now I view stories through a different lens...and gain different truths from them.

It boils down to this, how one approaches the sliding board. When I stand at the top, I think about the ride...what it will be like to feel the wind in my hair and if my eyes will sting from the onslaught of cold air in my eyes. Others focus on the bottom of the slide. I don't think either approach is wrong...just different and if we keep our eyes open we have much to learn from each other. The more I live the life...the more Orthodox I feel...officially or not! I'm sure there is a place in The Church Christ founded for a breeze-lover such as myself...

Lord, have mercy on this breeze-loving sinner!

The day before this one, she had set three things on fire, starting with her own hair and ending with the toast that was to accompany dinner that evening. Only a miniscule amount of damage occurred, not even discernible in her unruly mop. Yet the entire day found her carrying the smell of burnt hair with her. Perhaps it was to remind her of something, perhaps "slow down, be careful, etc, etc." She had washed her hair that evening, and the burnt smell swirled down the drains with the suds.

This day found her with many bumps on the head. In straightening the books her son's room she had shaken the shelves dislodging a lamp on the top one which landed squarely on her head.

"Ouch!"

"You OK mom," her daughter asked.

"Yes, a lamp just dropped on my head."

"A lamp dropped on your head?"

"Yeah, but I'm OK." She then continued her frantic straightening. There was much to do and never enough time, or so it seemed. She needed to go to the library and return an overdue book, and the laundry needed folding, lunch and dinner to be prepared, the bathroom floor needed scrubbing and so did the floor under the kids chairs in the dining room, library books to be read, confession to be made at church that afternoon, flash cards to be run through with the kids and on and on and on...

A few moments later she went into the bathroom to clear the floor and prepare it for it's weekly scrub. A little sock lay in the way, so she crouched down and hurriedly attempted to throw it into the pile of dirty clothes which lay in the bathroom closet. She didn't even realize what had happened until after she felt the pain in the right temple. Her head had squarely met the corner of the pedestal sink in the bathroom. Rather than ignoring and moving on, she was immediately overcome with sobbing.

"Mom, what are you laughing at," her daughter asked.

"I'm not laughing honey, I'm crying," she managed to croak out. Strangely, she noticed her accent seemed thickly southern...she hadn't the wherewithal to code shift in that moment.

Her daughter wandered into the bathroom and stood, watching her long bout of sobbing. In the background, she could hear her husband talking on the phone while working in the basement and her son playing in his room. Her daughter remained with her throughout the entire sob session. The little girl had never seen her mother cry and she offered no explanation above "Mommy got a boo boo and felt really sad for a few moments," not wanting to burden the little girl with more than her almost three year old mind could comprehend. Indeed, she herself wasn't sure why she had such a reaction to a bump on the head.

Once she calmed down, she stood to rinse her face. Before bending over the sink, she glanced at herself in the mirror. Her eyes appeared portals of sadness awash in God given brine. "Wow," she thought. "How could I not have known."

She left the bathroom, slowly; walked down the stairs, slowly...The floor wasn't scrubbed, the laundry wasn't folded. The trip to the library was accomplished and afterwards she sat on the couch reading her children old tales of Excalibur and Rumplestiltskin and other more modern tales of journeying roosters and mice looking for friends. She made her confession and then large pot of lentil soup for dinner. Every now and then she would reach up and feel the knot on her temple. This was a reminder she couldn't just wash away.

You know how you wish you had something to say...when it might even be hovering somewhere on the edge of your consciousness waiting to come out. That's sort of how I'm feeling now. I feel there's something I should say, but I just don't know what it is.

The truth is, life is very overwhelming right now. Lent has worn me out, the fasting, the taking a good hard look at myself and my shortcomings (that's putting it mildly) and devoting myself to increased spiritual discipline is a new experience. And then there is the fact that we're being chrismated, the kids are being baptized, my family is coming up the house is in it's usual state of disarray. It feels like this great big snow ball is perched on a precipice right over my head and the slightest wind will send it tumbling on top of me. A little snow can be a happy thing...you can build a snowman. But a lot of snow can be a dangerous thing if it hits you unaware. I'm not unaware...unprepared perhaps....

Oh yeah...and my 6th wedding anniversary will be on Pascha, followed by Michael's 8th birthday and then comes Ana's 3d in May.

And I'll be 33 three this year. Sheesh...where does the time go?

I'm also considering starting an additional blog in which I will write reviews of children's books. Why? Well, I read a lot of them. I've heard other mothers say that they walk into the library and feel overwhelmed with so many book choices. I'm fairly fearless when it comes to such things, so why not write about the ones we read which are "stand outs" and perhaps make life easier for others. Additionally, I like children's books...I like to read and I like to write...why not combine the two...eh? My background as a speech-language pathologist will also help as I can talk about what language skills a particular book may encourage. It won't replace this blog...it will just be another little side project and will help me feel as if I'm contributing something positive to society, even if it's in a very small way. There will be comments and perhaps others can add their own suggestions for books.

I'm also working on a shorter testimony of my journey into Orthodoxy. I'll probably hold onto it until after our chrismation in case I decide to add a little to it.

And I go to confession for the first time today.

And I think that's enough rambling for now. I suppose I had a little something to say, even if it was mostly of no consequence!

I found this article linked on Amy Welborn's Blog. It is absolutely a must read, in my opinion, despite it's length. It's from The New York Times online and you will have to "subscribe" (it's free) but it is very much worth it.

Coach Fitz's Management Theory

In other exciting news...Ana's current favorite movie is Black Beauty. We watched it together last night while Daddy attended the Akathist service at church. I had to explain some of the action and dialogue to her, but for the most part, Ana seemed to understand the premise of the movie. All day long she pestered me to watch it. I think her girlie love affair with horses is starting a bit early. I suppose National Velvet will be next.

It surprises me that she likes these movies that are not intended for 3 year olds. Two of Ana's other recent favorites are A Little Princess (not a good adaptation in my opinion) and The Secret Garden. There is a lot of heavy dialogue in these movies and no music. Ana also sits and happily listens to books that I would consider abover her "level" as well. It frightens me that she may be smarter than I...any of my more intelligent (than I) friends interested in tutoring her when I can no longer answer her questions.

One more thing...the kids continue to be a study in opposites. Yesterday, Ana, David and I visited a park near Annapolis with some friends from church. The park is adjacent to the Chesapeake Bay and even has a tiny beach perfect for wading. I allowed both children to take off shoes and socks in order to test the water with their toes. As soon as his feet touched the water, David screamed, miserable. I put his shoes back on and he contented himself playing in the sand, his windbreaker zipped to his little chin. Ana was completely naked in about 5 minutes. I could never imagine two children with exactly the same parents having such completely different personalities. But there you go...one of life's truly, amazingly, gorgeous inconsistencies!

(I know there is something horribly off with the grammar in that last sentence...but I'm too tired to figure it out!)

(author's note: I wanted to work a little more on this one to ensure it made sense. My normal writing time is in the morning before Ana and David wake up. Unfortunately, they've been waking at about the same time as I. I tried to smooth this out as much as possible while pouring cheerios and milk, retrieving balloons from the ceiling, ad infintum. I apologize if it makes little sense and the metaphor isn't fully developed. However, I was also afraid that if I held onto it much longer, the story would grow cold for me and it would never be posted. So here it is, such as it is...)


She has spent the day just like any other, with her kids. The weather had turned warm and so she and the children had spent part of the day taking a long walk. Following the children's nap time, she had completed her workout. The combination of the walk and the workout had left her feeling as if a shower were in order before attending that evening's Divine Liturgy. She asked her husband if he minded if she grabbed a shower while he watched the kids.

"No. Of course not," was his reply.

She climbed the stairs, looking forward to time spent alone in the shower. For as far back as her memory reached, she had enjoyed water, and once she was old enough, long, hot solitary showers. She turned the water on and up to the steaming temperature she enjoyed...and was soon joined by her daughter who also wanted to take a shower. All attempts at dissuading her were in vain and the fight to have a solo shower would've taken the same amount of time for the shower itself, so she simply acquiesced and taught Ana how to wash her hair instead. She also knew she would be spending some quality time without kids attached, and so the sacrifice didn't seem so great.

Recently, she had learned that she would be chrismated on Holy Saturday, a mere 2 and 1/2 weeks away. In came as a surprise for she had expected to remain a catechumen for a bit longer. The time her little family had spent in the catechumenate seemed short by comparison the stories she had heard of "at least a year" spent learning about the Orthodox Church. She realized when standing and participating in the Liturgy that evening that she didn't feel quite ready.

She glanced around at the faces of the faithful around her as she and they reciting and chanting the prayers, and felt like a babe. Even though she had been attending Divine Liturgy since the fall, there were pieces she wasn't so familiar with as yet since her children often called her out of the service for potty breaks and diaper changes. Using the sign of the Cross still felt awkward and at times she was sure she was "getting it all wrong." Why did thoughts enter her head when prostrating such as, "how am I going to stand up without falling over after all the blood has rushed to my head, and feeling slightly woozy from fasting all day?" Do others have the same un-holy seeming thoughts as she did? It all seemed to be happening so suddenly and without much preparation. As she had said to her husband earlier in the evening, "I was a good girl scout...always prepared."

Since she was alone, she was actually able to participate in the entire Liturgy. She remained unsure of it all as it was probably the first Liturgy she had fully participated in. She also knew she wasn't going back where she had come from. Likely what she was feeling was the avoidance of great fear of swimming in un-chartered waters leading to a sense of ambivalence.

After the feast following the Liturgy, she went home, stole a little time for conversation with her husband and then went to bed...to be woken at the crack of dawn by her daughter. "Mom...the sun is up!"

"That doesn't mean you have to get up Ana."

"I wanna lay down on the couch."

Again, the argument just wasn't worth it. She had work to do. Their were the Prayers to be said, the Psalms to read...it was a day to be spent like any other, with the kids and stealing time for herself and for God. This particular day started gloomily, rainy and dark. She was surprised Ana had awoken to the dim light filtering through the clouds that morning. Fortuitously, the library was the planned outing for the day.

The morning breakfast and dressing routine completed, she hustled the kids to the car. By this time, the weather was clearing and different thoughts were forming in her mind as to where to go and what to do. The library was still on the agenda, but the clearing skies and gentling weather had her thinking of other ideas. They needed to stop at the store as well to replenish the ever dwindling supply of juice and she had wanted to try "Big Lots" to see if they carried good juice at a more decent price than the regular store.

She made her plans while driving. "store first, then library, then I'll see if I can find the entrance to the 'B & A trail' so we can take a walk...the playground would be muddy. Some girl scout I am," she laughed to herself! "Nothing like sticking to the expected plan..."

The weather had warmed considerably by the time the arrived at the walking trail. "I'm going to take the stroller along so when we cross big roads you can get in and be safe." This wouldn't be a power walk for her since both children were strolling and her son, at 19 months, made particularly slow progress. Every blade of grass was different to David, and he wanted to see them all!

They ambled along basking in the sun and gentle breezes. "This is nice, isn't it Ana and David?"

"Yeah," David replied, but then David almost always answered yes.

"Swings!" Ana yelled.

"I don't know if we're allowed to use these. Are they attached to a school playground." She glanced around the property where the swings stood and didn't see a school. "Well, we'll try it and if someone kicks us out we'll apologize and leave."

David went in the "baby swing," and Ana in the "big girl" swing. Soon however, Ana wanted to switch back to the baby swing to "swing higher." The seeming rigid confines of the "baby swing" actually allowed Ana more freedom. It was a safer place to let loose, and Ana knew it. She acquiesced and placed Ana in the baby swing.

"I wanna swing weal hi-yah, Mommy!"

Her thoughts went back to Church, and how she had thus far spent this day. The plans for the day had changed, rapidly and without much preparation, but for the better. She wasn't as much of a girl scout as she thought. Her life was lived by the seat of her pants quite often, she liked it that way. She was fond of saying her wandering soul was due to an errant gypsy gene and never wanted to be accused of her life happening while she was making other plans. "Planning and living aren't always symbiotic," she thought. Further, as much as she liked "freedom," she had somehow found herself flying safely unfettered within the protecting arms of the church.

"I'm in the right place. Where I'm supposed to be in all of my life's many rooms," she thought.

"Mooommy. I wanna swing weal hi-yah!" Her daughter's request interrupted her musings.

She thought, "So do I!"

"Ok, Ana. One...two...three...woo-hooo!"

Don't you just love peanuts? But I'm not neurotic...I'm not, not, NOT!




You are Schroeder!


Which Peanuts Character are You?
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First we will be chrismated on April 10th. I'm excited and a bit overwhelmed...I didn't expect it to happen so quickly.

Second...I am going to be an Aunt in August to a baby girl (as yet un-named)! The kids are going to have a cousin and I get be Auntie Mame! I think I should order the DVD just so I can have my act together when she arrives.

This is my first "Orthodox Lent." I've been through Lent before, but not quite like this, never so deliberate as it is now. It was always an afterthought, that period of time before Easter. Orthodoxy takes this season seriously. During the first week of Lent, I attended a portion of the "Canon of St. Andrew." Another parishioner asked after the service if I was starting to realize my own sin. "Well, yeah," I answered and in my head completed the thought, "kind of."

Of course, I've considered the whole, "sin thing" before as a protestant. You ask forgiveness and then keep going. The repentance side of asking forgiveness is not particularly something I'd delved deeply into. Of course, I had felt sorry for my sin for a few moments, but then I just kept going. I really didn't know what else to do.

So here I am, more than half way through my first Orthodox Lent and how am I feeling? Well, two weeks ago, I felt like crap, no, probably lower than crap. I woke up every morning crying. Why? I had come face to face with my own pride and selfish nature. You see, I like to be thought of as "good." I have spent my whole life trying to be the "good" one...the girl, the mother, the wife, the worker, the writer, the friend...

No, it's not bad to seek after being a good anything, unless you set out seeking praise. I'm sure some of my motivation was altruistic, but certainly some of it was prideful as well. I saw this like I've never seen before several weeks ago and it stopped me in my tracks. It was almost hard to function and I didn't even know at first just what it was. It's taken this long, a kidney stone and a bout of strep throat on my daughter's part to slow me down and think about it. Funny, the road-blocks God uses.

And then there's the whole, "seeking after the world," stuff. My daughter's favorite movie is Cinderella. There's a dog named "Bruno" in the movie who is ever seeking chase with the cat, "Lucifer." Cinderella chastises him, "that's bad Bruno, bad," even when he's only dreaming. I'm a lot like Bruno, seeking after what seems natural, especially by the world's standards, but when seen in God's light it withers and melts into nothingness.

Last night, after my daughter lay in bed and coughed for an hour, my husband and I decided we should buy a humidifier to see if would help her breathe better and sleep. I volunteered to make the nighttime run to local super-center, even though I was dead dog tired just to have a few moments to myself. Since Lent has begun, we've mostly listened to "church" music, predominately the one CD of Byzantine chant we own (Gates of Repentance). I decided to flip on the radio just for fun.

Yeah, I know, "fun" isn't supposed to be allowed in Lent. There goes that errant gypsy gene again...the same one that has me waking up at night wanting to tell my husband we need to go for a drive. If you know Jim, you could guess his reaction, "What...drive...where...why?" To which my answer would be, "anywhere and why not?"

It wasn't all for naught as, by luck, I landed on a station playing Creed, "old school Creed." The song was My Own Prison, which you can listen to here if you'd like. I'm going to share part of the lyric because it sounded pretty familiar to me. The song opens this way:

A court is in session, a verdict is in
No appeal on the docket today
Just my own sin
The walls are cold and pale
The cage made of steel

Sound familiar. It did to me...
Conclusion:

So I held my head up high
Hiding hate that burns inside
Which only fuels their selfish pride
We're all held captive
Out from the sun
A sun that shines on only some
We the meek are all in one
I cry out to God
Seeking only His decision
Gabriel stands and confirms
I've created my own prison

I would say that I have most definitely created my own prison with sin. The sad part is that at times, I wanted to be there. It was safe, what I knew. It kept people at a safe distance. I'm ashamed to say, I'd never wept over my sin and what I had created with it in my life. Never. But I have now, and somehow, a few layers of those cold steel walls are melting. I'm not saying I'm "free" yet, nor do I know if I'll ever be, I hope so though. A window has been opened and light is coming in...melting away the dross. Melting hurts.

Today I read this in the The Psalter and the Holy Fathers. It's from the commentary on Psalm 141.

Bring my soul of of prison: that I may praise Thy Name.
More than all men have I willfully sinned, and so I am forsaken ad left helpless. As the adversary of my soul, I have the carnal thoughts that darken me. O light of those in darkness, guide of all that go astray, before I perish utterly, save me, O Lord.

It's safe to say that God is the master of the segue-way, no?

Good old Bishop Nikolai provided me with a prayer...

O triune God, You have a heart that is devoid of darkness and free of the world. Clear out from my heart the uninvited strangers, who have sullied my heart with darkness. Let my heart be radiant; let darkness hover around my heart, but let it never occupy it.

Let my heart be the heart of a son and a Lord and not the heart of a hireling and a thief.

Grant me the heart of Jesus, around which darkness waited in vain to enter, but never could.

O Queen of heavenly beauty, embrace my heart with motherly caring.

O Holy and Almighty Spirit, make my heart fruitful with heavenly love--so that everything that is born and grows within it may not be of flesh and blood but of Thee, my Holy Spirit and Lord.

The prayer can be read in it's entirety here

Lord have mercy on me...a sinner....

Friends come in all shapes and sizes and we find them in many places, work, school, church, neighborhoods and sometimes they come in a little box called a computer. Thanks to the internet, we make friends in places where we may never have found them. My husband and I have a friend we met via the internet and the blogging phenemonon we never would have through the more common physical means.

She's the kind of friend who I think were I in a real jam I could call her and she'd be on the next plane were it within her power. Honestly, I think that. At Christmas time, she sent us a gift card to buy gifts for our children when we were short on cash. Yesterday I received a "Lenten Care Package" as it were from her. I've spoken about how hard it has been for me to begin learning to "cook vegan," and she took the opportunity to care for us, lavishly, for this was no ordinary care package.

It arrived from FedEx yesterday afternoon, just before I was to take Ana to the doctor (she has strep throat...I hate to ask for prayers again...but...) in a large and very heavy box. The first thing my hands landed on was a cookbook, The Mediterranean Vegan Kitchen by Donna Klein. The introduction actually mentions the Orthdox Lenten Fast. I've looked over some of the recipes and they all look delicious and easy to prepare. But there was more, including: Buckwheat Pancake Mix, Blue Corn Organic Pancake Mix, Dried Red Lentils, Large Lentils, Chick Peas, Kidney Beans and Pinto Beans; one package of TVP (which I have recently begun experimenting with), Organic 10 Grain Hot Cereal, Organic Brown Rice, Organic Whole
Wheat Pasta, Powdered Soy Milk, Mild Curry Paste, Extra Virgin Greek Olive Oil, Better than Bouillion Veggie Base, Spring Cherry Beginner's Mind Green Tea, 2 boxes of Felafel and Hummus mix from Manischewitz, 2 boxes of "Nature Burger Mix, 1 box of Spanish Rice and Tuscany Mushroom Risotto Rice mix by Fantastic Foods, 4 packages of Tofu (2 lite and 2 regular), 1 Bavarian Dark Chocolate Bar and Hand Picked Spanish Saffron which I think is worth is weight in Gold Dust.

Quite a Care Package, I must say. Especially the Saffron, which I know isn't cheap. My kitchen looks like it's had a visit from the "Whole Foods Fairy." That's just the kind of friend this woman is...she cares extravagantly and I appreciate her so much. She is in the midst of her own struggle , re-learning to eat, with the "South Beach Diet." Thank you Serratia...some day I hope I can return the favor. Actually, I really hope we can meet in person so I can give you the hug I'd like to! Until then, I leave you with a lyric from Toy Story:

You've got a friend in me

You've got a friend in me

When the road looks rough ahead,

And you're miles and miles from your nice warm bed

You just remember what your old pal said,

Boy, you've got a friend in me

Yeah, you've got a friend in me

Thank you so much!

I've always been a soft hearted soul...always. It's what made me able to go up to the old people in the nursing homes and sit on their laps on school trips there while the other children shied away. I also used to be an incredibly patriotic person, and I still am to an extent. I'm glad I live in a free country...but somehow in the process of converting to Orthodoxy my personal nationalistic borders seem to be fading. Pain is pain no matter where it originates. The souls of many all over the world are crying out now.

Please pray, send good thoughts, or whatever to the people in Serbia

This is really making me feel down hearted this morning.

Just a couple of goofy kids

The picture is clickable if you wish to see the original.

Happy Day after St. Patrick's. In all the craziness of the first part of the week, I actually forgot that it was St. Patrick's day. A quick update on Jim...he went to see the urologist yesterday morning. The doctor believes he passed the stone, and Jim does seem to be feeling better. His kidney is still swollen and causing some residual pain. Besides that, and being completely exhausted, Jim's feeling better. Thank you for your prayers and kind thoughts. They are very much appreciated.

This particular entry started out the good old fashioned way. I took pen to paper. It was the only way it was happening this morning as both the kids woke up early. It's nearly impossible to sit at the computer and write when the mood hits if the kids are awake as one of them is always trying to push the buttons! Somehow, though, the pen and paper thing works. I can sit with them while they play and scratch thoughts down in between helping them out. It was actually really nice to sit with my notebook and pen. I didn't realize I'd missed them until I picked them up again.

Last night, I was able to meet Lola. I took my tired self to Liturgy, mostly because I wanted to see her. She is even sweeter than I expected her to be. That makes three people I've "met" in person after we've been "introduced" online. I wonder who will be next?!

Anyway, Lola asked me if I had signed a book deal. Of course, I haven't. I've become pretty realistic about the whole "writing" thing of late. The truth is, even if I had signed a book deal, I wouldn't have time to write the book! The kids, being so young, take up a huge chunk of my time.

Time, time...I've written so much about time. Existentially, it just doesn't exist. Breathe in, breathe out and that instant is gone. You can only hope they were breaths well spent, because you can't capture them. They're gone. We humans try to quantify "time." It's only an idea though. I don't think time is "real."

Just now, as I was cleaning up the breakfast dishes, I had to stop what I was doing and clean up the coffee David spilled. Luckily, it was cold coffee. Moms with young children never drink warm coffee. "My time," is like cold coffee. I'm learning to like, even love cold coffee, especially if it's quiet when I get around to drinking it.

So, back to the writing issue. This just isn't the right place in my life to concentrate on "professional writing." I wanted to have something published in a magazine, or other periodical first, just to "see" if I could even get anywhere with professional writing. I even went to the library to "research my market." Of course, I had the kids. Of course, it was disastrous.

If Jim weren't working two jobs, he could watch the kids while I researched. My breath is now spent mostly on taking care of my family. This is right. This is how it should be. This is good. I've always wanted to be a wife, a mom. Here I am. When dream meets reality, there is often a crash. You can choose to do the work to recover after the crash, or you can lay down and sleep. For a while, especially after Ana was born, I slept. But believe me, I'm wide awake now. I'm doing the work.

All that to say, the professional writing of any sort idea is on hold. I'm still relatively young. There should be space later for that dream, later when so much breath isn't spent sustaining the breath of others.

There you go.

In the meantime, I have the porch to practice writing, to explore the many different ways one can put pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard. I really enjoy the whole "blog thing." It's fun. I once remarked on someone else's blog that these things are like the old fashioned Round Robin Letters women used to send to keep in touch with each other. It's just the coolest thing to me.

Further, I like the people I've "met" this way. I care about the people who come to the porch so much that I worry if I don't see them around the internet for a couple of weeks. I enjoy sharing my life with you, encouraging and being encouraged. I honestly don't feel I'm missing out on anything by putting more formal writing on hold. I think this is what's important right now. It is certainly well spent breath...

Well, you know how much I just love the E.R. Lucky me was able to spend quite a bit of time there this past Monday and Tuesday. Jim woke up on Monday morning in pain, from a kidney stone. This is his third experience with them so he knew what it was from how the pain felt. An ambulance took Jim to the E.R. Monday morning while I found a place for the kids to stay so I could be with him. Many thanks to my neighbor for being there to help us in a pinch. A CAT scan was performed showing a stone on it's way out and two more lodged in his kidney.

Jim came home Monday afternoon and was unable to keep anything down, including pain medication so off we went to the E.R. again. Jim's mom took the kids for the night while his Dad and I held vigil in the E.R. Dad gave me leave to go home and try to rest (HA), while Jim finished up his second round of treatment. They arrived back here around 5:00 AM. I made the appointment with the urologist and found out he wanted an X-ray to go along with the CAT scam taken in the hospital. I picked up the kids, again, and took them to my neighbors house, again, so that we could get the X-ray and pick up the CAT scan films.

On the way back from the X-ray, I said to Jim, "I just want everyone under the same roof at the same time for a little while." It's been a rough couple of days. We don't think Jim has passed the stone yet. Please pray for us as we weather this latest storm.

To add insult to injury, as Jim was reviewing our checking account last night, he discovered that someone had gotten ahold of our credit card info and was using it to buy web space and long distance calling plans. We would appreciate prayer for this as well...just what we needed!

You might as well pray for the individual who landed here looking for information on "how to kill someone and conceal it." Don't know when I mentioned that, but must have at some point.

I am eternally thankful for the over-worked yet always smiling and helpful E.R. nurses. Those folks are worth their weight in gold. The E.R. remains a place to observe humanity in all it's debasement and triumph. I must say though, I hope it's a while before I have to go back!

She fills the sink with hot soapy water in preparation for washing the day's dishes. This isn't an every day task as the dishes are usually stacked in the dishwasher and this pseudo-maid does the scrubbing for her. But, she had underestimated the amount of detergent needed for her mechanical maid before the next pay-day, and thus found herself standing at the sink doing the job by hand.

A tea-cup and saucer are the first things her hands land on to wash. It is an oversized set, one she had painted herself at a "paint-your-own" pottery shop. The background is a sort of spring green with large yellow, pink, orange and purple flowers overlapping each other. She had been very proud of the finished product and as such, it is her favorite teacup. Gone missing for a long while, it had been recently found in a box containing her leftover office junk from her working days.

As the saucer is turned over, she spies the date when it had been painted, "1/97." This was months before her husband had come into her life in a '93 Mazda Protege, wielding cigars. The idea of her own little family was yet a dream, and an intangible one. At that time, she had set her sights on becoming an author of children's books. Her husband's first phone call to her had been one to give her the name of a publishing house, or some such, her memory is fuzzy on the particulars. She sighs and smiles, tracing her name and dater.

Next, she washes a teacup and saucer given her by her brother-in-law on her 3rd wedding anniversary. It is mostly white, with a pattern of pink, blue and purple flowers as a border and rimmed in gold. She and her daughter had "taken tea," her daughter using this cup. The delicate pattern more closely approaches "fine" china than the hand painted cup. Her daughter's hands can barely reach around its circumference, and more tea ends up in the little girl's lap than in her belly. Still, tea time is a treasured mother and daughter activity. She thinks of the time and circumstances surrounding when each cup had come into her life. When the fine china cups had arrived she had been big with child, her daughter.

She finishes up the washing and walks through the back door and sits on the porch to watch her children play. Her daughter's hair is wild in the approaching wind, a mind of it's own, just like hers. Her son is happily filling up a small bucket with water from the overflowing sandbox and dumping on the ground. He squeals with delight as the family dog attempts to drink the water as it falls to the ground. The children seem to grow an inch overnight at times and she wonders just how long each one will come running to her with arms open wide. "Will they some day scorn me," she ponders. She is aware of a growing need to find something else to occupy her, for they won't always need her as they do now.

She thinks back to the teacups. Her Daddy worked in a china plant and told her that fine china is translucent. If held up to the light, one should be able to see the shadow of their hand as it passes by on the other side. Well, she knows her hand painted cup an saucer aren't "fine," as they are clunky and thick as well as brightly painted. She wonders, though, about the more delicate and refined set she had been given for her anniversary. Could she hold the hand painted cup, behind the other saucer and still see it's shadow? She leaves the porch and walks inside the house for a moment, picks up the "fine china" and holds it up to the light while passing her hand behind it and sees nothing.

She laughs...and then an idea comes to her. She takes the "fine" china saucer and places it on top of the hand painted one. And then places the hand painted cup on top of the fine china saucer. Finally, she takes the "fine" china cup and places it inside the hand painted one. The "fine" china cup fits perfectly inside the hand painted one, except for the handle which sticks out, ready for retrieval. She smiles...

(many thanks to onionboy, for the 3d person idea. These entries appeared in my brain this way, but they may not have if I hadn't been reading his "Third Person Singular" journal. It's a fun way to write. I'm not sure I'll keep it up, but I've enjoyed writing this and the "Big Hand" entry this way.)

Peanut butter gets bubble gum out of carpet...in case you were actually wondering. I remembered this morning that my mother had once used it to get gum out of my hair. Somehow, the oil from the peanut butter loosens the gum and you can then pull it out. I followed the peanut butter with liberal amounts of water and dish soap, since most dish soaps are formulated to dissolve grease...

So...there you go.

A "real" entry is steeping in my brain. I suppose I'll have it up in a day or so...until then...

I wonder how long the line of beans consumed by the Nee family during the Lenten season would be if each were lined up end to end...

I wonder if the gas produced by consuming so many beans could be "harvested" and somehow used to supplement the gas heating system used by the Nee family and thereby reduce our monthly heating bill...

I wonder if there were actually two people searching for "Randy+Travis+Pancakes" on google the same day, landing here on my little blog...twice.

I wonder, if it was the same person, why they came here twice when they knew I really didn't have much to say about Randy Travis and/or pancakes...

I wonder if all those performing google searches looking for porn sites, and then landing here actually stayed around for a while...

I wonder why I continue to add blogs to my "blog run" when I complain about the lack of time in my life to do "stuff,"...

I wonder if you are reading Marya, because you should be...

I wonder why I cry every time I read this book to my daughter...

I wonder why I waited so long to read Dostoevsky, The Brother's Karamozov when I know I learn more from stories than didactic stuff...

I wonder why my dog barks and the wind and howls along with ambulance sirens...

I wonder if my daughter's eyes will turn green, like mine did and if she'll miss her blue eyes...

I wonder if my son will still look like a little old man as he does now, when he really is a little old man...

I wonder if my oldest knows just how much I really love him, even though he didn't really come from me...

I wonder if I tell my husband often enough how much I love and appreciate him...

I wonder how to get bubble gum out of carpet...

I wonder how I will feel the day my children don't run into the house calling, "Where's Mommy"...

That's enough for me to chew on for a while...you?

When she was a young girl, she developed a peculiar fear. Like all children, she went through a monster phase. Closet monsters and under the bed ankle grabbing monsters reared their heads at bedtime, but there was one kind of monster contained in her portfolio which she had never heard mentioned of anyone else when recalling their childhood monsters. It was the "Big Hand" monster.

When she was a little girl, she actually believed that there was a large hand poised over her room ready to smash her into smithereens. The hand was attached to a large rod which would push the hand down with great force whenever she entered her room and if she wasn't quick enough, she would be smushed. During the day, if she wanted to retrieve a toy or a book from her room, she would have to race in and out as quickly as possible so as to avoid being crushed. Her parents wondered at her odd behavior, but she never let on what she believed, having often heard about her, "over the top imaginations."

Time went on, and the physical idea of the "Big Hand" monster faded. Yet she often continued to feel herself shrinking, holding back from something. In class, she would sometimes keep silent, even if she had something she felt was important to say, "they'll laugh at me," she thought. At home, her true feelings would remain hidden as she played the game with her family. "I can't be sick right now, " she'd think, "they'll be mad at me." "I can't say that. I'll get into trouble." In her head, she was a different person from the one she showed to the world, witty and full of life and imagination. Outwardly, she was a docile girl, sweet and caring. She really did care, with her whole heart she loved those others would find despicable, but she never felt free to share all that was inside her.

Excitedly, she moved towards adulthood, college and working career. Slowly, pieces of the hidden spirit inside her would come out to try their hand in the world, but she never allowed that spirit to truly run free. She went through the therapy, said the prayers, wrote down her private thoughts, but still, kept places in her soul in darkness. The times when her spirit danced, even for moments, unfettered and free were ones she held onto and treasured when she cowered from whomever and whatever she faced which caused the shackling to occur again. She ate too much, smoked to much when the fear threatened to overtake her. She knew why, but couldn't seem to stop it.

She married, she had a husband she loved and treasured, children whom made her breathless when she watched them sleep and play. Somehow, the husband and the children freed parts of her long shackled inner life. Here were some who appreciated her, even the scary parts. Still, there remained pieces of her that had run out for a moment, only to race back inside quickly, before they were crushed.

Just the other day, just yesterday in fact, she was driving the van with her children to return overdue library books. One of the books was important, the representation of a dream she had long held close to her heart since childhood. As she watched the book slide over the edge of the book drop, she began to feel angry that she had again given up. She turned to walk back to the van, wanting to shake her fist at the sky and scream, but instead, she ducked...

A Math Conundrum
Yesterday evening, my husband took Ana and David to Home Depotto buy fire alarms while I stayed home with Michael. The idea was to give me a break and as, believe it or not, I enjoy helping Mike with his homework, I agreed. Mike's skills in mathematics are superior to his language skills, so he decided to complete his math homework first. I always completed my math work first as well, only it was because I hated math and wanted to get it over with!

But anyway, there was a particular word problem which I couldn't convince him he was doing incorrectly. The problem went something like this, "There are 22 students in the class. 12 of the students chose 'Painted Ladies' as their favorite butterfly. How many students chose other butterflies as their favorites?" Michael completed the problem by adding 22 + 12 to arrive at the sum of 34.

No, it makes no sense. I tried explaining to him that there couldn't be 34 students choosing other butterflies as there were only 22 students total in the class (must be a private school). He still didn't believe me. I then drew 22 "x's" on a scrap piece of paper and erased 12 to arrive at the correct answer of 10 students choosing other butterflies.

"Did we add students or take away students?" I asked.

"Take away," Mike replied.

"So you would subtract, not add, right?"

"Right."

"Ok, well fix the problem on your worksheet and let's move on."

When I looked over a few moments later to see what he had done, Mike had again written 22+12=34. When I asked him why, he said something like, "Ms. Clark said if it doesn't say, 'more than' then you add." Apparently, his teacher had taught her students some sort of formula for completing word problems. No amount of my cajoling or re-explaining could get him to change the problem. Mike had either gotten the "formula" mixed up, or his teacher is a ding-a-ling. I finally allowed Mike to leave the problem as it was and hopefully his teacher is not a ding-a-ling and will be able to explain the problem to him better than I.

It's a shame the kids are learning "formulas" to solve word problems. I thought the whole point of word problems was to develop logic and critical thinking skills. My high school physics teacher admonished us to learn how to think. "You'll get that little piece of paper that says your smart, to out into the world and never be able to make it because you don't know how to think." It's almost frightening that I now agree with him!

Moonlight Awakening Conundrums
Ana woke up around midnight last night. Jim first tried to help her as he was awake anyway, but by 2:00 AM, Mommy was on duty. She couldn't tell me what was wrong, she only writhed and whined in bed. The first two times I trudged up the stairs to help her, I slipped back into bed for a few moments, never really going back to sleep. The third time I was called up from out basement bedroom to the 2nd floor of our house, Ana was standing up in bed, ready to move to the couch. I only allow this after I have gotten up for the day.

"Ana, you have to go back to bed."

"NO! Lay down on the couch.

"Honey, it's not time to get up yet."

"NO! Lay down on the couch."

What to do, what to do. This is all partly my fault because she sometimes falls asleep on the couch during TV time. TV time occurs while David is taking his afternoon nap. Ana no longer needs a nap every day, but does occasionally catch a few winks during her TV time. She's also going through changes. We recently phased binky out and are now phasing out the "taking a cup of juice" to bed thing. I know, I know, I wasn't supposed to do that to begin with. But, when you have an infant and a 15 month old at the same time, you sometimes do stupid things in order to ensure sleep for yourself, what little of it you can attain with "two under two."

She hasn't had trouble falling asleep without her cup, having the whole, "big girl" idea explained to her. Ana's goal (decided by Mommy) is to be out of a diaper and dry through the night. Thus, nothing to drink after dinner and no cup in bed. The difficulty lies mostly when she wakes up in the middle of the night and doesn't have her cup. Ana has water by her bed, but this doesn't seem to help her in the middle of the night.

"I'll stay here with you until you fall asleep." A fight ensued. She really wanted to go downstairs, I suspect because I get her a cup of juice first thing in the morning. Finally, Ana acquiesced and allowed me to cover her up for sleep. I waited until her breathing seemed regular again before I crept down the stairs. I was halfway down, when I heard, "Mommy STAY!" I finally ended up assuring that I was sitting on the stairs and would wait for her to sleep. Every time I took a few steps, "Mommy STAY!" Old house, creaky floor boards....

I finally managed to creep back in bed, by telling her I was on the steps, even when I wasn't. I felt badly lying, but as I explained to her at one point, "Mommy needs her sleep to take care of you!"

A "no" conundrum
"No" is quickly becoming David's favorite word. He's actually really cute when he says "no" as his voice rises in inflection sounding almost indignant that I would tell him "to do" or "not to do" something. The really funny thing as that as soon as a move is made toward him to remove the offending object, or to curtail forbidden behavior, David immediately gives in. Unlike his sister where every other admonition is a battle.

Cleaning with kids conundrum
Monday is all over the house general spruce up cleaning day. I attempt to follow Flylady's prescriptions for house cleaning. Some of her ideas are good ones, break small tasks down, follow a schedule for cleaning. Essentially it boils down to having a plan and following it.

Nice idea. Really nice. I'm supposed to spend "5 minutes on each task." Has she ever done this with my kids. I tried sending them outside this morning, but they seemed to have inherited my southern "me no likey cold" gene and were soon back inside. I suppose I could park them in front of the TV, but I just don't like them to watch a lot of TV.

So, I usually end up saying things like this: "The potty is not a toy. It is for Pee Pee, Poo Poo and stinky toilet paper. It is not a bathtub for dolly or a lake for toy ducky. We do not empty a complete roll of clean toilet paper into the potty just to see what will happen. It is not a place for you to wash your hands. The lid is not for banging as loud as possible just to see if you can be louder than sissy. Please leave the bathroom. Go, go now. You have a slew of toys in your room, go play with them. I told you not to slam the lid, that's why your fingers hurt...."

15 minutes later, if I'm lucky, the toilet is shiny. If you are ever able to visit Casa Nee, please forgive the fingerprints on the wall, dog hair on the floor, the dishes in the sink and the circles under my eyes. But most importantly, never open a closet door...you could be taking your life into you hands!

I have been reading, The Psalter and the Holy Fathers for Lent this year. I try and read, with the commentary following, 5 Psalms a day. One particular, "commentator" had become my favorite. Bishop Nikolai Velimirovich and his Prayers by the Lake are oft quoted in The Psalter... and I much appreciate his words. I wanted to share a few passages which have meant much to me lately:

You are the only event of my life, O lamp of my soul. When a child scurries to the arms of his mother, events do not exist for him. When a bride races to meet her bridegroom, she does not see the flowers in the meadow, nor does she hear the rumbling of the storm, nor does she smell the fragrance of the cypresses or sense the mood of the wild animals--she sees only the face of her bridegroom; she hears only the music from his lips; she smells only his soul. When love goes to meet love, no events befall it. Time and space make way for love.

and,

White doves fly over my blue lake, like white angels over the blue heaven. The doves would not be white nor would the lake be blue, if the great sun did not open its eye above them.
O my heavenly Mother, open Your eye in my soul, so that I may see what is what--so that I may see who is dwelling in my soul and what sort of fruits are growing in her.
Without Your eye, I wander hopelessly through my soul like a wayfarer in the night, in the night's indistinguishable gloom. And the wayfarer in the night falls and picks himself up, and what he encounters along the way he calls "events"...
Aimless wanderers and loveless people have events and have history. Love has no history, and history no love.

and finally,

When you build for Him, you are proving that your soul has not forgotten everything and has not reconciled herself to the shacks of the body.
You build for him expensive edifices, in order to remind your soul that she was intended for a royal palace, and not for hovels of clay.
You are not building a house for Him, but an image for your soul, a book and a reminder for your soul.
Your Lord is overflowing with grace, and He comes down into your stone temples to meet with your soul.

I don't think I'm going to commentate myself. I hope these quotes are enjoyable and that they provide food for thought...

Growing up, my family always had cats as pets. Our fist was a very pretty calico cat named Muffin. She used to climb to the top of her scratching post, curl into a ball and fall asleep. Later, when she was too big to accomplish this feat, Muffin would make herself at home between my mother and I, sprawled out on the afghan spread over our laps as we read books together. She had several litters of kittens with only a few actually surviving. I have memories of feeding those kittens mud pies before they were given away. Muffin died at a fairly young age, she was only 5 or 6 years old. We believe she may have eaten a mouse that had been poisoned. My brother found her in the garage. He was only 2 years old and was attempting to wake Muffin up...only she wouldn't. Poor kid.

Next was Blackie, whom as you would imagine was an all black cat. Blackie had the makings of a great cat! He was friendly, and contagiously clownish. I still remember him chasing his tale while I ate my raisin bran before school in the morning. Unfortunately, he wandered into our neighbors dog pen where he was mauled to death. I never was mad at the dog...he was just being a dog after all. Next was Smokey, also a good cat. I don't remember much about him except his death. He was hit by a car and, unfortunately, the entire family witnessed his death.

We then moved to Maine and acquired Tiger from a neighbor. Tiger was actually a girl and a nice little cat as well. She used to perch on my shoulder like a parrot. We had her spayed and several days later my Mom hit her while pulling the car into the garage. Apparently she was unable to move out of the way of the car in time to miss the wheels coming towards her. Charlie came next and was not a good cat, in fact, we all suspected he suffered from mental deficiencies. He considered our guest bedroom his personal litter-box. My mom accidentally ran over Charlie as well, in the drive-way while backing out. His death remains a bit "suspect." None of the cats, Blackie through to Charlie lived over the age of about 5 months.

Then, there was Rascal. Rascal was originally named, "Dusty," but the name just didn't fit. Rascal liked to get into to trouble like that kid in school who did really stupid things to get a laugh always pretending that he had no idea it would be funny. Rascal chased my mom's head while she attempted to do push-ups in our basement. It was after one of these exercise sessions that his name was changed from "Dusty" to "Rascal." He was a fluffy white and black cat and loved to prowl in the yard, chasing insects and whatever came his way. He was not the friendliest cat, but he was companionable and we all liked him.

And so, when I came home from school one afternoon in the 7th grade and my mother said, "I have some news," you can probably guess my response.

"The cat's dead," I replied. Well, considering the above history, can you blame me?

"No, he's not dead," my said. I was relieved. My mom then told me the story.

She had been doing laundry in our basement. Mom threw some clothes into the drier, went back to the washer to retrieve the rest of the load, returned the drier, threw those clothes in, shut the door, turned on the drier and left the basement bathroom which housed our "laundry room." Then, Mom went upstairs to continue vacuuming in the living room. After a few minutes, she realized that Rascal wasn't following her around as he usually did. Given his propensity for doing stupid things, she decided to search for him. Mom went back downstairs and smelled something. Her first thought was that perhaps Rascal had gone behind the drier and vomited. As her gaze did not meet Rascal's upon leaning over the drier, Mom explored a little more before the realization of what happened hit her and she opened the door of the drier. There lay Rascal, having experienced first hand the high heat cycle, blood spattering the clothes he lay in.

Mom became hysterical and ran into the den, also in the basement and adjacent to the laundry room. She made two phone calls, the order of which I don't remember. One was to a friend of hers and the other to my father at work. I don't know if she actually talked to either of them, but I do know that by the time she finished her calls, Rascal had managed to climb out of the drier and drag himself to Mom's feet where he lay sprawled and gazing up at her helplessly. I suppose this spurred her to action because she then took him to the vet where they put him in an ice bath to cool him and administered an IV.

You know the end of the story, Rascal survived. He lost about half of one ear and the tip of his tail was never quite the same. He grew into a large fluff ball, the fur on his belly and chest constantly matted by his neighborhood explorations. He liked to sleep in the family rocking chair with all four feet sticking up in the air, his body twisted so that his head and his rump were diagonal to each other. Rascal was known to corner dogs and was also the terror of many a copperhead once we moved back south. In fact, we're fairly certain that's how he died. He went out one morning and never came back, likely being too slow for that one last rumble with a snake. I like to think he died an honorable death, rather like the man fighting the bear at the end of "Legends of the Fall."

If you've read this far, you've forgiven the terrible pun as the title. And I have to say, there is absolutely no moral or socially redeeming value to this story whatsoever. I just remembered it the other day and decided to write it down. Feel free to share your own tales of pet life in the comments, if you so wish!

The weather is fickle, so is life. A few days ago I wrote about a day filled with Palomino Ponies and blue skies. Today, the sky is gray and by 10:00 AM I remarked to the air around me that, "this day already felt like two." It started out like any other day, except that I woke up 45 minutes later than normal, cutting into my precious "alone time." The kids did sleep a bit longer than normal, but once they decided to wake up...oh my!

I suppose it's partly my fault as I let both of them stay up around a half hour later than normal last night. Jim had gone to Church for the "Liturgy of the Pre-sanctified Gifts," and I was in the mood to cuddle on the couch with them and watch a movie. Ana and David both went to sleep with little difficulty; however, Ana woke up in the middle of the night asking for juice. I reminded her that she had water by her bed, which is our new system so that I am not up and down in the middle of the night.

"No...," her face scrunched in rage, her mouth twisted in defiance, "juice!"

I repeated my mantra, "You have water by your bed. No juice." I was going to remain firm and resolute, until I spied a cup of juice on the floor. Apparently Jim had given her a cup earlier in the evening after I went to bed. I gave in, handed her the juice and then attempted to go back to bed.

"Mommy, STAY!"

I stayed with her until she fell asleep again, remembering my mother's words, "sometimes, you just have to do what works."

That little scenario may explain why I slept late.

I don't want to recount every little detail of why the day seems mud splashed. Suffice it to say there were battles where usually they don't exist; such as, Ana didn't want to get dressed or brush her teeth. The usual, "Are you going to do it or is Mommy going to do it" didn't work as it does normally. Ana did eventually get dressed, although her pants were on backwards. They stayed that way...it just wasn't worth the fight to right them.

David, normally my docile child, had fit after fit in the library. Luckily, his fits are not noisy...he screams once and then throws himself to the floor, where I leave him until he recovers. If he isn't being disruptive or hurting himself, I figure it's better to just let David be and go through whatever emotional jumble he's found himself in. The only trouble was that every time I picked him up so that we could move to a new section of the library, David kicked and fought.

I just love it when people give me the evil eye when these type of things happen. Or when they notice that Ana's pants are on backwards and shake their heads disapprovingly in my direction. I think to myself, "Look, you had your kids and you did it yourway. These are mine. I know what works and what doesn't. You want to try it for a while...go ahead, be my guest, I could use the freaking break." Of course, I never say these things aloud. But I think them very hard in the offender's direction.

We survived the library and a trip to the fabric store. Once we arrived home, David managed to step in the one pile of dog droppings the dog offered after we left for our outing. I don't even remember what the tantrums at lunch were about, or how many times David screamed to go outside and then screamed for me to come with him. There was also the "Great Salad Tongs Tug-o-War" of 2004. We'd make great "reality TV"...eh!"

David fell asleep on the floor while I was vacuuming. He's up in his crib, taking a nap now, an early one. Sometimes, it's just easier to check out for a while, isn't it! Ana's watching the "Blues Clues" DVD checked out from the library. Ray Charles does the voice of a talking treble clef. Very Cool...the day does have some redeeming value.

I'm venting.

I may be back if the Vegetable Pot Pie I'm to prepare for dinner falls flat...or the crust doesn't stay together.

Thanks for listening...sorry it was a bummer!

lol!

You're Ulysses!

by James Joyce

Most people are convinced that you don't make any sense, but compared
to what else you could say, what you're saying now makes tons of sense. What people do
understand about you is your vulgarity, which has convinced people that you are at once
brilliant and repugnant. Meanwhile you are content to wander around aimlessly, taking in
the sights and sounds of the city. What you see is vast, almost limitless, and brings you
additional fame. When no one is looking, you dream of being a Greek folk hero.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

When I used to watch the soap opera, Guiding Light on a regular basis, one of the characters used to describe the ideal day as, "Blue Skies and Palomino Ponies. I haven't watched the show in at least 10 years, yet, I still like the expression because of the picture it leaves behind. It sounds like perfection. Of course no day is ever really perfect. It is safe to say; however, that some days are better than others and even some may approach one seemingly filled with prancing ponies and blue skies.

I wasn't quite sure about yesterday when it began. Ana had one of those nights. I was up and down the steps answering her call every 30 minutes from 4:00 AM onward retrieving stuffed animals which had fallen out of bed, rearranging blankets or fetching drinks. In my frustration I actually made Ana apologize to me, which was pretty stupid in retrospect, but I don't know of many sleep deprived Moms who are also reasonably minded at 6:00 AM.

Ana finally settled in on the couch and I decided to give up and start my day. I read my 5 psalms at the kitchen table and she actually fell back asleep. I continually checked her progress, eyes closed, breathing heavy, a curl displaced on her forehead by her sleepy whispers. It was sweet. David woke up, but happily amused himself while I finished my reading.

For the most part, the day was fairly mundane. I cleaned a little while the kids played outside. It was a day approaching springlike, although the wind remained chilly. The kids wanted to be outside and so I let them go with the dog into the back yard to play. I constantly checked on them, counting heads..."there's the curly top, there's the bald one (David's hair has been recently shorn by Daddy)." At one point, I looked out the window to see that David had mastered the little slide we have in our backyard. With a grin that could make you melt straight down to your toes he was climbing up and sliding down all by himself.

I strode out on our pseudo-porch and said, "David! You're climbing up and sliding down all by yourself. Are you proud of yourself?"

"Yeah," he giggled and grinned in response and went back to the rather serious task of playing...marching up and sliding down...Good practice for the rhythm of life?

Ana busied herself in the sandbox making cakes and pies and who knows what else. Our sandbox is actually on legs and the kids are supposed to stand up to play in it, thereby minimizing the sand tracked through the house. Unless your name is Ana and you strip off your shoes and climb up into it anyway. I have discovered that liberal use of baby powder is the best way to remove sand from sweaty palms and soles of the feet.

Off to the playground after lunch. At one point we all huddled under the jungle gym. Ana looked at me with her big blue eyes with flecks of hazel and said, "I love you Mom," squeezing my leg in spontaneous embrace. She then turned to her brother and said, "I love you Babid," and threw her arms rapturously around him. David returned the embrace and the endearment, "I wuh wuh Ana." Mommy's view of the scene was watered with tears, the children blurry as in an old photograph, although I'm sure my heart's memory of the moment will be clear as church bells.

Home from walk...David naps...Ana watches a movie and I read. I prepared dinner. Minestrone. It wouldn't be dinner if I didn't screw it up somehow. Being lazy, I chopped the vegetables in the food processor, the potatoes into smithereens and so they disintegrated in the broth, thickening it. Cream of minestrone soup it should have been called! But it somehow seemed appropriate for the rich nature of the day we were having.

Just before dinner time the kids were outside playing again, and I thought of what tasks I had to do around the house. I looked outside at the dimming sun and then returned my gaze to the still needing to be unloaded dishwasher. I grabbed some coffee and went out onto the pseudo-porch and sat and watched my children. Even now they don't need me as much as they seemed to yesterday. Ana runs up to me and declares, "I love you Mom!" David follows suit, "I wuh wuh..." They both ran off to their own adventures...and I ponder the truth that someday I will repeat this scene and they won't be leaving me on foot for the safety of a fenced yard. Wheels or wings will take the somewhere far away from me, whether it be physical or spiritual distance.

I say all the time, my son, or my daughter. But they aren't really...mine. They don't belong to me. At this moment in time I care for them by teaching them to care...And someday they'll hopefully take lessons that I and their father have hopefully and prayerfully taught them, out into the world, making them their own.

Yesterday after dinner, my daughter sat in her daddy's too big chair. In a flash, I pictured Ana sitting there as an adult, the chair shrinking around her. Time fleets and sometimes I weep over it. But for now I'll hold onto to moments filled with blue wonder and prancing ponies, sandy feet and slobbery kisses. This moment is really all I have...

Something interesting has occurred for me this first week of Lent that has never before. In attempting to follow the Orthodox tradition of slowing down in Lent to focus more on God and what He means in my life I've given up a few things. The first and most obvious one is the fast. We've gone vegan for lent and I've had to re-learn how to cook. Our first experience with "Boca Burgers" was definitely interesting! After his first bite, Jim said, "You know, I think I'd rather just not eat meat than have some replacement. I think that's the point." In other words, "they're gross...just stick with the veggies!"

I think, however, that another of the Lenten traditions has had a bit more of an effect on me. In reading, Schmemman's Great Lent, I discovered that another of it's prescriptions is to give up or at least curtail entertainment in order to focus more on the spiritual. This was a little more difficult for me. Not because I didn't want to give up on entertainment, but because I didn't have that much in the way of entertainment to give up in the first place. We don't have cable so I never watch T.V. Movies are not something we see regularly because of a lack of cash flow so that wasn't really an option either.

I ended up deciding to give up my participation on an internet message board that is based around a popular band. This was a bit difficult for me, because I enjoyed the interaction found on that message board and felt I had some relationships, tenuous in a sense because I had never met those I interacted with there, but relationships just the same. I have asked for prayer of the other participants during times of distress, just as I have here, and received many assurances of the prayers offered of my friends there. However, I felt continued participation there would be somewhat of a distraction to my Lenten goal of focusing on my faith.

Giving up that participation has allowed me to spend more time reading the Psalter every day. I try to read 5 Psalms every day with the commentary provided included in, The Psalter and the Holy Fathers in addition to reading, The Orthodox Way, but Kallistos Ware. I also decided to tackle Dostoevsky's The Brother's Karamozov, which I know is a novel, but by all accounts has much to say about man's spirituality. Obviously, my mind is now focusing more on ideas within the spiritual realm. I do miss the limited interaction I had with my friends on the internet board, but am finding that the focus on the more spiritual is definitely a blessing.

It's kind of like your nose. You know you have nose, but you just don't think about it's being there. Until it begins to run, or sneeze, or itch. Once it starts giving you trouble, you know you have a nose and think about it often, until it goes back to it's normal state or medicate yourself to the point that you don't care if you even have a nose. Once I began to focus more on my spiritual side, slow down and allow God to creep into all the cracks of my soul...of which there are many, I noticed the itch that needed scratching. It was a big itch and had been covered over with many layers of stuff, none of it bad necessarily, but most definitely distracting...static.

Last night, I attended our Parish's "Little Compline with Akathist" service. It is an absolutely beautiful service of hymns/prayers offered in honor of the Blessed Mother. I'm sure that description is lacking in some Orthodox fashion but it's the best I can do right now. I'm finding more of an appreciation for the Theotokos the more I learn about her. I was moved to tears as I read and recited some of the prayers. I think much of my affinity for her is because she was a mother...she probably experienced slobber on her shoulder. It's a bit scandalous to think of God slobbering, but if He came into the world for a time as a baby, it's highly likely that He did indeed slobber.

I can't share all I felt about that service without filling up much space here with my spiritual ramblings. I will say this, the experience last night was deeper and richer for me. As I've focused more on my spritual person this week by turning down the static, I've come to know the areas that I covered over with earthly balms in an attempt to forget about or at least not notice them so much. This first week of Lent and the corresponding services have showed me how deep my sin goes...and just how much work I have to do. I focused more on and found more meaning in the Akathist service last night than I usually do, likely because I've been focusing more on God. It's most certainly an itch that needed scratching, although not by my hands.

The actual Emergency Room...not the television show. I stopped watching the show quite a while ago when it turned into a soap opera. I figured I could watch General Hospital and not have to stay up past my bedtime!

I had to take David to the E.R. today. Just after lunch, I was beginning preparations for iced-tea brewing, (I do bags honey, none of that powdered stuff here) when I heard a loud bang followed by tortured screams from David. I ran to the scene of the incident, some 5 feet from me, and found my wee one with a goatee of blood. Yup..it weren't pretty.

I actually thought he may have knocked a tooth out of his mouth as when I picked him up there was a little white "thing" on the floor. Luckily, it was just a piece of one of those of those conversation valentine's hearts. Yup..I'm an evil mom who gives her kids candy. My reasoning is as thus...I'm gonna eat it, why deprive them.

David's bottom lip was pretty well chewed up, but I didn't think it needed stitches. Jim, on the other hand thought it would be a good idea to have it checked out. So...off we went to the overcrowded E.R. This one is particularly crowded being a Catholic hospital who readily accepts charity cases. We arrived at around 1:00 PM and were seen by the doctor sometime after 6:00 PM. I nearly left three times before being seen. The first time I was standing at the Peds Triage Station waiting for the nurse to notice me so I could sign something absolving the hospital of all guilt before I left. At that instant David's name was called and I figured, "oh what the hell...might as well get seen now." Once we were back in a room, I nearly left twice but was convinced by a nurse to stay.

It wasn't their fault. E.R.'s are overcrowded with people who use them as primary care physicians and there were also several ambo cases that arrived while we were waiting. Such is life. At least David and I got to bond a bit. While we were waiting to see the doctor, I reclined in the bed with David on my lap. He eventually succumbed to the land of hopping sheep and I pondered just what the E.R. had ushered into, and out of my life since I'd married my Jim.

Two short weeks after we were married I found myself sitting in the same E.R. with Jim as he experienced his first attack of kidney stones. That was one long day...not without it's humorous moments. We were sent home to birth the stone on our own, straining ever urinary event. The stone was passed, and Jim in a narcotically altered state phoned his parents and said, "I peed out the stone." I think he was more stoney than the stone in that instant...

A few years later we went to a different E.R. for Jim's second kidney stone attack. Unbeknownst to me at that time, although I had my suspicions, I was pregnant. Surgery was required for the removal of this stone...it was a whopper. This particular hospital was "Jewish". I always felt so comforted in seeing the Orthodox Jews with their Yamulkes and Mezzuah kissing. As a Christian, I always reasoned that we somehow worshipped the same God...we just believe ours was born on earth...

Several weeks later, a Thursday, I took the pregnancy test and confirmed my suspicion. The next day, Good Friday, I went to work, spotted, then gushed, then took myself back to the same E.R., I had recently spent so much time in. I remember the look on the nurses face as she asked me how many pads I'd been through...I couldn't answer. She handed me a tissue and I began the wait to confirm the death of my first baby. Eventually, my gyn returned my cell phone call and I went to see him instead of waiting. I cried, yelled and pleaded with God, silently in that tacky polyester chair in the E.R. waiting room.

A few months later I was preggo again and Jim was on a business trip. I was around 7 or maybe even 8 weeks along. I got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom...spotting again. I took myself back to that same E.R...the one at the Jewish hospital. The triage nurse was an adorable young African American man. God bless him...45 minutes after I arrived he ushered me back to be seen by a doc.

"I put you in front of some others because I know you're worried since you've already had one miscarriage." I remember that man in my prayers to this day.

Four hours later I was ushered into the bowels of the hospital's imaging center. It was pretty quiet at 4 AM. The sonographer looked at the screen, looked at my face and said, "Don't tell anyone I said this to you. There's a heartbeat." She later said she'd had four miscarriages herself. If anyone knew she'd told me the results of the sono she could lose her job or some nonsense. There's another stranger I remember in my prayers.

A few months later, I was ushered through the E.R. in the Catholic hospital, wheelchair groaning under the weight of my big, old pregnant, lamaze breathing, self. Ana was born 11 hours later...

15 months after Ana's first in-utero visit to the E.R., I returned to deliver David, this time by induction. I was in a much better frame of mind sitting in that wheel chair. I wasn't it pain.

The Orthodox have this idea that matter matters, that mere "stuff" can become holy. The E.R. room became like a temple for me as I experienced all those flashbacks...tragic, trying and even sometimes endeared rememberances of how God reached down and touched my life in the midst of pain and joy. I'm sure many conversions, and life altering moments have occurred to most of humanity at some time or another in the waiting rooms, triage stations and stretcher beds of the E.R. I thought about that last night as I lay with my son, waiting. Church really isn't just a building. Moments of reflection of life and God can occur in the most unlikely of places, if our hearts are just open to listen to the whispers...

David didn't need stitches by the way...just some antibiotics to prevent an infection. He looks like the champion in a boxing match. I hope I can teach David how to win all his important battles as the choice between making it holy and keeping it mundane meets him at every battle he faces in his life...

author's note: I wasn't originally going to publish this piece; however, my husband upon reading it remarked that there was no reason why I shouldn't...I'm not into confrontation which is what I was afraid this might bring. But, perhaps it's time I faced a little confrontation...eh?


...they just don't understand each other. The cat looks at a tree and thinks, "climbing toy," or maybe even "lunch" if a bird is nesting in it's branches. A dog looks at a tree thinks, "sticks," and perhaps a day with his master spent retrieving them.

So, were we to enter the world of Dr. Doolittle for a moment and the dog and cat were able to speak to one another about trees, what would they say. I doubt they would be able to communicate much about the tree since it means something different to each one of them and each one has had that set of beliefs for a long time. The debate would likely end in a woofing and meowing match of epic proportions. The cat will call the dog, "poop breath" and the dog will call the cat, "mouse entrail lover." Much scratching and snapping will ensue and neither will have any better idea what the other is thinking than when the discussion started..

Cats and dogs view more than just trees differently. Were we able to actually see a "cat's" and "dog's eye view," I imagine we'd see two very different worlds.

I think that unfortunately, this is what's happening as many in the country begin to debate the issue of same sex marriage. On the one hand, we have the Christian Right, who view marriage as a sacrament entered into by a man and a woman. A wedding and thus marriage is also the symbol of Christ uniting with His church. The union of man and wife in in marriage within the Christian church is considered holy and is supposed to be an unbreakable bond (I know it is often broken).

I can't honestly say what the word "marriage" means for proponents of same sex marriage (SSM). I've heard the term "civil right" and along those lines that those who want SSM believe they should be entitled to the same rights and privileges of those who are in more "traditional" unions. My gut tells me it's more than just a "civil right," or about insurance, etc, etc, etc. But honestly, I don't know and don't feel it fair of me to comment or suppose what pro-SSMer's think.

I do believe that the those on opposite sides of the issue view the world through very different glasses. And much like cats and dogs, when they start talking about their views, they begin to fight. Name calling and ridiculous, snide comments as to intelligence are made on both sides. It's sad really.

Unlike cats and dogs, we do actually have the ability as humans to shut up and listen, to not every second be thinking of the counter-points to our opponent's argument. We may never be able to 100% understand exactly where another is standing...but we can get a pretty good idea. Listening and attempting to understand doesn't at all mean that you must acquiesce and agree.

I feel ashamed when I see pictures of Christians carrying signs which say things such as, "God hates fags," or, "Gays eat shit." I don't believe this is a Christ-like attitude. It's a hateful one...and not one I'd share. Yet I also don't enjoy hearing that Christians are, "ignorant," and "weak."

I don't know for sure what the "right" answer here is or if there even is one. It certainly is a slippery slope and the older I get, the issues that once seemed as bright as day or as dark as night seem to fade together into the purple of dusk. I just wish we could try and understand each other.

Sometime around the middle of last week I got a little sore throat, which I ignored...it then turned into a big sore throat, followed by a cough and intermittent voice breaks. I cough at night instead of sleeping, despite the codeine laced cough syrup, and an elephant has decided to hibernate on my chest. I do have bronchitis and am on antibiotics and should feel better soon.

Despite how icky I was feeling, I decided to go to the Canon of St. Andrew last night. I thought it would last an hour or so and I would have some time to recharge from the craziness of last week when Jim was sick. Two and one half hours later, I emerged from church, exhausted, but still glad I'd attended the service. There's just something altogether grounding about being in a quiet church surrounded by candlelight and hearing the psalms chanted and continually asking for mercy. So it was a long service...but a good one.

I came home expecting to chug some cough syrup and go to sleep, but instead spent about an hour comforting Ana...who now says she has an elephant, albeit a smaller one than mine, hibernating on her chest. She settled down and I pretended to sleep in the recliner. She wakened several times in the night and needed further comforting and assurances that Mommy had scared away all monsters with her horrifying breath.

So yeah...I'm running on fumes. Since Lent has begun, we're eating lots of beans. So, luckily for me, the fumes abound! I really can't wait for spring to come. Or at least a day warm enough that I can open the windows and air out the house and send all the leftover germs (and fumes) scurrying for cover. It's been a rough winter around here....

Speaking of Lent, I looked up Food Co-ops for the state of MD, thinking we could join one and get better deals on the health food types of items we need to supplement our Lenten menu...and found MD is woefully lacking in co-ops. I'd have to travel quite a distance to reach one. So then I thought maybe our church could start one since it would be a great service for the community...except there's no room in the church. So...oh well...I'll just probably be paying outrageous prices at whatever local health food store I can find.

So...there you have it. The latest but not so greatest news. Sorry if this entry seemed to sputter a bit...

"Understand that you have within yourself, upon a small scale, a second universe: within you there is a sun, there is a moon, and there are also stars."

~Origen, Homilies on Leviticus

I really like that quote. It seems appropriate for "Sunday of Forgiveness," for if we are all able to appreciate the unique nature of our fellow humans and the reflection of Christ found therein, it is much easier to seek to forgive and to be forgiven, at least in my crazy mind. Perhaps, if we keep this idea in our mind in our dealings with each other, there will be much less reason to seek forgiveness from our fellow humans.

I'm a day late in asking for forgiveness of anyone I may have offended since this inception of this blog and all it's numerous and sometimes humorous changes. I have some sort of upper respiratory "thing" going on again and I didn't spend much time on the computer yesterday. I tried to type up some notes last night, and ended up deleting them all.

I think I'll just keep it simple and say, "If I have offended you or sinned against you in any way, please forgive me."

Lord have mercy on me, a sinner,

Laura

Part 1

I had a real ending to this monstrosity. I chucked it along with another whole section which simply seemed to belabor the point! The writing of this piece was probably more for me than anyone else.

I think the best way I can sum this whole journey into Orthodoxy is this. Before I found the Orthodox Church, I felt as if I was on top of the ocean, skimming the surface on a raft or maybe even some sort of motor boat. The wind was in my hair, occasionally a fish might surface, the gulls would fly around and beg for food. It was grand, the sun was warm and the air smelled salty. Eventually, though, I tired of the surface, the sameness of the waves and gulls and the wind in my hair. It was a somewhat superficial experience of the ocean.

The ocean itself called to me...called me to go deeper, to explore all the caverns, reefs, seaweed forests and wild-life contained therein. Certainly at times it will be scary as I enter the dark territory of the unknown, but there are hands to guide me and a surety that I am to enter the water if I ever really want to understand ocean. Floating on top just isn't enough, I have to take the plunge.

We've been catechumens now for nearly two months. As my experience in the life of The Church grows, my understanding of it's depth lengthens and widens. I have fond memories of those days when I merely skimmed the surface. But I am ever so glad that I was pushed over the edge.

Blessings...

Part 1

Soon after our introduction with Fr. Gregory, we decided to visit a service. Fr. urged us to visit several parishes, but having fervently prayed for a church which would be close in proximity and having our prayer seemingly answered, we felt we were home. We asked Jim's parents to watch Ana and David for us so that we could attend our first service without having to worry about the kids. We were greeted and initially assisted by the bell ringer. I remember essentially just standing in awe of the whole service as I had never experienced church in this way before. An excerpt from my journal, sums up the experience:

When I was a little girl, I used to enjoy one church service every year above all the others. It was the candlelight service we held on Christmas Eve. There was just something so incredible about that service and if I close my eyes and try to squeeze myself back into that little girl's body and mind I can almost remember those feelings. First, there was this special man, Jesus, and he was there! We were celebrating his birthday and for some reason, all the people in the church were very happy. Jesus was there...and everything was good.

The air itself seemed to glisten with holiness. The whole family was there...mothers, fathers, grandmothers, aunts, uncles...babies squirmed and little children wiggled as their parents shushed and rearranged and explained..."Jesus is here. It's time to be holy." That's not what they said, but that was what they meant. "Jesus is here...Jesus is here." The big stained glass window depicting Jesus seemed to come alive that night more than any other. He was there.

There was always a lot of singing at that service. All the traditional Christmas Hymns, "O Come All Ye Faithful," "Away in a Manger," "O Holy Night." All the hymns talked about Jesus...because...He was there! You could feel him in the air, smell him in the pine scented wreaths, see Him in the faithful's eyes as they greeted each other, "Merry Christmas," hear Him in the music. It almost seemed you could touch Him...Jesus was there.

The most stirring section of the service was its conclusion with the singing of, "Silent Night." The lights were extinguished and each person in attendance who could be trusted to hold a candle was given one to light. They flickered and shimmied as we passed the light from person to person. Once all candles were lit, we began to sing, "Silent Night, Holy Night, All is Calm, All is bright..." I swear to you, the angels were there with us in that sanctuary adding their voices to the chorus. It was Holy, the smell of the candle wax and the light reflected on the faces of the congregants. It was like no other church service. We all knew it. Jesus was there. He was there. We ended the service by singing, "Joy to the World" and carrying the candles out of the church, still lit. "Joy to the World! Light of the world." He's here.

This morning I attended my first ever Orthodox Christian Church Service. We were greeted by several members of the church who helped us ascertain what to "do." Jim originally wanted to follow along in a service book, but, like I, eventually decided to just "go with the flow." Everyone was there, the whole family. I saw what I believed to be some grandparents, mothers, fathers, children, infants...there was some shushing and rearranging. Everyone stood...because Jesus was there. You could smell Him in the incense, hear him the music, see him in the faithful's eyes. He was there. There were flickering candles and windows to heaven. The whole family really was there and the angels were rejoicing. It wasn't Christmas Eve, but, He was there. In all my years of attending church, I've never felt Him quite so much.

The people were real and so was Jesus. He was there. And it was good.

Needless to say, we were stunned, we were spooked, we were hooked. After the service we went downstairs for "coffee hour" which at Holy Cross meant a pot-luck lunch. We were able to talk with several other parishioners as well as an Orthodox couple we had met via the internet. We weren't able to stay long, having to pick up Ana and David from Jim's parents, but I remember feeling so welcomed and at home.

conclusion

Part 1 can be found: here


Jim and I continued to discuss our church feelings, and set a date to discontinue attendance at our then current church. We were both a little uneasy, yet relieved with the idea of having no church home for a while. I don't remember thinking much about our decision to discontinue church attendance accept for relief at not having to go and put on the "church face." During this time of non-church attendance, which only lasted about a month or so, Jim began a short email exchange with the Orthodox deacon we had met on the aforementioned web forum. Jim continued to push this man for answers and eventually the deacon sent Jim an email with the Amazon listing for a book called, Becoming Orthodox: A Journey to the Ancient Christian Faith by Fr. Peter Gillquist.

The bull was being taken by the horns so to speak and Jim ordered the book and several others. We began reading it aloud chapter by chapter in the evenings after the kids had gone to bed and it was an eye opening experience for both of us. The book essentially revealed to us that the church Christ started existed today, and it was to be found in Holy Orthodoxy. Initially, Jim took issue with some Orthodox beliefs. I particularly remember him questioning the Marian Dogmas. Jim would say it was because right after he was born, some well meaning Baptist person began whispering in his ear, "She's just a woman." It took Jim a while to be able to accept the idea of venerating Mary and that she was the most blessed of all women. I on the other hand, accepted the truths about the Theotokos fairly easily. Perhaps it was because the Blessed Mother is a woman and a mother, as I am.

The biggest area of concern I had was with the idea of icons, and of venerating them, of standing in front of them and praying. Part of me understood the idea of them being windows to heaven and that the saints are in heaven pulling for us here on earth. It was still a strange idea and part of me felt it was idol worship to an extent. However, I have lately come to understand that in venerating the icons we are simply showing respect due for men and women who have fought the race well. It's really not all that different from kissing your grandma when you think of it.

Jim and I finished reading, Becoming Orthodox, A Journey to the Ancient Christian Faith and then decided we should "do something about it." We asked our deacon friend if he knew of any Othodox churches in our area and Holy Cross Antiochian Orthodox Church was suggested. Jim emailed the priest, Fr. Gregory Matthewes-Green and we made an appointment to meet with him in the evening. Holy Cross is housed in a small stone church about 2 miles from our home, a seven minute drive. The church had been viewed countless times in our marriage as we passed by it traveling to Jim's parent's house and I had often felt drawn there. We both couldn't help but recall when we had first started praying over the summer for a church that would be just around the corner...and here it was!

What I also found very comforting in a strange sort of way was that I had grown up attending a little stone church myself, in Danville, VA. That church was bigger than this one, but the architecture was somewhat similar. Upon meeting Fr. Gregory and taking a tour of the church, we discovered it had originally been a Methodist church. There was even a big stained glass window depicting Jesus as a shepherd similar to one I had talked to in church as a child. Goosebumps abounded...I was spooked....

Part 5

to Real Live Preacher's most recent post.

"Come on darling. It's time to put our coats on and go home."

"No," Ana replied, "I want to go back in Church."

"Sweetie, I'm tired."

My first "Great Compline" service had worn me out and I was ready to pack it in.

"We need to go check on Daddy. He's sick, remember."

Ana was insistent, "No! I wanna stay here."

"Do you want to sleep here," I queried.

"Yes!"

"Oh honey," I searched for words. "I know how much you love church. You know how when you come home from Church, Mommy always grabs you and smells your hair because you smell like church...like the candles and incense we burn."

"uhhh," her voice rises in inflection.

"Jesus says we are the church. We sort of carry church around with us even when we're not inside Church. Kind of like how you still smell like Church after you've come home. You don't have be in Church, to be the church. In some sort of, way, we never really leave." The expression on Ana's face told me my existentialism was too much for her two year old mind to comprehend. "It doesn't always make sense to Mommy either. But some day, you'll understand better." I silently mused, "are we even supposed to understand it fully?"

Somehow, my less than desirable explanation convinced her to don her coat, grab my hand, and step with me out of Church, into the cold and dark evening. I looked up the glinting starry host, gazed down at my daughter and in her eyes saw the heavens. I smiled. Her eyes remained serious.

"We go home to check on Daddy?"

"Yes love, we're going home."

We walked on...

Author's note. This is an amalgam of several different scenes that happened with Ana and I. I pulled them all together for the sake of brevity...

Part 1 can be found: here

Jim and I continued attending church through the summer with the understanding that change had to happen. We discussed quitting church altogether for a while so as to be undistracted in our search. I wanted to give up on formal church and start a home Bible study. At that time, I felt this was the authentic church model; a personal faith easily shared with the community; ministering to our invited neighbors, our children actively participating in the faith and not sequestered in a room with other children playing while their parents worshipped, a true family affair.

The "home church" idea was exciting to me. Jim, however, had fond memories of growing up within the church and wanted the same experience for our children. Home Bible study might do for a time for him, but Jim wanted to be under a church structure. Further, he felt that walking away from some sort of authority would be spiritually dangerous and that we could end up believing our own truths about God and Christ instead of the ones set forth by Christ Himself thereby putting our very salvation in jeopardy. Undaunted, I had read that home church associations existed with ministers at the helm guarding against such things. I turned to the internet to research them, found none within our area and secretly despaired.

I continued my participation on the internet forum where the original "Spooky Church" reflection had been posted. There were several members of the Holy Orthodox Church who participated on the message board, all being wonderful, generous people whom I felt myself drawn to, although I didn't understand their faith as all I knew of Orthodoxy was "My Big Fat Greek Wedding." However, so much of what their worship appeared to be from the words I read on the internet forum seemed to be what I was looking for when I wrote "Spooky Church." God, for these people, was not your blue jeaned former hippie uncle handing out candy and patronizing advice. He was the very center of their being and they longed to know more about Him; indeed, Christ was their life.

I mentioned my feelings to Jim one evening during our now "daily de-briefing" time. I remember him looking at me as if I had two heads. Orthodoxy to him had something to do with Catholocism. Being raised a Baptist, Catholocism was the devil's church! I didn't feel so and continued listening to these Orthodox friends. I gently mentioned the idea of exploring Orthodoxy a few more times to Jim and he also began to pay more attention to the Orthodox on the web forum.

I was attracted not only to the supreme place God seemed to hold in the lives of the Orthodox, but also to the mysticism the religion still contained after so many centuries. God was as much a mystery to them as he was real, which seems antithetical, but, I loved this idea. Somehow, the need of the Christian West to have all the answers relegated God to a science project in my eyes. For me, God was becoming more than just a project. I wanted him to permeate my being and my life. Holy Orthodoxy seemed to validate this view.

Part 4

Part one can be found: here

This "Spooky Church" reflection was submitted to an online magazine for publication. A deacon of the Holy Orthodox Church from Buffalo, New York, whom I had "met" on an online web forum sent me an email asking if he could reprint the article for a discussion group he had started. Little did I know what role this man would soon play in steering my life in a direction I'd never considered. I enthusiastically said, "yes." I visited the forum myself, but found I didn't understand much of what was discussed. Some of the topics discussed were non-church related and dealt with the politics of the day, and with those I could interact. However, the topics dealing with church, I just couldn't understand. I had grown up in the United Methodist Church, abandoned it for the Post-Modern movement and was standing on the cusp of giving up on church altogether. Holy Orthodoxy seemed another world to me and one where I didn't belong.

The truth is that I had grown to hate church as it looked like a masquerade ball to me, almost scripted. Paradoxically, one of the benchmarks of the Post-Modern Church Movement seems to be it's strive towards authenticity, yet, none of the church experiences I was having felt so. In my eyes, were one truly "authentic" one would not have to read a book to find out what it means to be "real." I had participated in a Bible study with some of the ladies in the church and felt somewhat better in getting to know them. However, I felt I dared not speak my feelings of discontent aloud to any of them as I was afraid of the typical answers of, "you're just experiencing a dry spell," or, "you need to become more involved." The very thought of hearing those words sent my stomach to roiling.

My husband, Jim, shared my sentiments about our church. He had been dissatisfied for a long period of time and had simply been attending church for me and the "break" it offered during the week of caring for our children. Interestingly enough, an amazing turn around occurred within our marriage during this same period. Summing up, we went from strangers passing in the night, to two people who were fighting for their marriage. The dam burst, the communication lines were open, and our true feelings about church, each other and God began to gush forth. We began praying together for change and direction of our spiritual lives. Prayer is such a dangerous thing when performed fervently because it effects change. Little did we know what a transformation God was about to bring in our lives.

Our prayers contained the need for a church within our community as we wanted to be more than spectators and desired that our daily life and our faith be intertwined. During this time I had by chance, met a woman in our neighborhood who was also a Christian and I felt at ease to share my discontent with her. She invited me to attend her church, which she said was charismatic, and also suggested several other area churches. Her church was a 45 minute drive from our home which didn't seem to meet our requirement of a community church; and the idea of a charismatic type of church was a bit of a turn off for me. I wasn't seeking more rock and roll and what I believed to be contrived emotion. I wanted the church as Christ meant it to be.

Part 3 can be found: here

I Wish Church Was Spooky (the good kind)

I walk into a hushed environment. Soft organ music glides into my ears with whispers of pages turning bringing to mind the rustle of angels’ wings. The musty smell accumulated by saints of old enters my nostrils causing me to breathe slowly and deeply. The air shimmers with soft light filtering through many colored windows. My eyes center on a cross, the focus of why I am present in this place. A chill begins in my soul and radiates outward as I am, well, a little spooked. Not in a scary way but an almost comforting sort of awe at a presence bigger than mine. There are others here, some older, some younger. We are all quiet, reflective, preparedly waiting for worship to begin.

The hour is chimed and we begin to sing, “O for a thousand tongues to sing.” We say the Apostle’s Creed and I am reminded of the community of saints spiraling backwards down to the beginning of time in the year of our Lord. Again, I am spooked, in that good way. I feel connected, centered, knowing that others have relied on this ancient faith to carry them through their storms and comforted that it will carry me through mine.

At some point, I rebelled against this old liturgy, thinking it stuffy and old fashioned. I didn’t think it was a genuine form of worship because of its scriptedness. I felt there was no life there for me. Moving on, I found the rock and roll church my generation has embraced. The casual clothes, people clapping and raising their hands, even dancing if the spirit so moves them. Rarely is it ever quiet except for a few moments here and there. When we are quiet it is disquieting. We’re here to make some noise after all. Weren’t we quiet for too long? Sort of like kids loosed on the playground after a long period of sitting still. We want reckless abandon, holy fun. We are tired of being made to sit still and think.

For a good long while, this satisfied me. I was happy with the rabble rousers. Here, I felt I was home with people who were as joyous as I was. Who wanted to recite meaningless words? I wanted to shout, sing and praise God with all my being. Who needed quietness? Why be reflective, haven’t I thought about all this enough already?

As I’ve gotten older and had children, I’ve begun to miss that quietness. The serious business of worship and getting still before God. Perhaps there is too much noise in the everyday life raising two little ones and not enough stillness. My soul feels weary at times and I long for the reminder of why I come to church. Because I believe...,”in God the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth and in Jesus Christ, his only son, our Lord...” I don’t ever remember not knowing those words and the ones that follow. What once seemed stuffy and contrived now seems comforting and welcoming. I miss hearing the organ announce the melody of the next hymn to be sung and the connection it offered with the community of saints who came before me. I used to feel joy in singing those old hymns. They remind me of my Grandmother. I wish I could hear her sing them one more time in her hoplessly tone deaf way. It is a dear memory.

By the same token, I’m not ready to turn my back on the rock and roll. There is certainly a freedom there that was lacking in my early church memories. I do, however, miss that good spooky church feeling. I felt connected with God in that holy spookiness as I entered the sanctuary. Going to church now almost feels the same as going to the mall. There is no stillness upon entering the worship area. Nothing brings to mind angels’ wings or the millions of people who have prepared to worship before me down through the ages. I don’t feel that chill radiating outward from the center of me. I’m sure there is a way to get some of that spookiness back into the rock and roll. There has to be. My soul wants for it. I know I can’t be alone in that wanting.

Nearly a year has passed since those words were written. In the space between that moment and now, more has transpired in my life and my faith journey than I ever imagined...

Part 2 can be found: here

I cut David's big blankie into fourths so as to have, "extras" on hand in case one is lost and so he doesn't continually trip on the big one. I knew the edges would fray if I left them raw, so I wanted to stitch them up. I at first dreaded this process as we don't have a sewing machine and I knew it would take a bit of time. However, as I actually began the process I was reminded of when I used to do counted cross stitch and how much I enjoyed this often mesmerizing activity.

I am a fidgeter by nature. It's very difficult for me to sit still for any period of time without having to do something with my hands. Last night as Jim and I were watching a movie together, I constantly twirled my hair, scratched my head, etc, etc, etc...just to have something to do with my ever restless hands. I suspect my long struggle with smoking has something to do with this as well as it gives me something to do with my hands. My high school note books were filled with doodles all over the place. I used bring colored pens so my doodles would be in technicolor. Going to classes by the time I entered grad school was torture.

I turned to stitching to help me. My MeMa had always encouraged handi-work in her grandkids. She herself was a master at the art of crochet. When I was little, she taught me how to crochet a simple chain stitch and in all honesty, I don't remember not knowing how. Often, MeMa would arrive for visits with some sort of stitching kit for me to work on. They were usually potholders with a design printed on them and all I needed to do was cover the lines with thread. I am sure they were ghastly creations, and I doubt any of them exist any more, but at the time I was very proud of them. MeMa herself apparently had trouble keeping her hands still in the evenings when her work for the day was completed. This was the time when her magic needle would appear and gorgeous creations began to spin below her needle.

I cross stitched ornaments for Christmas presents growing up, but had never managed to complete an entire "big" project. This task was tackled in graduate school. I found a design and chart I liked, picked up the Aida cloth and began work. All of my professors were consulted before each class as to my need to have something to do with my hands and why I was working on a cross stitch in class. "I just have to do something with my hands, I can't sit still and just listen." All of them acquiesced and I graduated with a 3.9 something GPA, so obviously the stitching didn't interfere with learning!

The journey of a completed cross stitch project (just plain "stitch" to my fellow southerners) begins with taping off the edges of the cloth to prevent fraying and then a single pull up through the Aida with needle and floss as close to the center of the cloth as possible. A knot is to be concealed as a secret so as to keep the lumps and bumps down to a bare minimum. In cross stitch, the thread is actually caught on the other side of the thread under the adjacent stitches. The underside of a completed stitch is to be as neat as the picture the world sees although mine often appeared a jumbled mass of colors and loose ends.

There was always something very satisfying about that initial pull of the needle and thread through the cloth as it was often very stiff having not been been handled save the taping of the edges. When drawn out reminds me of the sound of ocean waves lazily making their retreat. Pushing the thread back through the cloth to complete the stitch made the same sound. It could be hypnotizing.

Push...pull...push...pull...

Being the un-mathematical genius that I am, I often made mistakes in transferring the chart design onto actual aida cloth. Sometimes, if the mistake was caught early enough, I would resolutely pull out the offending stitches and begin again. Other times, I would discover a mistake made early in the project that would require pulling out hundreds of stitches in order to right. Never did I pull these out, I made my own adjustments and moved on. The finished project never showed the mistakes and indeed, made the project more, "mine."

I completed several projects in grad school and some of them decorate the walls of our house. One of the bigger projects I completed wasn't accomplished in graduate school, but in my very first apartment in Baltimore. It was a stitch my mother had requested, a sampler which is a cross stitch piece which has the alphabet marching across it's tiny grid of squares. This piece was to be given to my mother for Christmas, my first Christmas of independent living and I was poor! My first job didn't pay much as I was working for a somewhat prestigious children's hospital affiliated with Hopkins here in Baltimore. I took the job for the learning experience, not for the money!

I decided to try and frame the stitch myself so as to cut down on cost. I distinctly remember sitting down at my white formica dining room table, the same one where I had grown up eating breakfast and dinner for quite a few years and struggling to get the stitch to look "good" in the frame. I can even remember how the light looked at that time. It was sort of a golden cloud hovering about me and my work as I attempted to stretch this stitch onto the "easy self stick mat." My stomach hurt. In the mathematical un-proclivity that had followed me throughout life, I hadn't left enough of a margin around the design to properly frame the stitch. There I was sitting at our old dining room table struggling to make the stitch fit into the frame and it didn't matter how many knots I'd concealed, how neat the underside of the work was, how carefully I'd taped off the edges to prevent fraying. It just wasn't going in. My 24 year old body seemed to shrink until it felt 5 years old. I was defeated.

I gave the sampler to my mom without a frame but with great apologies. Being my mother, she said not to worry about the lack of frame. Of course I thought, "she's my mom, she has to say that." On my next visit home, there was the stitch, hanging on the wall above my great grandmothers hand sewn fan quilt, in a beautiful gold frame with a gorgeous burgundy suede mat. Mom had taken the stitch to a professional, and they had made the whole thing even more beautiful than I had imagined it could be.

Sometimes you just have to give the miscounted stitches, the concealed knots, the jumbled mass of colors on the back side, the loose ends and the frayed edges over to the master to frame it all in and give the proper perspective. Otherwise, all the pushing and pulling could amount to naught...

Yesterday afternoon, I was nearly finished with my workout before David woke up. The light was still extinguished in is room and thus it was dark. David hung out in his crib, even though he was awake, gurgling to himself and drinking the juice I had brought for him. Soon, we heard Ana charging up the stairs to go potty. Earlier in the day, she had an accident and had refused to put her pants back on and was wearing only her underwear. She had accessorized this outfit with her fluffy snowman slippers and her legs appeared as sticks for marshmallows. I suppose her feet were cold.

Upon hearing Ana, David decided he wanted to get out of bed. I lifted him out of his crib, checked his diaper and placed him on the floor. Ana had exited the bathroom and was standing in the hallway just outside of David's doorway. Late afternoon light was streaming in from the window in her room which is adjacent to David's, bouncing off the hardwood floor, shimmering on her face and igniting the burnished gold curls which never cease to dance their way around her head. David spied his sister and said excitedly, "Ana, Ana, Ana," as he began to walk toward her.

Ana was already turning to head back down the steps to whatever adventure she had most recently concocted. I said, "I think David wants a hug, Ana."

"Oh," she replied. David stepped into the light of the hallway and neared his sister. She in turn moved toward him and put her arms around him in a giddy embrace. Then, Ana turned her head to the side of David's and placed a kiss there, right above his ear. Ana pulled away. David's smile intersected the sun beams surrounding him, cutting them in two with it's brightness.

"Ah-kuuu," said David.

"Youuuu welcome," replied Ana.

David turned his face back to Mommy. I opened my arms to receive David and he toddled in and paused for a moment as I stroked his still baby chubby cheek. His attention lighted on a toy in the room and he was off. The golden moment ended in real time, but lives on forever in my heart.

My husband is currently burning the candle at both ends and the middle. He recently discovered that a change in the way his company may pay commissions could take place which would leave us in a financial hole of epic proportions. Well, maybe not epic, but it would certainly create many problems. Luckily, a member of our parish offered Jim some part time work preparing marketing materials for his company, so he's been staying up late to work on that and earn some cash so we can be prepared. I can't begin to say how proud I am of Jim for working so hard to keep our little family afloat. A blessed woman I am. Please do remember Jim in your prayers as he is pretty worn out at this point and I don't know that there is an end in sight in near future. Also pray for me as I fight the "guilt" feelings of not working and helping us out. It would be nice if I could sell an article or two, but that will be a long time coming I imagine.

Jim still has an incredible sense of humor. I visited the doctor last week for my yearly check up. Upon finding out my weight and height, she let me know that I needed to lose 11 pounds in order to match up with the perfect height and weight according to the "charts." Who makes these silly charts anyway? He was pretty upset about it, and then remembering my doctor (who delivered my son) said something to the effect of, "Has she looked over her own shoulder lately and seen the size of her butt?" It made me laugh...which my bruised vanity needed at that moment. I've always struggled with my weight and actually was beginning to feel fairly OK about my physique since I've been doing a light weight workout for about a year now. I'm sure I have put on a few pounds as my daily walk to the park with the kids has fallen by the wayside due to the kids being sick and the infernal winter weather we have experienced. I feel certain that once my walks re-commence on a regular basis, whatever weight I have put on will come off again. I was in a size "10" pant at the end of the summer which seems pretty good to me, whether or not I need to lose 11 pounds!

My workout time yesterday afforded me the opportunity to reflect on the differences between my two children. I usually exercise in my son's room, usually right after he wakes up. At times, in order to be able to complete the workout before making dinner, I begin before he has risen from his afternoon nap. Often, if he is really tired he doesn't even wake up. Yesterday, however, he did wake up and asked to be lifted from his crib. When his sister was the same age as he, she was climbing out of the crib on her own and and thus we switched her over to a toddler bed! He stood for a few moments surveying his room and the toys scattered everywhere. Eventually, he toddled over to a big bin of toys and reached for (now some of you are going to find this weird...but kids play with anything) one of his dad's old contact cases that had somehow made it into his room.

I showed him how to unscrew the top and he was immediately fascinated. David played for 5 minutes with that silly contact case...all the while struggling to get the top on and off. When I tried to help him, he pushed me away and shook his head, "no." Ana would have screamed for me to do it for her... loudly! Later on in the evening as I was collapsed on the floor playing with kids, I observed David playing with legos (the oversize kind...they have a name which I forget). He happily sat for twenty minutes, again shunning any help putting together these little buildings. David never gave up when thwarted, but steadily continued at his work, trying out all possibilities. When he had finished one of his creations, which never looked like anything in particular, he held it up for all to see and said, "Ah HA!" He then would smash the thing and build something else. No conceivable plan in mind at all...David was content to see how things went.

Ana, on the other hand, loves to work puzzles. She completed a 12 piece jigsaw puzzle all by herself yesterday. I was making lunch, or doing something in the kitchen, right now I don't remember. Every three seconds, "Mommy help me" was her cry. I continually said, "Try it by yourself honey, you can do it." And she did, but now no one is allowed to touch the puzzle lest we mess it up. I had to carefully remove it before dinner last night!

Speaking of dinner, Ana through a tantrum of epic proportions last night. We've had quite a few of those lately! She wanted me to hold her while we ate. This is just something I refuse to do...I think I should be able to eat without wrestling with a kid in my lap. She sat at the table and screamed the entire time. David carried on a "conversation" with us, babbling about his dinner, etc. Ana screamed. Dinner was finished and Ana wanted me to pick her up out of her chair. I refused. Ana screamed. David played. After I finished my after dinner routine...I asked Ana if she wanted to go downstairs to pray with me. She nodded her head "yes." I held out my hand and she managed to climb out of her chair all by herself (which she can do anyway) and off we went. I held her in my lap and prayed, "Gladsome Light." Afterwards we kissed the icons, Ana giving each one a big smack with sound effects. David played and toddled around us.

David ambles through life, fairly independently already...although he loves to cuddle with Mama. Ana charges through with exacting standards for everyone in her path...and she likes to cuddle as well...probably even more that David. Ana is often afraid of missing out on something, David has a more "wait and see" approach. Jim often says that David is just like me...especially after he's walked into a wall. I often say that Ana is just like Jim. I'm sure that time and experience will add nuances to their personalities which make them each their own beautiful little person. It remains a true joy in my life to watch them grow!

...how someone got to my blog from

here (opens in new window)

any ideas?

I figured it out

I just love a mystery. It's from an old post from my other blog in which I mentioned John Cougar Mellencamp in the title...
"Stretching: Growing and learning. It 'hurts so good!' Aplogies to John Cougar Mellencamp"

(I don't think this is what they were looking for when whomever did the google search and linked my site!)

As you probably know, I am a very emotional person. I've mentioned that a bazillion times. It's hard for me sometimes to separate the emotion out of a situation and view it with objective eyes. This can be a tough, exhausting way to live. One of the aspects of modern Evangelical Protestantism I was keenly drawn to and them repulsed by, was it's dependancy on emotion to stir the faithful into a relationship with God. There is an underlying problem with this idea...what happens when the emotion is gone? What does one do when the feelings have evaporated? Despite the fact that I am a very emotional person, I had these moments...and at times they stretched for hours, days, weeks, dare I say, months. The most difficult time for me was when I spent that hour at church, the first half being an emotionally laden "Praise and Worship." I didn't often feel the emotion I was singing about. It wasn't there. What an exhausting experience. I felt as if I was a balloon someone had stepped on, forcing the air out until it's a flattened, lifeless mess on the ground.

Not only was this exhausting, but frustrating. I would look around and see the others worshipping and think, "are they for real? Do they really feel this?" I didn't think so, at least not all of them, all the time. I've mentioned in the past so many times that I wanted to rip the masks off of the church people, times I wanted to come home and take a shower so as to wash the phoniness away. It hurt me. I knew there was pain under the mask, a true yearning for God as I felt it myself. Somehow, I didn't feel safe speaking these thoughts. I was afraid there was something wrong with me and my attitude toward God.

I have learned in my marriage...the hard way...that the emotion isn't the important part of the relationship. Emotions fade. That is obvious. The work is what's important. If I want to be in right relationship with my husband, if I want to truly love him, I have to do the work. The same would logically follow in my relationship with God. I am going to borrow someone else's words now to try and more fully express what I'm saying. She is a much better writer than I and also has more experience with Orthodoxy. Once again the book is At the Corner of East and Now by Frederica Mathewes-Green published in 1999 by Penguin Putnam. It is a long portion, but as I said, the author is a wonderful writer....

A popular informal hymn in evangelical circles is based on Psalm 42: "As the deer panteth for the water, so my soul longeth after thee; you alone are my heart's desire and I long to worship thee." The melody is lovely and haunting, somewhat like "Greensleeves." It speaks of yearning, even if the lyrics can't decided if they're addressing "you" or "thee."

Once my husband commented on this song, "Back when we were Protestants, we were always singing songs like this, about how we longed to worship. The truth was that we didn't know how to worship; we just glimpsed it from time to time. As best we could tell, it was about emotion."

I remembered that, that intense hunger for God and the frustrating sense that it would never be satisfied. Since we became Orthodox, I realized, that hunger has diminished. Not because our worship is particularly emotional; sometimes emotion appears, but when it doesn't, the dignity and authority of the ancient prayers are sufficient to bear you beyond yourself. In fact, when worship is emotion powered, it's like a fun-park ride, and you're being carried around as a treat. It's only when those emotions fade and you get down to the business of doing the work, following the way, saying the prayers even when you don't feel like it, that your stormy heart begins to budge. It's only the offerings done from deliberate will that bend the will and shape it to fit the will of God. Giddy emotions feel good, and all of us might need a bowl of ice cream from time to time, but the don't produce spiritual growth.

Orthodox worship doesn't engender that kind of emotion, I find. I'm less likely to face the twins I knew so well before: flushed sentimental weepiness, or vexed, restless yearning when that treat was absent, the yearning I believed the song was about. Instead the spiritual emotions I find prompted by walking the path Orthodoxy teaches are complex and hard to describe: the overwhelming, deliciously terrifying riptide of God's love; the rapturous joy of weeping over my sins; the sweet stinging desire to bring others to see the beautiful face of Jesus.

I don't have to "long to worship thee" anymore; I do worship him. The longing is satisified, not by emotional thrills but by something that just feels right, like a key in a lock, like "food is meant for the stomach and the stoach for food" (I Corinthians 6:13)

I was made for this.

Orthodoxy means "right teaching." It also means "right praise."(pp154 and 155)

It's not about me.

I don't really think I can add any more to that. At least not now...

Have a lovely day!

...I'm not going to be winning the title "Mother of the Year" any time soon. I was not in good form last night. Nope, not at all. We had a frustrating evening. Michael, my seven year old, has the most difficult time controlling his impulses. By the time 6:30 PM rolled around yesterday, one little finger had been slammed in a door, a toy was broken and kids had flown off of an ottoman they were told to stay off of when play became too boisterous. Michael complained about having, "nothing to do" and so I gave him some extra homework. Ok, so that might have earned me "Mother of the Year." That little move was brilliant in my mind.

By 8:00 it is very safe to say I was ready for my daughter to go to bed. I don't know what the cause was last night, but for some reason she refused to stay in bed. Ana didn't start refusing sleep until around 8:30, after I'd had a shower. Bedtime can be rough at times, but lately by 8:30 the worst of it is over. Unfortunately, last night was one of those where ain't nothing gonna go right. Ana wanted to come downstairs with the rest of the family, or, she wanted me to sit by her bed with her.

I tried waiting until she calmed down from hysterical crying fits and then kissing her and leaving the room. I tried singing to her. We re-did the bed time routine. Jim tried to calm her down and felt he was only making the situation worse. Sometime after 9:00 I tried once again to sneak down the stairs. Ana again got up wailing from her bed and I lost it. I didn't strike her but I yelled, loudly. It was bad, very bad. Jim some how managed to calm her down afterwards.

As soon as my feet hit the landing, I knew I'd failed my daughter. I felt absolutely awful and frankly, I still do. I feel bruised and I can only imagine what my daughter may have felt in that instant. Jim attempted to carry on the evening as usual with our devotion time and prayer time. I honestly didn't feel worthy of standing and praying last night. I wanted to crawl into a hole where no one could see me. Jim said, "everyone loses it sometimes, Laura." Sure they do and I've even said those words to others. There have been times when I've "lost it" like that before. I don't know why this time is different...but it was.

At any rate, I'll be apologizing to Ana this morning. I don't know what effect it will have on her. I don't know, I don't know...

Lord have mercy...

The following originally appeared in my "Journey to Orthodoxy" article, but in recent editing I removed it, feeling as though it were part of another story. I expounded upon it's content today and decided to post it as is, although perhaps someday it will appear somewhere else, transformed again.

One of the main tenets of Orthodox life is prayer...prayer in the morning, prayer in the evening and even midday prayer which I haven't managed to conquer yet!

Archpriest John Breck sums it up this way in the preface to, The Bible and the Holy Fathers:

Prayer is the essence of the Christian life. Repeatedly Jesus invites His disciples to "come aside" for a time, to enter the inner world of silence and converse with God "as with a friend".

To respond to this invitation as it is addressed to us, we need to preserve a proper balance between two forms of prayer, liturgical and personal. The one must inform the other. If they are not a reflection and extension of the worship of the gathered community, personal devotions all too easily deteriorate into self-centered appeals to an idol of our own making. For the liturgy not only praises God; it also reveals Him as He is. It teaches us about Him as it communicates to us His very life. On the other hand, communal worship that is not leavened by inner prayer of the heart, by a constant invocation and exaltation of the divine Name in the depths of our personal being, is not worship at all. It is lifeless ritualism, to be condemned as vain repetition.

Obviously, the work for an Orthodox Christian doesn't stop once the feet cross the threshold from Church to the outside world. It almost seems to me as if we are to become prayer, with each beat of our heart becoming an offering to God. I spoke of this new way of prayer in my journal and how it was changing me...making me:

When I first began my journey into Orthodoxy and started picking up on some of their "prayer" habits, I balked. "How can a scripted prayer come from my heart?" It didn't feel natural. It felt stiff and stilted and anyone who knows me well knows I have a bit of a "free spirit" that doesn't like to be hemmed in. I am also willing to give anything a try...and so I said the prayers. What I found was not that my prayer life became more scripted. The opposite is so. For me, it became bigger, bigger than me. A whole new world of freedom opened up.

Before I used such prayers I would wake up in the morning knowing I needed to pray but not knowing what to say. I would say the same things over and over essentially inventing my own "script." However, I always felt as if I may have "left something out." I felt awkward with God...as if my need to treat Him like Santa Claus was somehow undignified. I am now finding that reciting prayers that pretty much cover the bases free me from that awkwardness and guilt. I don't feel as if anything important is missing from my prayers. I also don't have to search for something to say. No longer am I afraid to approach God because of etiquette issues...I find myself continuing the conversation all day long. I start with those written prayers to get the ball rolling, to enter into God's presence, and then it is ever so much easier to talk to Him more extemporaneously, at least for me. The big stuff is out of the way. I never knew it would happen this way.

I also am finding a deep appreciation for the "Jesus prayer." When my son is covered in poop, my daughter is screaming for whatever she needs RIGHT NOW, the dog is barking, the sink is overflowing, I can't find my shoes and all my marbles are lost I can still manage to say, "Lord have mercy." It calms me down because I know He hears, and responds. Such a simple prayer, such vast rewards for God and for me!

My prayer life has changed. I struggle.

Yesterday morning, I attended the Sisterhood meeting for my parish at Holy Cross. The topic of today's seminar was time management. An exercise involving a pie graph was used to show us how much time we each spend in different areas in our life such as rest, leisure, work, romantic involvement, family time, spiritual pursuits, etc. I remarked that I felt our spiritual lives should be the outline of the circle enclosing every facet of our lives and thereby allowing God and the Holy Spirit to be all encompassing, rather than just a piece of our lives. Obviously, this is very difficult for one who has two young children.

Kh. Frederica was in attendance and remarked on how she had handled her own prayer life as a mother with three young children. When Fr. was an Episcopal priest, his office was at a church some distance from the family dwelling and so she was alone for most of the day. Instead of having one focused prayer time a day, she divided up her prayer time into short segments throughout the day. These segments were scheduled in and lasted somewhere in the neighborhood of 5 minutes at a time. Kh. didn't elaborate, but it seemed she would simply say an "Our Father," or other prayers in the morning, at noon, in the afternoon and before retiring. What she seemed to find is that her heart was turning to God more often during the day as she looked at the clock expectantly waiting for her next prayer time. In this manner, her prayer life began to infiltrate every aspect of her life. Some days, things might get hectic and she would miss a prayer time, but, she still felt her heart turning toward God even in the midst of missing some time with Him. Paradoxically, she still had the time with Him as her heart still turned towards His face. Kh. also has the habit of waking in the middle of the night for an extended prayer/devotion time since becoming pregnant with her daughter 27 years ago. I doubt you'll find me doing that!

At any rate this was an incredible idea for me. For some odd reason, I had the idea that I had to get up and pray as many prayers as possible first thing in the morning. I would often stand on my aching feet, which always for some reason hurt more in the morning that at any other time of day, and pray for at least 20 minutes, sometimes 30. I relied on this method to carry me through the day until my evening prayer time which I share with my husband. It doesn't even make sense when I've though of it. If we have our houses blessed yearly because we "fall away" wouldn't it make sense to have prayer throughout the day as I tend to "fall away" in my human nature as I go along?

Hearing Kh. mention her method sort of opened my eyes to a new idea, one where prayer might not seem so burdensome, as it often does at 6:00 in the morning. I started this morning with this new method and will continue. I actually was able to get out of bed at around 5:20 and expected that I would have solitary prayer time. My daughter had different ideas and asked me to come up and sing to her...she also asked me to pray for her. I'm sure there's a lesson in there somewhere!

I pray that God will become the circle that encloses my life and my heart and thereby breathing life into me and my family.

Lord have mercy....

On our most recent weekly library trip, I checked out the cinematic adaptation of Frances Hodgson Burnett's, The Secret Garden. I had viewed this movie while attending graduate school around 10 years ago at the cheap ($1.50) movie theater on a study break. Interesting way to spend a study break, I know. I believe I even went alone to this one! The Secret Garden had been one of my favorite books while growing up a long with, A Little Princess, and I remember thinking at that time, "I wonder if the movie will do it justice."

It had been a long time since I'd first seen the movie and an even longer time since I'd read the book for the last time, so I decided to give it a whirl again, only this time I wouldn't be alone while watching the movie as I'd have my own very precocious two year old to to view the movie alongside me. I didn't know how well it would work with her, as she is fairly fidgety when watching "for real" (not cartoon) movies. Unbelievably, she actually seemed to really enjoy it, or at least she enjoyed watching it with mommy beside her on the couch and was also allowed her to drink tea out of a real china cup. Her little hand made the delicate tea cup seem large and clumsy...life adds such a perspective to the superfluous matter in our lives.

Watching the movie again I recalled the times I'd spent reading the book as a pre-teen/teen-ager. I distinctly remember curling under the covers in my bedroom when we lived in Maine with the book...attempting to warm my southern bones against those cold northern winds. I loved these old fashioned stories of girls wearing dresses and pinafores, taking tea and learning how to be little women. It's something which, sadly, our world has forgotten. Little girls don't spend much time being innocent these days. Most Barbie-like dolls aimed at girls just a little older than my Ana look decidedly like they belong in a Kid Rock video. It's sad in more ways than I am capable of summing up in a blog entry that is supposed to be short and readable...so back to the movie!

As I watched the movie, I thought of all the things I'd like to teach my daughter. It's easy to look at the externals such as manners, and the "A, B, C's" and how to pray, and think they are a road map to life. How can I look her in the eye and teach her these things and think she'll have all she needs to make it in the world? The truth is, life and hurt happen and one seems often to coexist with the other. I wish I could tell her that I myself had never had to shut out anyone from a garden planted in my soul. I'd be lying if I did.

There are places within all of us that have been shut off from the light of day...abandoned dreams, relationships that we hope to forget, pieces of ourselves kept secret from the light offered by others eyes. At some point though, just like Mary in the movie, we have to go in search of the key to those secret gardens. For me, that key has been my faith. Unlocking the door is the beginning of the journey, pushing and shoving and then allowing the faintest bit of life to trickle in. Like Mary, who eventually let Dicken in on her secret, we have to allow others with more experience to show the way, the proper branches to prune, to see where the weeds have sprung up. We have to do the work, the hard and often painful work of making the garden what it once was. Even the deadest of gardens can be brought back to life with the right amount of work, watering and light. Indeed, they can become even more beautiful than the original.

And, again, like Mary, we can learn the joy of seeing others experience our gardens. The thrill and wonder at the possible reaction and what magic could occur therein. In sharing her once secret garden, Mary encouraged her cousin to walk and to run and to dream of a real relationship with his father.

I think the closing off of gardens in our soul is somewhat inevitable. There is a time and a season for everything, or so Solomon says. I believe him. There is also a time for sowing and planting and for some odd reason I saw this little movie as an extended metaphor of my life. I looked behind the story and saw me. Never in all my readings of the book or in viewing the movie all those years ago had I come to these conclusions. However, having a little head full of dirty blonde curls resting on my shoulder and ultimately depending upon me to teach her how to sow and reap, adds perspective to the once superfluous matter of my life.

O gladsome radiance of the holy glory of the Father immortal, heavenly, holy, blessed, Jesus Christ! Unlock the doors and shed your light on all the secret gardens hidden within our souls.

Lord have mercy...

I have just completed my daily 30 minute workout, which at times can take up to 90 minutes and honestly, some days it's so crazy around here it doesn't happen at all! Ana, my daughter was dancing to some really annoying preschool music coming out of one of her really annoying electronic toys. Why is it always the people that don't have kids that give these toys to MY children...hmm...

I thought to myself, "well...this could be a way to keep the workout down to the 45 minute neighborhood...dancing!" I ran down the stairs and said to my husband while perusing our 300 strong CD collection, "I need to find some music the kids can dance to that is clean!"

"Does that even exist?" He answered.

"I'm sure we've got something that will work," I replied.

Ana likes our new church music
CD...but you just can't boogie to Byzantine Chant. I settled on Gloria Estefan..."Conga" is clean and it's got a good beat and you can dance to it.

It worked...Ana and David both boogied while I worked out and a good time was had by all. My only concern was Ana's penchant for jumping up on David's changing table (I work out in David's room...every room in a small house is multi-purpose!) and dancing. I'm hoping it doesn't foretell of her jumping on bars and dancing.

(I made her get down from the changing table...I know it's not safe...but it was cute and she was wearing her ruby red Dorothy shoes bought by Grandmom this weekend!)

...but her love of Byzantine chant I think will likely preclude her desire to dance in high places...let's hope!

...and other news!

Yesterday, our priest, Father Gregory came to bless our house. This is something practiced in the Orthodox tradition as a way to sanctify all matter and return it into God's hands. I can remember Fr. telling us the first time he visited our home that it was an "outpost" of the Church, sort of like a little church in the community. The houses are blessed yearly between Theophany and Great Lent as we tend to "fall away" from the Lord and therefore the matter we share takes on that fallen nature in a sense. A yearly blessing refreshes and reminds us that we are to be holy. Holiness takes work though, it's definitely not something that comes naturally.

I have attended one other house blessing, that of a family in our parish whom had lost their home to fire and wanted their temporary apartment home to be blessed. That was a "full meal deal" type of blessing complete with an anointing of the four walls of the house with Holy Oil. We didn't have to do much to prepare for this house blessing other than have it clean and reasonably picked up so that when we all processed through the house no one would trip. I furiously cleaned on Monday leading up to the blessing and then yesterday evening noticed some cobwebs I'd missed in my youngest son's room...ooops!

Essentially, some prayers are said and then a hymn is sung as we all process through the house while Fr. sprinkles the walls and other items with Holy Water. I was to lead the way with a candle. It felt very strange to be in charge of leading everyone. I just sort of assume that I am to follow in most situations dealing with the Church. Here's the bad part...well...at least the funny part.

Ever seen Young Frankenstein?. Well, as I began leading the procession through the house with the candle, the picture of my mind was of "Igor" leading Dr. Frankenstein to his room and saying, "Walk this way." It took some amount of doing to get that picture out of my head and to focus on what we were doing. I imagine if I hadn't been holding Ana and the candle and had been able to hold the music for the hymn so as to sing it never would've happened!

At the conclusion of the service, we were all blessed with Holy Water, even the dog, who tried to play with the water. Fr. said some concluding prayers and we all venerated the cross...even David gave it a little peck. It was very sweet. The house does "feel" different to me. There is a peace here that wasn't before that I can't exactly explain...but it is good.

And...we got our car back...woo-hoo...so we all tried to go to Vespers yesterday evening. Poor David just isn't ready for the quiet, peaceful, solemnity of a Vespers service. He kept pointing to the icons and saying "DEEZUS," as loud as his little lungs would allow. Jim finally took him downstairs and Ana mostly followed. She reentered the service several times to give me a status on the boys downstairs and finally stayed with me for the final prayers so that she could, "Kiss Mary and Jesus." It warmed my heart to see her signing the cross on her own and also singing, "Amen" in the appropriate places. Ana really loves Church...

As does Jim. Our house is going to be looking and smelling like Church soon. While I was in Vespers, he was browsing through the bookstore and bought some incense, charcoal and a hand censer. We came home and tried it all out. When asked, Ana replied that it indeed smelled like church. A slew of icons are on their way as well, bought with Christmas money. They're on the altar now awaiting their 40 days blessing. I'm not sure we have the wall space for what Jim wants to do around here...but I've learned to just let it happen. Our furniture has been rearranged 6 times since we moved here...I'm sure he'll figure out what to do with the icons.

My journey to Orthodoxy story is finished, although still a bit rough. Once I have it all smoothed out, I'll post a link. Jim wants to save it as a PDF and host it on our iDisk as it is extremely long. I'm also going to work on an abridged version for our church. If it's approved, it will go up on their website.

How's that for a nice long ramble?

Have a beautiful day....

A little over three years ago, I snuck in on a business trip with my husband to Washington D.C. Yes, D.C. is only a 45 minute train ride from Baltimore, but in my at that time 5 years of residing here, I had only visited D.C. once to see the 4th of July fireworks with an old friend of mine from my Mountain T.O.P. days. I hadn't visited any museums or seen any of the sites in our nation's capital. But on this trip I had a plan to visit one museum in particular, The Holocaust Museum.

I rose fairly early in the morning to arrive there, having read that the lines form quickly and I really wanted to see the exhibits. I had heard many say before that they didn't think they could take the sadness contained therein, the shock and horror at something so atrocious having occurred so recently in the annals of human history. However, there exists within me a deep desire to know and understand how others could've survived such tragedy and persevered.

I was around 12 weeks pregnant at the time, hormonal, and easily induced to tears. Having recently experienced the miscarriage of my first baby, I was also a frequent visitor of the bathroom to "make sure everything was OK." I say that only because I remember running to the restroom several times while visiting the museum...checking that the life within me was still viable and would someday bloom into the tiny, perfect, miracle of a babe nestling within my arms.

The Holocaust Museum is set up, I believe, with the intention of finding a way to drive the experience home to every kind of person with every kind of sentiment. There are pictures with written narration explaining the events leading up to the horrors of concentration camps. You can sit in a recreation of a Auschwitz bunk house and listen to the audio recorded experiences of survivors. There are also actual pieces of history, oven doors which baked unholy bread and church doors where the bullet holes and axe marks of the Nazis are visible. I don't think any one person comes away from the experience untouched.

For me, it was the shoes that got me. I walked across a bridge from one exhibit to the next and looked at mounds of shoes. Stopping to ponder them for a moment, my eye caught site of a tiny shoe with a buckle. My hand went to the infinitesimal bulge on my belly and I wept a mother's tears. What would I do had I to defrock my child and watch her carried away...not wanting to know what might happen to her...yet knowing what would. That tiny shoe once contained a tiny person, a miracle, hope wrapped in skin, and it never had a chance to bloom. I prayed I never had to face such a trial...a year later 9/11 happened and the reality became evident that I might have to do just that.

Last night I watched a movie many have already seen, Life is Beautiful. It is in Italian with subtitles so at times when the dialog is racing by, it's hard to catch the expressions of the actors in time with the words. Still, it is a deeply moving movie about WWII, unlike any other I've seen before. I have seen many of them, the king of them all is considered to be, Schindler's List, which is indeed a cinematic masterpiece combining excellent metaphorical imagery (who could forget the little girl in the red dress), with a well told story. But it is maudlin, and scripted so as to tug the heartstrings. You just knew you were going to cry when the movie began with the stirring music playing in the background. And cry everyone did who watched that movie.

Alas, my pocketbook doesn't allow me to see many movies in the theater and so I often see them when they are available for free check out at the library. Life is Beautiful was available on Thursday. I decided I needed to see what all the fuss had been about a few years ago at the academy awards. I get it now.

I actually had no idea the movie would have WWII as it's backdrop and indeed it takes a few scenes to understand if you are not in the know, as I wasn't. It sneaks up, with a few references to the superiority of the Aryan race and Nazi solders marching through the Italian town. It came to total fruition for me, when Guido, the main character of the story, finds his Uncle's horse vandalized with spray painted with the words, "Jewish Horse." I began to understand...Guido doesn't really look "Italian." Guido is an amazing character. He's the kind of person I always wanted to be, full of life, loud and obnoxious, and everyone loves him. Alas, God made me the reserved type who likes to curl up on the couch with a cup of tea and escape the world when it gets to be too much.

Guido is one of those who takes life's excess and turns it into magic. A rainy day and non functional car turns into the perfect time to declare his love for his Principessa, Dora, the woman who fell into his arms from the sky (OK, it was the loft of a barn). That same vandalized horse became the means of his rescuing Dora from her fiance, a man she did not love and who was in bed with the Nazis. Soon after, the story jumps ahead and we see a family, Dora, Guido and Joseph, their son, barreling through the Italian town in which they live on a bike to take mommy to work.

Guido and Joseph continue to the bookstore they own and on the way, Joseph inquires as to why Jews aren't allowed in certain stores...Guido makes up the magic..."some people don't like Jews...other people don't like Kangaroos...what sign should we put on our store?" The next day is Joseph's birthday. Dora arrives from bringing her estranged mother to the party to find that her husband and son have been taken away. Dora then heads to the train station where they are to be transported and insists that she get on the train. The Nazi officer actually stops the train from pulling away so that Dora can board.

Guido turns this experience into a game for his son. They arrive at the camp and Joseph is told he needs 1,000 points to win the prize...a real tank. Guido keeps the magic, and his son alive, by playing this game with his son, each trial becoming an opportunity to earn points. It is only in hints that we see Guido's terror, a smile a little forced, his difficulty with the forced labor. However, Guido keeps his game face on so that Joseph stays alive hiding in their barracks. It's incredible, almost unbelievable for Guido does some really stupid things such as sneaking into the room housing the camp's PA system so that he can broadcast a love message for his Principessa letting her know that he and Joseph are still alive. I can't say how many times I said to myself, "he's so stupid...he's going to get caught."

He, does eventually, get caught. Trying to keep the magic alive until the end, Guido hides his son in a tiny cabinet housing some sort of pipes. The war is now over and as many prisoners as possible are being whisked away to be killed before the camp is overtaken by American forces. Joseph is admonished to stay still and wait until Guido returns or it is very quiet and no one is around. If he wins this contest, he gets the final 60 points to make 1,000. Guido tries to find Dora, to no avail. He is caught in a ridiculous costume impersonating a woman. I believed his man made magic would last. Until the end, Guido kept up the front with Joseph, his last site of his father is of him marching stiffly in his gray gypsy costume with a Nazi soldier...he looks at his son, and winks. The game is on...the magic is alive.

Joseph emerges from his hiding place when all is quiet and wanders around for a few moments. One can hardly imagine what happened in his mind at that point. Then, a distant rumble is heard as an American Tank rolls into the deserted camp, a look of shock and wonderment is on Joseph's face as he watches his prize come to fruition. The American soldier pulls Joseph into the tank to give him a ride and they pass the many refugees who escaped the final death toll by hiding. Joseph spies his mother and is let down out of the tank to go to her. This is how the movies ends...a mother's joy at finding her miracle still alive...and the son's voiceover in English saying, "This was my father's gift to me."

It get's you in the gut because the struggle is not overblown with maudlin sentimentality. It's a beautiful field of flowers and the mother's smile outshines the sun. Her baby's innocence and more importantly, his life preserved magically, by one who refused to accept the ugliness. Guido made it beautiful. It was worth the inner struggle his son never really saw.

It was hope wrapped in skin...

Lord have mercy on me, on you...

now that can really make you lose your mind. Not that our life is all that exciting to begin with, but when your one set of wheels is in the shop things really begin to slow down. Having only one car for the last three years has actually been more of a blessing, in my mind, than a hardship. Our family of five has to work together, particularly Jim and I, in order to manage work schedules and individual needs. One can't be selfish about where one wants/needs to go when there is only one car (I'm just loving that sentence).

The car won't be ready until sometime around the middle of next week so were stranded for a while yet. My mind always asks the question, "why?" Why has God decided that our one car should be denied us for so long? First there's the obvious, "maybe one of us was going to be in an accident." Then there could be the not so obvious and only learned once the experience is finished, "lesson." We've certainly had to depend on others in terms of getting around these last few days. People from church were very kind about giving us rides to church for Liturgy...and we'll have to ask again on Sunday as I'm filling in at coffee hour for Fr. and Kh.

And then there's my neighbor who offered to give us a ride to the library yesterday. After Wednesday's inside all day fun of building tents in the living room, picnic lunches on the living room floor, penny hunts, snickerdoodles, puppet shows, appendicitis scares and hanging out in our PJ's all day...yes I was ready to get out. The kids love the library and so away we went after the great car seat switcheroo which is always fun! You'd think modern technology would come up with an easy way install car seats...nope...

We ran into two ladies from church at the library for story time. It was nice to see other familiar faces. It was especially nice to look at something other than my own four walls. It seemed so short...even as tired as I was yesterday after being up most of the night, I would've gladly stayed longer. So yes, I've learned to ask others for help, accept it when offered and be grateful for small blessings.

I've learned to enjoy the extra time with my daughter who pretended to go the store yesterday to buy vitamins. She actually kissed me good bye and said, "sweet dreams" before going to the store. The store was the kitchen and the vitamins were imaginary...air vitamins...the best kind. I've learned to watch my son who is changing from "baby" to "boy" before my eyes...the baby fat disappearing from his face. He has a habit now of walking right to your feet...looking into your face from that position and saying, "Hewwoo!" It's his latest and most favorite word. I learned that my oldest son, still enjoys building tents and pancakes for dinner (he didn't eat them, his tummy hurt to badly, but I think it was the thought that counted) and puzzles on the floor. I think Mike just appreciates the time.

Then there is this from Great Lent by Alexander Schmemann in regards to the purpose of Great Lent:

...it is a deep happiness which comes not from a single and particular reason but from our soul having in the words of Dostoevsky, touched "another world." and that which it has touched is made up of light and peace and joy, of an inexpressible trust. We understand then why the services had to be long and seemingly monotonous. We understand that it is simply impossible to pass from our normal state of mind made up almost entirely of fuss, rush, and care, into this new one without first "quieting down," without restoring in ourselves a measure of inner stability...to take us there slowly because our fallen nature has lost the ability to accede there naturally.

Ahh...perhaps this may be God's way of preparing us, new to the faith, for lent. Slowing us down at the outset so we are more prepared for the big slow down to come. It seems I'm supposed to be losing my mind. God's mercy passes all my understanding. May He have mercy on me, a sinner...

Blessings,
Laura

30 years ago today, the world stopped for a moment as an angel guarded the entrance into the world of my husband. I'm sure his mother could elaborate as to just how long that happy moment seemed and the many joys in that followed as she journeyed with him from baby to boy to man. Many lives has he touched in these 30 short years and prayerfully will he touch many more as he continues to live and grow, deepening his relationships with God and with those of us privileged to call him, "son," "brother," "Daddy," "husband," "friend."

Happy Birthday Honey...God grant you many years!

After the testing was completed it was discovered that Mike does not have appendicitis. I feel badly that he had to go through some of the testing which was apparently fairly brutal. I also feel badly that I sort of put him through it needlessly; however, both doctors who examined Mike in the ER felt he had appendicitis. I suppose it's always better to be safe than sorry as the old adage goes.

Thank you for you thoughts and prayers. They are much appreciated.

for my oldest son Mike. This evening I noticed that he was having abdominal pain followed by 5 days of loss of appetite with occasional vomitting. For some odd reason, I thought "appendicitis." He is now in the ER and the doc thinks it is likely that Mike does have appendicitis. We are awaiting some tests...just keep him in your thoughts and prayers tonight if you happen to stop by and read this. Thank you...

I have to say that I am thoroughly tired of winter at this point. We have just experienced three days of frigid temperatures and seen 6 inches of snow followed by ice and then another two inches of snow. Yes, our car is in the shop so we weren't going anywhere anyway. Cabin fever has most definitely set in.

I tried to take Ana and David out in the snow on Monday. Ana enjoyed it, even though it was very cold. David continually fell forward straight onto his face and spent most of the time crying, poor little guy. We were all able to walk together somewhat well in the street where brave motorists had packed down the snow a bit, but even that wasn't terribly exciting. Michael played outside for a bit on Monday as well, but soon tired of the less than 20 degree temperature. Ana just wanted to sit on the steps and eat the snow.

Yesterday, a fine freezing mist fell all day, so no one wanted to be out in that and momma wouldn't have let them out anyway. Then there was sleet and more snow. The sky is no longer falling here in Baltimore, but we are expecting gusting winds which will preclude us getting outside to play. All in all it's just been a glorious barrel of laughs. Jim had to go on a business trip today and was able to get out, so I will be here alone with all three kids until tomorrow evening.

Michael was throwing up again last night, so I don't know how he'll feel today. I felt badly for him. As I was putting him back in bed he told me his stomach had been "popping." I gave him some flat pepsi, told him to sip slowly and to take slow deep breaths until he falls asleep. Jim and I have been concerned about him due to a general malaise we thought might be depression...but perhaps he just has a touch of something. He's eaten very little since Friday, even things he likes such as fish sticks.

The one bright spot, besides the fact that my family is mostly healthy, is that I have begun reading a book called, Great Lent: Journey to Pascha, written by Alexander Schmemann. I think I'll end this entry with a quote from the book, which is much brighter and more hopeful than my words above!

Christian love is the "possible impossibility" to see Christ in another man, whoever he is, and whom God, in His eternal and mysterious plan, has decided to introduce into my life, be it only for a few moments, not as an occasion for a "good deed" or an exercise in philanthropy, but as the beginning of an eternal companionship in God Himself. For, indeed, what is love if not that mysterious power which transcends the accidental and the external in the "other"--his physical appearance, social rank, ethnic origin, intellectual capacity--and reaches the soul, the unique and uniquely personal "root" of a human being, truly the part of God in him? If God loves every man it is because He alone know the priceless and absolutely unique treasure, the "soul" or "person" He gave every man. Christian love then is the participation in that divine knowledge and the gift of that divine love. There is no "impersonal" love because love is the wonderful discovery of the "person" in "man," of the personal and unique in the common and general. It is the discovery in each man of that which is "lovable" in him, of that which is from God.

I just think that is absolutely incredible. May God give me, a humble sinner, the eyes, heart and soul, to love in that manner! I think I'm supposed to spend my lifetime learning how...hmm...something else to focus on other than being stuck in the house. Coincidence...I think not!

Blessings,
Laura

Despite our lack of wheels, I managed to attend vespers on Saturday evening. Jim's parent's took us to church and Jim's sponsor offered to bring us home. It had been a very busy day, celebrating Jim's birthday with his family, and Ana was tired, but she still wished to attend church. I'm not sure she would've forgiven me had I said she couldn't come.

We arrived and after bringing in the food I had prepared for coffee hour the next day and detaching the car seat from Jim's car, we said our goodbyes to Grandmom and Pop Pop in the narthex. Ana grabbed her candle so we could say a prayer for Pop Pop and we entered the dimly lit church. I always feel as if the blood in my veins moves slower upon entering the nave for vespers. It's time to stop and remember the reason for the many blessings which have been bestowed on me.

Ana had her service book and her bulletin, which she is not able to read but always requests. For a while she was content to sit in the chairs which line the walls of the nave, but soon she wanted to be held. I picked her up and tried to follow along in the service book as best as possible. Soon; however, I had to sit down. I had been on my feet all day, first in cleaning the house before our company arrived and then after they had left, preparing the coffee hour refreshments. Holding Ana and standing in my tired state was too much. I sat and regarded the icon depicting the crucifixion of Jesus. It seeped into my soul.

Very soon, I noticed that Ana's little neck was no longer able to support her head. She had given way to the sandman and was sleeping in my arms. I spread my coat as best I could on the floor between two rows of chairs and then laid her down. Ana started for a moment and reached up for me, but her arms fell within seconds and she was fast asleep. I placed her little jacket over her and resumed standing for the rest of the service.

Ana snoozed for the entire service, surrounded by the warm glow of candles, the eyes of the beloved saints guarding her and the praying faithful in attendance. Ana had chosen the most safe and secure place she could to surrender to sleep. Here, the wings of angels sheltered her and carried her into dreamland...

As I participated in the service, my gaze shifted often to my sleeping daughter. A silent prayer of thanks emanated from heart..."thank you Lord for the blessing of my beautiful, healthy and at the moment, content little girl."

When I opened the door to let our dog out this morning, I discovered three inches of snow on our pseudo deck. What's up with that...no one told me it was supposed to snow. It's also 18 degrees. I really hate winter!

Onward to other mildly amusing stuff...

When I was in grad school, one of my favorite bookstores had some sort of psychic fair. Myself and another friend went to see what it was all about being generally curious about such things. I paid $5 and let a lady read my palms. She didn't tell me much, except that she, "saw me in a courtroom fighting for the rights of children" and that I "was going to be very powerful."

HA!

If you know me, you know just how very funny that is. My heart rules me and I would never make it in a court room. Case in point. I was a real dumb bunny on another blog yesterday. I don't often comment on a multitude of blogs, largely because what I would say has already been said and redundancy is boring and I also don't want to sound like a dumb bunny. Parenting full time has most definitely stolen several of my brain cells after all. But...yesterday I was reading some comments and a woman mentioned that she was on a 1 1/2 year waiting list for public speech therapy. I replied and let her know that was against the law and elaborated with a few minor points.

It is against the law in the United States. Unfortunately, this woman lives in Canada. Of course this was stated right in her post which I likely skimmed over a little too quickly. I then let my heart take over, because I love children and all too often this crap does happen here in the US. I should've slowed down and let my head be a little more in control. I apologized and backed out. I think I'll go back to my "no commenting unless absolutely necessary and on blogs where people know I'm not a total dumb bunny rule."

Me in a courtroom defending children. That's a large stinking pile of baloney and cheese, isn't it?

(Speaking of dumb bunnies, there is a pretty funny series of children's books out there called, "The Dumb Bunnies." I used them with my kids all the time)

Having trouble with segue-ways this morning.

My daughter decided to spend most of Thursday night and Friday morning awake, as in Mommy and Daddy were not able to partake of much sleep. Ana wanted to come and lay on the couch as she sometimes does when she wakes up early while I'm writing. However, I didn't want this to become a habit at 3:30 in the morning.

Yesterday evening she was extremely tired and actually fell asleep while watching a video after her bath. I carried her up the stairs to her bedroom, but she in her half awake and also very determined to have the routine followed state said, "read the books!" I assured Ana I would read to her. I did, but she was asleep before I could even finish Silly Sally.

I watched her little face for a few moments. I am always amazed that I could play a part in creating something so beautiful...and terrified that I am responsible for shaping her into a productive adult. Those few precious moments without strife, where I can rejoice in being my daughter's mother are few and far between and never seem to last long enough.

My oldest son came over for his weekend visitation yesterday. Not without mishap...our van is now in the shop. Apparently it decided "nuetral" was it's favorite gear and refused to budge. We are without wheels at present...but it's snowing and I originally hail from the south so we weren't going anywhere anyway!

Back to Michael. I served homemade (well I cheat a little...you can make a decent cream sauce with cream of mushroom soup, milk and mayonnaise) macaroni and cheese. He's eaten it before, but yesterday it was yuckily gross and he refused to eat one bite of the stuff. He also had this elaborate explanation regarding the pizza he had consumed for lunch that was left over dinner from the night before so that technically he had eaten dinner. Michael should be the lawyer!

Our house rule is don't eat it if you don't want it, but no other food until breakfast. Obviously, Michael was hungry by about midnight and apparently came down to accost my husband for food as he was working at the computer. Michael was refused food. At 2:00 in the morning he came into our bedroom putting on a grand show...clutching his tummy and falling down at the foot of our bed, moaning and writhing. It was Oscar worthy I tell you...see...that kid could be a lawyer!

Jim got out of bed and picked him up and promptly took him back upstairs. Two minutes later, Jim came to me and said, "He's throwing up all over the place. What do I do?"

"He's throwing up all over the place?" I replied beginning to get out of bed.

"He threw up in the trash can and I sent him upstairs to finish in the toilet...what do I do?"

"Put him back in bed and make sure he's warm in case he's actually sick and not just worked up about this food thing."

I'm surprised we were so coherent at 2:00 in the morning. Michael was given a small snack and put into bed...haven't heard from him since. Look for him in the courtroom some day!

David is just David. He's a very dapper and polite almost 18 month old. He likes to help people in the house. When David hears Ana crying, he'll find her blankie and bring it to her. He brings me half-consumed cups of coffee and the like all day long. He also still likes to cuddle and quietly study the world. David is losing the "baby" look and starting to look more like a little boy. It's hard, but it's meet.

I'll be posting my journey into Orthodoxy here. It's really too long for a magazine article and too sort for a book. It's more like an oversized pamphlet. But, after working on it, like I have been I want it to be seen somewhere...so it'll go here. It's still very much in the rough draft stages.

Check out my blog rolling...there's a new link...by a not unfamiliar writer!

Had more I wanted to say...but this has grown long enough.

Blessings...

There's a gaggle of people out in blog world writing about how they experienced the decade of the 80's for what appears to be a contest of sorts called, "Blogger Idol." I honestly have not been to the site which gives all the details of the contest, but I have enjoyed reading all the entries. They bring back many memories.

When the 80's began I was 8 going on 9 and when we all bid them farewell I was 17 going on 18. Needless, the majority of my adolescent angst, if I ever really had any, docile creature that I am, had that 80's subculture as it's backdrop. The 80's were just plain weird, from what I remember. I look back at those clothes, the izod shirts and pegged pants...the big earrings and shoulder pads in woman's clothing which would've suited most NFL linebackers quite well, and I shudder. There were also a lot of mowhawks in the 80's if I am recalling correctly....most notably that of Mr. T. There was just this odd dichotomy going on...the preps and the punkers somehow existing at the same time...it just doesn't make sense!

I discovered music in the 80's...and music videos. My first experience of music videos came when watching video shows on regular old TV. This was before MTV came to our house...it may have been in someone else's house...but it wasn't mine. This show, the name I don't recall, came on after school and showed 4 or 5 videos in half hour span. A plaited Boy George and Duran Duran jumping around all over a boat, and Michael Jackson when he still looked normal are the ones I remember with the most clarity.

I owned a copy of "Thriller." Who didn't...it was required for any warm blooded 12 year old. We all thought that picture of Michael on the inside in the white suit with the stuffed lion was so cute. Arghhh...if we only knew! I had it on cassette, but plenty of my friends still had RECORD PLAYERS...remember those?

I also attended Jr. High School...not Middle School...whatever!

Speaking of friends, we made friendship pins for each other and pinned them to our shoes. They were safety pins with beads on them. I also remember making these barettes with ribbons woven through them and giving them away as well...they were pretty.

I....became a woman in the 80's....guided with the help of "Margaret" in Are You There God, It's Me, Margaret. Thank heavens for Judy Blume! I couldn't wait for the aforementioned "change" to take place...and honestly I could now do without it! Funny how experience colors our vision on certain...experiences.

I also read every single one of the Laura Ingall's books at least three times and also went through the entire Lucy Maud Montgomery collection (Anne of Green Gables). We lived in a salt march in Maine at the time I was really into these books and so I had the perfect place to act out the stories therein.

I had my first real experiences with death in the 80's. My grandmother died just before my 12th birthday from ovarian cancer. I still miss her. My grandaddy (her husband) came to live with us after we had moved back to Virginia. He lived with us for a couple of years, my mom hoping that being around us Grandkids would restore his will to live. It didn't. He gave up, stopped eating, and went on to heaven the day after my junior prom.

I had my first boyfriend in the 80's. How I longed for one! I was such a nerd. I dated the same guy for nearly 2 years. His name was John...he had moved to Danville, VA from Maine. Weird coincidence! People said he looked like Randy Travis. He was a nice boy. We broke up...by my hand...after I went to college. John had stayed behind to go the local community college. It was too weird. Our lives were growing in different directions. I wanted new experiences. I know I hurt him. I wish I hadn't. There's no getting around the fact that life just sucks wind sometimes!

Ms. Ruby Hovatter was my 11th grade history teacher. She was a tiny little woman who had shaved off her eyebrows to paint on new ones. I have no doubt that if Ms. Hovatter had been on the front lines in Germany, Hitler wouldn't have stood a chance. She was tough as nails, but she really loved American History and wanted us to love it as well. She showed us "Night and Fog" and for the first time I understood the horrors of WWII (come to Baltimore and we'll go to the holocaust museum in DC...for further understanding). Ms. Hovatter also liked to feed us juicy little tidbits like the fact that Benjamin Franklin died of VD (it was VD back then....not STD) in Paris...and that FDR had his mistress...not Eleanor at his side when he passed. She made us memorize all the presidents. the preamble to the constitution, all the capitols...on and on. I earned and "A" in her class. I know she didn't begrudge it...she was tough...but she cared. Thank you Ms. Hovatter!

I met my best friend, Emily, in the 80's. I still kind of consider her that even though we don't talk to each other any more. She lives in Danville and I here and we just lost touch. We still do the Christmas card thing. Well anyway...we became friends one day in a class...I think maybe it was Spanish. We realized neither of us had "best" friends...why shouldn't we be each others? Luckily we also had a lot in common...both readers...both expressive deep feelers. We clicked...I have a feeling we'd pick right up again over a cup of tea. Some friends are just like that...

I started my quest to understand who God was in my life in the 80's. There were short term mission trips to the Appalachian Mountains, youth group meetings and retreats, attempts at private devotions...I was trying hard, never quite feeling as if I lived up to who He wanted me to be. I finally understand that in the midst of the journey and the work...that happens...as long as I let Him work. Even when I abandoned Him, I turned around and there He was...right on my heel. Woo-hoo!

I became a freshman in college at James Madison University in Harrisonburg, VA. The freshman class was huge and so I was one of the lucky ones picked to live in a hotel. Howard Johnson's housed, Shannon, Cara and myself. Cara was from NoVA (northern VA) and Shannon and I were both from small southern Virginia towns. Unfortunately, Cara was the odd girl out and Shan and I roomed with each other throughout our college career. Cara managed though, she made friends and moved on. We weren't cruel to her...it wasn't in either of our natures to be so. The three of us just didn't "click" as the two of us did. I just received a card from Shan...when I do my St. Patrick's day letter, I'll send her one. We've lost touch and it's a shame.

Well...this is growing long. I think I'll stop for now. I refer you to my ever favorite 80's movie (can't believe I didn't mention movies in there), "Sixteen Candles" for a good primer on the 80's. It's the best John Hughes 80's movies...says everything the overblown "Breakfast Club" did...only it was subtle and ridiculously funny. My poor husband has to watch it every time it comes on TV! Oh yeah...and "Dirty Dancing." I say it at least 20 times....and Jennifer Grey had my hair...anyway. That's all for now!

Will people talk about the 90's this way? How about the 00's? Hmm...

blessings,
Laura

I received a phone call from my father-in-law this morning. He said a retraction from my post regarding Michael was needed. He let me know that they had not fed Michael candy, rather he had eaten an apple and had some chocolate milk at their house. My dad then said that Michael had been given two small (snack size I would guess) candy bars before he left this house, which he apparently ate on the car ride home. So you see...they didn't feed him candy, they only gave him candy!

...don't you just hate them! My father-in-law is fond of saying, "when you assume it makes an a** out of u and me." I'd be inclined to agree with him! Thank goodness those moments are few and far between for us. I think that's all I'll say on the subject.

Have a lovely day!

The strength and resilience of my seven year old's body is an amazing sight to behold. We were blessed to have him with us for the day yesterday. He spent a little time at his Grandmom and Pop Pop Nee's house as well, not having seen them since Christmas. David and Ana stayed behind as Grandmom was sick and well, geeze...it's been almost 48 hours since anyone's been on an antibiotic around here and I'd like to see if we could make it an entire week!

At any rate, after dinner yesterday, which Michael didn't eat having partaken of much candy at Grandmom's (they can do that and we're not allowed to say anything). He and Ana began to play together. It's marvelous to see them playing as Michael used to complain about his little sister quite a bit. Mikey and Ana are like two peas in a pod...they are both more like their father than me. Pretty amazing that they are so much alike and have two entirely different maternal contributors to their genetic make up!

The play became very boisterous...Mikey is a boy after all! Soon, he was having Ana pretend to hit him and then falling down on the floor...or I should say throwing himself down on the floor. It's no wonder the child has had 3 broken bones since birth. The combination of not thinking before acting (a boy trait) and needing to exert heaps of physical energy (also a boy trait) led to a very loud ruckus at our house. I kept expecting more broken bones with every loud thud on the floor...but it didn't happen. God has created boys for this purpose...noise and ruckus...I'm convinced!

Did I stop them...no. They're kids and they're playing...that's what they do! Besides, if you'd heard Ana saying, "Kiggyback ride," over and over asking her brother for a ride, you'd have let it continue as well. It was precious! They weren't in the way of destroying any furniture. We don't have anything supremely nice in our house anyway. They know how to behave in public...let them be boisterous. They'll have enough time to be somber when adults...right?

My youngest just sort of stayed on the fringes and also hung out in my lap. He enjoyed watching them, but seemed a little hesitant to jump in the fray. I was like him as a child. I loved climbing trees and romping through the woods, but didn't understand why anyone would want to play tag. It could just be that he felt afraid with all the noise and banging and when he gets older he'll jump in the middle...or he may just be like his momma...we'll see...



In other news, I am working on several writing pieces which I may send out for publication. One of them is the account of my journey into the Holy Orthodox Faith. I originally thought it might make a nice article for some magazine somewhere...but it's growing a little long. I don't know what I'll do with it when it's finished...we'll see when it gets there!

I also have checked out several "Writer's Markets" books from the library and once I have fully perused them I will begin doing research to see where this stuff might fit. I'll have to leave the kids with Jim to do that! Research at the library and kids do not mix!

Oh yes...and it's frightfully cold here! The actual temperature is 22 degrees...but the wind chill makes it feel about 9 degrees. I keep hoping we'll win a month's vacation and be whisked away to some warmer climate for the month of February. I've never liked February...good thing it's a short month. I'm just so tired of winter by the time February comes. March is a changeling month...there will be those warm spring like days in March which will remind me that there is hope! But February is just dreary...

blessings...
Laura

Yesterday, my daughter somehow decided she was "Queen of the World." Well, first she said, "I'm King of the World," which she often hears her older brother saying as he dangles from some high precipice where he's not supposed to be in the first place. I informed Ana that, "Queen of the World" would be more proper for a little lady such as she.

Today after church while coffee hour was in full swing, Ana decided she needed to go potty. I escorted her into the bathroom while David remained just outside the door. I asked our friend Rachel to make sure David didn't scoot up the stairs which are located adjacent to the bathrooms. I didn't expect this to be a long potty trip. However, I was mistaken as Ana had serious business to attend to.

I opened the bathroom door to check on David and Rachel. David happened to be standing just outside the door and cracked the biggest smile when he saw me. Rachel was just behind him, with a rather uncertain look on her face. Ana made eye contact with Rachel and extending her hand in invitation very regally intoned to her, "Come in..."

The Queen had found her throne!

I have grown to love thrift shops. There is one just 5 minutes from my house. We have donated an inordinate amount of stuff to them over the last few months and during that time I have also become a customer. I never had a problem with the idea of owning second hand stuff. However, my husband always seemed a bit off put by this! He is a lover of fine things. When describing our personalities in a nut shell, I say, "He's Taj Mahal...I'm little cabin in the woods." Since reading At The Corner of East and Now by Kh. Frederica, his view has changed a bit. In it, she devotes an entire chapter to thrift shops.

One of the reasons I enjoy thrift shops is the joy in looking at other people's stuff and wondering, "Why?" Why do people buy/make such stuff and why do they then donate it. I understand the clothes that end up here. One is given or buys clothes that don't fit and then gives them away when they never manage to become wearable. That makes sense to me as I've been there. It's the mugs with the name, "Cassandra" on them I don't understand. Why would you donate a mug with your name on it? It's almost as if you're giving a piece of yourself away.

Then there are the well worn kitchen items...the cast iron ones being my favorite. One of my first thrift store purchases was a cast iron skillet so I had an appropriate vessel for baking corn bread. It just isn't the same any other way. I also own a larger cast iron skillet which was my grandmother's. When she died, I asked it to be passed to me so that I could bake cakes with it and tell her story to my children. Her memory will last as long as I continue to tell those stories.

So, I putter through the tea pots and table cloths and wonder about the hands which once held them. My imagination unbound, I make up stories about he lives that once utilize these objects. A young widow may have made tea in this pot after she learned of her husband's death in battle...hoping to soothe her nerves. Someone's grandmother prepared jello in this mold for Thanksgiving dinner. Someone's uncle drank coffee from this mustache mug, and then leaned down to tickle his niece with a mustache kiss. It's how my mind works...I'm seldom bored.

The other day, I stopped by this same thrift store to have a look around. I hadn't been in a while and was itching for an adventure, if only in my mind. I found a suede leather jacket for $20! Woo-Hoo...but I didn't think it would be mine. An older woman told me of a bathroom in the back of the store when Ana began to loudly declare her need to pee-pee. I despaired that we would have to go home as I thought there wasn't a rest room. But there was, and so my adventure would continue! I was thrilled!

The bathroom is located in the back of the store near the furniture department. There was a little alcove back there I had never before explored...I never knew it existed. When we finished our pit stop, I decided to see what treasures it held. Rugs! Oriental ones! And one that would look nice in my living room. It had quite a bit of navy in it and some rust and beige. I imagined it on my well worn wooden floors we haven't been able to afford to refinish. "Perfect," I thought, "and pre-worn!" It was only $25. If the kids were to spill something on it...it wouldn't matter so much. I quickly went home and told Jim all about it. I was granted leave to buy the carpet...and the leather jacket...Hee Hee.

I returned home with my treasure. As soon as it was on the floor, Ana removed her shoes and walked all over it. "It looks like a magic carpet, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," was her reply.

And so it is...once vacuumed it looks in even better shape than I originally thought. Only gently worn. It finishes off the room so to speak. The kids have a soft place to play and their wooden blocks don't sound like the house is falling down when they knock over their towers...or beanstalks as Ana calls them being lately obsessed with Jack tales.

For us...it is a bit of magic thrown into a life where not many fine physical things enter. A piece of beauty we share with it's original owners. I imagine telling stories while sitting on the carpet. And who knows...maybe some day I'll wear a track through it walking a grand child to sleep. It's possibilities are endless....

Blessings,
Laura

I have so many jumbled thoughts running to and fro in my brain right now! I stared at the blank screen for a full five minutes...started a few entries, deleted them and then decided to simply start writing and let the stream of consciousness flow! I have within in me a deep need to improve upon my writing and it sometimes stumps me. I was also waiting for the coffee pot to finish brewing.

We recently purchased a new coffee maker. I think it's officially called a coffee urn. It's one of those huge industrial types of things and makes up to 64 cups of coffee. This was my husband's idea as he drinks coffee all day long and we had pretty much burned out the old "Mr. Coffee" with his habit! I make 24 cups of coffee every morning for us and most of it is consumed. However, there is usually enough left over in the urn in the morning for me to heat up my first cup in the microwave before the fresh coffee is percolated. Not this morning however, as I didn't make a complete urn yesterday since my husband had to go into Virginia for work. There was no first cup for me. I had to wait for the light to turn on telling me the coffee was ready.

So much of life is like that isn't it? Waiting for the light to come on...waiting until we are ready. For what? If God had waited to turn my heart towards Him until I had a complete understanding His truth, I'd still be waiting. What blessings would I have missed out on along the way...the correction resulting from my sins leading to personal growth. Who knows who I might be...Thank God he is the light and I don't have to want...or I shall not want. It is a test of wills every day isn't it?

Yet, so often we force ourselves to wait...wait until we are "ready" so to speak. Over the last few days I have felt something pushing me into something I'm sure I'm not "ready" for. Some unseen wind is attempting to push me into a frightening direction...one likely full of rejection. I wasn't going to write about this, but here it comes! I've decided to put the rubber on the road and send out some writing pieces I've been working on to magazines in the hopes of having them published in print.

Why? I don't know for sure honestly. I like to encourage people and I like to tell stories. Every now I get an email from someone telling me I have done just that. That's been more than enough encouragement to keep me working here without a serious thought of going "public" in any sort of "big" way. I don't even know what kind of impact I could have or if I'm supposed to.

From my earliest recollection, though, I've wanted to be a writer. I can remember scribbling stories down in class when I was supposed to be working on math problems. I was 10 or 11 and asked the fateful question, "what do you want to be when you grow up?" My answer was, "an author or a nurse." So there you go. It's been there for a long time! It could very well be that once the rubber meets the road, I'll find that the tread isn't deep enough to safely support the vehicle. As heartbreaking as it may turn out to be, it's not an altogether "bad" thing. I'll have an answer one way or the other.

I'm certainly far from the picture of "professional" writer. My graduate degree is in Speech-Language Pathology. I hated writing those reports for work! I wanted to talk about how the student looked when he arrived and what he/she had said to me and my impressions of their person. I was certainly capable of looking at a series of objective facts and drawing a conclusion. It just wasn't so very "fun" in a sense. The evaluations were performed and the reports written so I could work with the student. But so often, I found my lessons interspersed with little nuggets of me attempting to draw the best out of my students...stories from my life sprinkled amongst the vocabulary and proper phonetic placements.

I remember one of my last "first sessions" with a certain teenaged girl with blue hair and an attitude. We didn't "do speech" that day, she told me about her life. I told her about mine. We learned from each other...which is what I like so much about the blog world and perhaps why I feel compelled to push it forward and to expand it's horizons. I've met so many wonderful people here...I want to meet more. Share my stories and life lessons and hear others.

My time is limited with my two young children. Even now, my daughter is on the couch during, "my writing time" asking me for cheerios. This process of polishing up writing pieces will take time. It's not to happen over night. But it's also time to quit drinking the dregs from the bottom of the pot. It's time to allow fresh brew to percolate and see how it tastes. The light has turned on...

How could I ever live up to that example!

I went to church on Sunday with my family, even though I didn't yet feel quite up to snuff and sat for most of the service, as opposed to standing. It felt a little strange to not stand as I had grown used to this practice. A few months ago it felt strange to stand! I have also discovered that the "original hand sewn clogs" by Land's End are the most comfortable shoes known to man. They were on sale before Christmas for $14.50 a pair. It's hard to believe that for this price they contain orthotics, which my tired feet greatly appreciate! If I could, I'd buy a pair in every color...they are most wonderful for long periods of standing!

Back to church...Ana sat next to me during church and Michael on the other side of her. Mikey decided that the middle of the liturgy was a good time to begin teaching Ana, "The Lord's Prayer." He opened the prayer book and started having Ana repeat the prayer after him.

"Mikey, I really appreciate that you want to help your sister learn, but this really isn't the time." He closed the book and turned back around in his seat. I had to wonder if I'd done the "right" thing...

The service continued through all of the prayers and the "Lord have Mercies." I realized at one point that Ana was attempting to sing "Lord have Mercy." I smiled and gave her a thumbs up...she returned her zealous grin. I'm really joyous that she feels so comfortable and even wants to try and participate in the service. I don't know if thats "normal" behavior for a two year old or not. All parents think their children are special....

Ana even stayed in the service for it's entirety, save one potty break and a trip to ring the bell with her new friend Rachel. Rachel is probably 9 or 10 and at the age where she enjoys playing, "Mother" with Ana. I can understand her attraction to my daughter as she looks quite a bit like a doll with her still chubby cheeks, dirty blonde curls and big blue eyes. Ana loves Rachel and didn't like it when I removed her from Rachel's arms in order to be prayed for as a catechumen at the front of the church. We do have to be a bit careful as Rachel seems to almost want to take our place with Ana and whisked her downstairs after the service to get her lunch. She is a sweet girl and I know her intentions are good...but boundaries are also very important!

During lunch, Ana looked up at me and said, "It's fun singing during church."

"I'm glad you like it honey," I replied.

We left lunch sooner than normal as an adult education series was starting and we knew we'd be pressing our luck if we expected the kids to remain quiet through a 20 minute presentation. Both of the younger children had behaved beautifully in church and even Michael seemed to have an easier time. So, homeward bound, I was sad to leave and not have as much time to fellowship but was also looking forward to collapsing on the couch.

I changed Ana's clothes...from church dress into play dress. The girl loves to wear dresses! We cuddled together on the couch and watched Monsters Inc.. I nuzzled into her hair and breathed deeply and said, "You know what Ana? You smell like Church!" The incense and sweet smell of the beeswax candles lingered in her hair.

"How incredibly cool," I thought. I only hope that as I grow more into the Orthodox Church, that the sweet aroma of Christ somehow permeates my life and even overpowers this lingering "church smell..." I don't want to keep Him a secret...

Blessings...

Since I've been feeling so yucky I've been doing a lot of laying around and being as lazy as is possible with two young children! Earlier in the week I stopped by our local library to pick up some DVD's for the children to watch and a couple for myself as well. I usually stick to the "old movies" starring Jimmy Stewart, Cary Grant, Bette Davis and the like. This time however, one of my selections included the A&E adaptation of Pride and Prejudice. Being a voracious reader I have read the book and enjoyed it immensely, and I was curious to see how it came to life on film.

It was a really lovely movie. Of course, I had to rewind and replay several different speeches not being able to hear them due to the never ending and exuberant energy of my children. Nevertheless, I made it through all six hours! One of the aspects of the movie which really stood out for me was the habit in "those days" of bowing when greeting others. It was rarely a full genuflection, but a simple bow of the head for gentleman and a slight curtsy for the ladies.

I suppose I took more notice of this since our most recent path has had us strolling into the ancient world of Orthodoxy where bowing is a common occurrence. We bow to the icons to show respect to the saints who have lived well before us and who have given us an example of what it means to be infused with the Holy Spirit on the road to Theosis. There is also quite a bit of kissing in Orthodoxy...of icons and each other...again the love for Christ spilling over into physical action somehow seals the deal...

There is also a part of me that recognizes the social conventions of that time, although appearing somewhat affected and stand-offish, did lend a sense of structure and ritual to human interaction. One always knew what to do in most situations and how to greet others. There is a safety in such structure and ritual we have lost in present times along with a general respect for our fellow man. The language is beautiful. When one has been disesteemed in the terms prescribed in Pride and Prejudice without use of coarse language, one has been truly and artfully disesteemed! It's brilliant...

But back to the bowing as it relates to Orthodoxy. I can recall reading somewhere, I believe in one of Kh. Frederica's books that we, as human beings, are the original icons as being created in God's image we reflect His image. This idea has stayed with me since I first read of it. Phenomenal when you think of it...for if one were to truly practice this idea in thought, word and action, one would be truly artless...without pride or prejudice in one's dealings with fellow human beings. Bowing to another wouldn't seem affected, it would seem a sign of humility for what it could mean...a recognition of the image of God in a fellow human and bowing to show respect to that image.

I really like the idea of recognizing and acknowledging the image of God in others. It seems to me, that once this practice is in place, it would be ever so much easier to truly, "love our neighbor as ourself." It follows the rule of action, even when one doesn't feel a particular way towards someone, one acts as if they do and eventually the feeling will follow the action. Let's be truthful...I don't always feel so loving towards my family, but I don't kick them out in the cold when I feel that way. I continue to shelter them and care for them as if I do...the feelings do come back. I am learning, even as an immensely emotional person, that emotion should not be the beginning and end of my dealings with others. It's a hard lesson to learn.

And I wonder, I truly do, what the world would be like if we all paused for a moment in our busy lives to consider the image of God in others; to step back into the ritual of acknowledging our Creator's role in ourselves and each other. Being the eternal optimist, I would venture to think it would be a much different place, maybe not quite so cold and as it sometimes seems. Maybe the emphasis in our lives wouldn't be, as is so often the case now, to look out for number one. Perhaps there would be no need for a welfare system. Foster children might become a thing of the past...

That's just me going on and on to infinity with the possibilities...I know it's a little out of hand. But don't be surprised if upon meeting me, I pause for a second to bow my head in recognition of Christ's image in you...

Blessings,
Laura

It's 6 degrees here. Someone from the southlands (preferably coastal) please adopt our little family and take us away from this ridiculousness!

in time of sickness is so precious. Here I am trying to look on the bright side thinking I have this sexy, low raspy voice. My husband says, "you sound like you've been smoking for 30 years....it's like nails on a chalk board." My oldest son arrived for the weekend and informed me that "you sound like a guy." I mean really, what's next. Are they going to throw stuff at me as I recline on the couch?

I'm only kidding...they did say that stuff, but I know they love me. My husband helped me out by preparing dinner last night, although, the dishes are still in the sink...

More later when I'm feeling better.

Blessings,
Laura

I've noticed since talking with my children this morning that I kind of sound like Kathleen Turner...see...there is a bright side to everything...

...call me Polyanna.

Laura

...or if any of it will make sense once I get there...

I am sick again. My daughter has tonsilitis and I have succumbed to some sort of throat something. My throat is fairly raw and I just have that all over sick feeling...you know brain spinning in your head, exhaustion plus achiness. Oh so much fun!

A million ideas have spun around in my head to write... but I can't seem to corral them. Perhaps I shouldn't even attempt to write, but I fear losing them. They are like children somehow...these ideas and I like to see them come to fruition. Ana is always a topic. My irrepressible daughter! She has learned to fear the unknown. I wrote earlier that she has developed a fear of monsters.

Since she has been sick I developed the bad habit of accompanying her to the bathroom upstairs, most often actually carrying her and placing her on the toilet...bad idea! Only in retrospect though. Yesterday, as I was feeling poorly, the thought of climbing the steps 1001 times so that Ana could pee was really just too much for me. I put my foot down. "No, mommy come upstairs," was her constant response. Somehow, I managed the intestinal fortitude to stick to my guns so to speak. Eventually, she would go upstairs, crying...I turned on the hall light in hopes of chasing away the monsters...and Ana learned she could defeat them. As the day wore on, the battle became less emotionally charged and Ana even stayed upstairs on her own for a while...playing with two little stuffed dogs that she put down for a nap.

It's difficult for me because I understand where she is coming from. From a young age I've always had some sort of weird awareness that a world exists beyond the material one which is ever present before us. I recall seeing shadowy figures in doorways and even once as a child of 6 or 7 seeing someone sitting in the easy chair which sat at the foot of the bed I slept in at my MeMa's house. I sensed the figure was male and he turned to look at me as I lay in the bed...as if "he" sensed that I was looking at him. I am told that my PePa, who died before I had a conscious recollection of him, was the only person patient enough to calm my incessant crying as an infant. He would walk and walk and walk with me. It does cause one to wonder and I've never been sure what to make of that experience.

On another spooky but also somewhat unrelated note, my MeMa prepared my PePa's favorite pie just before she had the stroke in her garden which ultimately led to her death. She had not baked such a pie since he died in the mid 1970's. After she passed, but before I knew it...I was out walking early in the morning through Boone, NC. It was a windless morning, yet I heard windchimes. MeMa always had multitudes of windchimes in her garden...my spirit was at piece upon hearing the quiet, gentle tones, so much like her quiet gentle spirit. I knew she was OK and where she needed to be.

All of this to say, I wonder if Ana has inherited this same sensitivity toward a world which exists beyond our own...if such a thing even exists. If when she speaks of seeing monsters if she really does indeed see something...And somehow I hope in my desire to teach her to realize that she does not have to fear this world...that indeed she has power over it through the Holy Spirit...that it begins by learning that she can go potty all by herself. I think that may only make sense in my brain! Every time Ana successfully did the potty thing by herself we did the "high five" thing. She's learning at a beginner level to conquer fears...that in itself can't be a bad thing!

I think I'm finished for now! Except to say thank you to someone named Irene who has me linked on her blog as a "storyteller." You don't know what that means to me! So if you drop by...thank you!

blessings,
Laura

I am a lifelong tea drinker. I started out like most southerners do, drinking a glass of sweetened iced tea at dinner time...cold weather non-withstanding. Ice tea we always called it...somehow the past tense "-ed" morpheme was left out in the pronunciation. I remember traveling to Canada for a high school band competition and asking for "ice tea" with my meal. The waiter's response, "It's out of season." I was flabbergasted!

Somewhere in my pre-teen years I discovered "hot tea." I believe we called it "hot tea" to distinguish it from "ice tea." At any rate, I can remember an English co-worker of my father's wife offering us "hot tea" after dinner at her house one evening. It was some sort of apple cinnamon concoction and was made with lots of sugar and so was very sweet. I can remember that when I rounded my lips and sucked in my breath, I could still taste the tea on my tongue long after I had drunk it (drank--grammar queens help me out here).

I started at that time trying to mix my own hot tea concoctions starting with lipton iced tea bags and adding ginger, cinnamon and other spices to the tea...trying to create something exotic. I would bring the potions to my mother and ask her opinion. "Too much ginger," she might say and I'd be off to try again.

I continued my tea drinking habits through college. I discovered the wonders of "Earl Grey" (my all time favorite), "Constant Comment," "Lemon Lift," and any number of "Celestial Seasonings" brews. On my honeymoon to Williamsburg, VA, I discovered, "Lapsung Sachong" which smelled and tasted like a campfire to me. I have not found it's equal since my honeymoon. I drank chammomile and peppermint tea when I was pregnant and trying to calm a restless tummy. If I was out of fancy tea, plain old lipton would do for me with lots of sugar and milk. Tea tastes like a deep breath to me.

After I married, my brother in law, Jae, started gifting me with tea pots as he worked at "Gloria Jean's Coffee Company" and could get a discount on them. I have teapots shaped like roosters, cats. Several have met their demise including a duck shaped one...kids and teapots do not mix. He also has given me several tea sets. The first was a beautiful white, blue and yellow pattern which I loved...the cat knocked that one over. The second was a complete set with cups and tea plates with a pink and blue pattern...The teapot itself was knocked over by one of my kids and sits in pieces in our cabinet with me hoping it can be fixed...likely not. I had never even made tea in it. But the cups and saucers remain...

Normally, I drink tea from whatever coffee cup started out the morning. One morning I thought to myself, "It's a shame I never use those pretty tea cups and saucers." The thought went in and out and that was nearly the end of it...

The other evening we went to our church's Theophany service. Water is blessed for the purpose of blessing other stuff...That's kind of it in a nutshell although the theological meaning is much deeper than that. For some odd reason I thought of my aging parents and wondered what it was like to be in one's 50's...and thinking about how many years one has left...etc, etc. I don't know why this crossed my mind during that church service, but it did. And then I thought, how stupid...I could walk out of this church and be smashed by a car...just how many years do I think I have left...my life is not my own afer all. I managed to concentrate on the rest of the service...it was just a fleeting thought.

I installed our little jar of holy water next to my tea chest in a corner of my kitchen. I have a China Angel made in the Lenox factory my dad managed next to the chest. Yesterday evening, I washed out two of the china tea cups and saucers and the matching sugar bowl and placed them on top of the chest along with the "good sugar spoon" from our best flatware set. Life's too short not to enjoy good tea from a nice china cup after a long day. It had been a long day with a sick Ana...so chammomile was the order of the evening. I can't say the tea tasted any sweeter out of the china cup...but it did make the experience much more...I guess deeper is the word.

Life is short...go find your china tea cup!
Blessings,
Laura

...but I did write this while in the "Doc in the Box" waiting room the other day. I'll share it with you all...but remember...I'm not a poet...

The Stars Danced
On heavenly boards
Swirling, twirling
In an unknown rhythm

Undulating, motivating
All who chanced
To witness their glowing
Partakers of harmonies
guiding the steps
we all danced together

Stars collided
The heat too much
Glinting fragments left behind
to tell the tale

Old rhythms abandoned
New steps to learn
The union brief and dazzling
It's demise
bittersweet

Unbelievable...my spell check tells me I spelled "rhythm" correctly on the first try! Maybe I'm not getting stupider with age!

Have a day filled with blessings!
Laura

One of my New Year's Resolutions...you know what. I just thought I don't want to call them that anymore. How about, "things I'd like to work on in '04?" Resolution just sounds way to official and permanent to me!

Do Over...

One of the things I'd like to work on in '04 is to read more actual books. In order to do so, I've had to cut out some of my afternoon computer time. I'm not sure that's altogether bad! I started this particular "thing" last week as I really do enjoy reading quite a bit. I've been reading St. Seraphim of Sarov A Spiritual Biography which was a Christmas present from some new friends of ours. St. Seraphim was an amazing man! He fed wild bears from his hand...they did his bidding. The Theotokos actually said to St. Seraphim in several visions, "He's our kind." Meaning, a heavenly being, not one of this earth. He prayed for 1,000 days, and healed people with lamp oil. Lamp Oil? That's right, Lamp oil. He ruffled some feathers with that one...but St. Seraphim did what he could with what he had...kind of like life. There are many amazing stories in the book and I'm somewhere near halfway finished with reading it.

It's a bit humbling to read this particular biography as I am so faraway from being anywhere close to this man's level of spirituality. I stumble up the stairs every morning to say my morning prayers and almost as soon as I start...my mind begins to wander...to what needs to be accomplished...does Ana still have a fever...what will I make for dinner...why do my feet hurt so badly in the morning. I try to concentrate and not let it get me down when I can't. Something about "not giving the devil a foot hold." I'll keep trying, resolving to do better. But if I let guilt paralyze me and discourage me from moving forward...who will have won that battle? I actually wonder if I should even be saying all the prayers...maybe just a few so that I can concentrate on concentrating....

I also decided to pick up Gilda Radner's autobiography, It's Always Something, last week at the library. I've quoted the book several times in my journal but have never actually read the book. I kind of felt there was something " wrong" with that. So, I picked up the book at the library. It was hard to read, because we all know the ending. Gilda dies. I was sniveling reading parts of it because she was so positive and so focused and convinced she might beat the disease...and I know that in the end...she didn't.

But, in the end of the book, she reveals that she understands that she must fight in the midst of not knowing if she would triumph over cancer. Her nurse, Joanne, called this "delicious ambiguity." Doesn't that sound simply scrumptious? One of the last lines before she tells that dog story I've shared so many times:

Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle and end. Like my life, this book has ambiguity. Like my life, this book is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next.

I was really impressed with that whole concept of "delicious ambiguity." It's hard to live when you can't look at your life as neat little packages tied up with bows ready to opened when we say they should be. But, why would we need anyone else if life were simply a neat row of boxes...why would we need God? Why would I pray? Why would I call my girlfriends on the phone? Why would I need my mother, my father, brothers, sisters, children?

I'd have it all figured it out. It would be boring. Not knowing the answers is the answer. Not knowing leads to finding out...who I am and what my relationships with God and other people are supposed to be like. When I can walk in ambiguity, accepting it's discomforts and terrors, then I think I will be able to pray without my mind wandering. Because it won't matter why my feet hurt, if my kids are sick, what needs to be accomplished. I'll just take it as it comes...and pray as I go along...

Blessings!

Yesterday was a nutty day. It really, truly was! I took Ana to the "Doc in the Box" to see if we could figure out what might be causing her fever. She had no outward symptoms...other than her foot having a fever. I called the local "Immediate Care" center to ensure that the doc on call would be comfortable seeing and/or treating her if necessary. The answer I was given was "yes."

So, I pack her up with some books and off we go to sit and wait for the usual 2 hours. I was able to talk with some young kids in the waiting room. When I say "young" I must be getting old because they were in their early 20's! One young woman was pregnant...three months. When I figured this out by eavesdropping on the conversation, I congratulated her. She looked surprised, almost frightened at my reaction. I imagine it was because she obviously wasn't married. While I do not necessarily promote the idea of having children out of wedlock without good means of supporting them, I was glad that she was excited about the pregnancy and had chosen to continue it...and now she and her boyfriend are in my poor prayers.

They were all there for the pregnant woman's boyfriend who apparently had some sort of infection in his thumb. There were four of them, three girls and he. One of the girls was the younger sister of the pregnant woman. I shared some of my "early mommy" experiences and hoped they had an impact. It appears this baby will have a non-traditional family...but it does appear that these four were connected with each other and there to support each other. If there is a plus to the situation...that was it. The boy watched me with my daughter and started to get a somewhat stunned look on his face. Perhaps reality was sinking in. He did take a very tender approach with her as I was reading to her. Again, a cause for hope. I suppose that's why I was placed in that waiting room at that moment...in those seats...

Because when we finally were able to see the doctor after two hours in the waiting room and another 30 minutes in the exam room...her first words to me were, "I specialize in internal medicine and am not comfortable treating pediatric patients."

"But I called first for that very reason," I replied.

"I know, I know..." And after a long CYA speech about how she wasn't comfortable, etc, etc, etc, she finally checked Ana's ears, nose and throat, listened to her heart and lungs and could find nothing wrong with my little girl. I was mainly concerned with the possibility of an ear infection and that was ruled out. The doc said that it was probably a "sub-clinical" infection...which I gather means that she is fighting some sort of virus and no other symptoms are showing up as yet. The doctor said they could start to show up over the next couple of days. Perhaps that Vitamin C and echinacea I'm giving her every day is working. At any rate, if the fever continues we'll be calling our regular pediatrician on Monday. I still wonder about the possibility of a UTI. Until I know what it is, I have named it the "cranky flu" as when Ana's fever starts to rise when the motrin wears off she becomes incredibly whiny and fussy. Who can blame her though. 102 degree fevers are no fun!

I then went grocery shopping all by myself. When I arrived home I realized I was scatterbrained personified. I had checked off my list and even added in both lunch meat and cereal to the running total I keep in a calculator as I'm shopping, but neither made it home with me. I bought two packs of cheese instead of the lunch meat. The cereal thing somehow came to me around 4:00 AM as I was tending to Ana. Why can't my brain work when it's supposed to?! My realization didn't do me much good at 4:00 AM!

So, we had fish sticks for dinner...and then Jim went off to Vespers. I tried for 5 minutes to catch up on some blog reading on the computer and gave up as the kids really wanted my attention. So, it was on the floor for me with the wooden blocks and stacking cups. I had turned the music on the computer so we could have some nice background music. We were all laying on the couch when mine and David's song came up..."Close to You" by the Carpenters. I know, I know, gag. But if you'd ever seen my son, you'd understand. So, I warbled a heartfelt version along with Karen (I should have kept my mouth shut!). David was hysterical. I was laying on my back and he was sitting up near my head on my chest and he kept pretending to hit himself on the head and saying, "ow, ow, ow" because it elicited laughs from Ana and I. Earlier in the day he had been doing his version of pratt falls...only he fell forward onto the couch on his face causing eruptions of giggles from both Ana and I. My son...the future stand up comic.

Of course, I then had to seek out Ana's song..."Love is Here to Stay" by good old Frankie S. I sang this one with him too...and again I should've stayed silent. Luckily my kids don't know I can't sing yet! Bathtime, bedtime, assurances to Ana that there is no such thing as the Hulk...daily debriefing time with Jim and then I watched a movie, "Tootsie" with Dustin Hoffman. I checked it out from the library for sentimental reasons.

Tootsie was the first movie I saw at a Drive in theater with my parents. I believe we lived in Maine at the time. Knowing my mother, she likely hunted down the movie theater so we could have an experience like she had growing up. I don't remember much about that first showing of "Tootsie" but I really enjoyed last nights re-experience. I'm old enough now to get the jokes. It's actually a fairly masterful movie...

It also reminded me that I used to enjoy acting. I wasn't an uber actor in High School or anything, but I was in several plays, I played Miss Martha in "Arsenic and Old Lace" and was an angel in "Anything Goes" (my singing voice isn't as bad as I let on. I probably sing better than Britney Spears before her voice has been squeezed through all the enhancing equipment). Unfortunately, failing chemistry grades and a scorching case of mono prevented me from seeing the angel role through to the end. I had some other smaller parts in summer time productions when I was younger. I don't honestly remember them all.

But I've always been a ham...I like performing. In college, I took a folk dance class and in our semester end presentation ended up getting the part of the moon or the sun or something in one of the dances. I don't remember...and I'm not a good dancer. The teacher picked me because of my expressiveness...go figure. So I watched the movie and thought, "Maybe some day I could get into community theater." I don't want to be famous, I have no desire to be. But it would be fun to try a play or two once the kids are older...who knows. I think I'd be a good character actress...well maybe. What do I know!?

So, it was a nutty day and this was supposed to a short entry. Jim and I become catechumens today in the Orthodox Church. I am excited, but not overly so. It feels like the natural thing to do...so off we go!

Blessings to you this day!

Welcome to my new porch! My very handsome, endearing and capable webmaster has performed well in creating the new site. I hope you enjoy the new layout and the new home.

I had hoped to write a "longer" entry today, but alas, I slept in. My daughter is ill, her only symptom a fever that hovers around 102 degrees when the motrin wears off. It's been hanging on for about three days now so I will likely take her to the "doc in the box" today to ensure nothing else is going on such as an infection somewhere. Ana banana had me running up and down the stairs quite a bit last night from around 1:00 to 2:30 AM. Hence the reason I slept in and pretty much cut out my morning writing time.

But I had to share this one little tid-bit with you which she spoke yesterday. I've been taking her temperature off and on to see where her fever is and often saying to her, "Let mommy check and see if you have a fever." I use one of those ear thermometers, which I know aren't supposed to be 100% accurate, but, if you've ever met my daughter you'd understand why. Nothing is going up her little behind for the length of time it would take to get an accurate temperature and I also don't trust the under the arm method as yet...again the length of time and the wiggles would prevent an accurate temperature reading. The "3 seconds in the ear" method is likely the most accurate reading I'm going to get!

So, yesterday afternoon she was complaining about a boo boo on her foot and then declared, "My foot has a fever." I thought it was pretty funny....but maybe you just had to be there!

Blessings,
Laura

I believe in them!

You know, I've always believed in angels. I've been able to look back over certain events and say to myself, "one more inch to the left," "why did that person just happen to be there," etc. We all have those stories and some consider them coincidence, happenstance, etc. Not me. I've always believed in heavenly watchcare from a young age. The Orthodox, from what little I know about them, also believe strongly in guardian angels. There is even a prayer in our little prayer book which entreats the guardian angel's help and protection. I have taken to praying that prayer in the morning before I start my crazy day.

My little daughter has entered the "monster phase" of her development. Last night as I began putting her to bed, she said to me, "There are no monsters in Ana's room."

"That's right," I replied. "Look at me. I scared them all away." (I was looking pretty scary after a day of cleaning and had exercised right before preparing dinner with no shower yet). She didn't get the joke.

As we were running through our bedtime routine, Ana clung to me more than usual, as if scared. I had planned on showering just after I put her to bed; however, at this time my husband occupied our one and only bathroom so I stayed with Ana, stroking her hair and caressing her cheek. A little extra TLC can never hurt, right? I also prayed softly, "Lord, I pray you would send down some angels to guard my daughter's heart and mind from scary thoughts tonight. Keep her safe and protected as she sleeps." I don't know if that's particularly "Orthodox" or not...but I know how scared she was and I wanted to do something before her. I had "closet monsters" and "under the bed monsters" as well. In fact, there's is still a part of me that doesn't like to let one ankle fall over the side of the bed as I sleep for fear of something grabbing it. I also still sleep with night lights. I willingly admit that I am still afraid of the dark!

My husband exited our bathroom, I took my shower and we did our usual evening routine (scripture reading, devotional, prayer) and then I went back upstairs to brush my teeth and check on the kids before crashing. As I was brushing, I had this picture in my mind of an angel hovering over Ana's little head board with wings and one of those fiery sword thingies described after the fall in Genesis. It was weird. And then, when I went to check on Ana before I retired, I felt the room was not occupied by her alone. Not a sinister presence at all...but also one that gave me chills. I was almost uncertain as to whether to enter the room to do the final "cover pull up" which I didn't even need to do since she hadn't moved since I left her to shower.

I went in anyway...I just love to get a close up look at that sweet face as she sleeps. If there were angels present, I had invited them, right? As I walked toward Ana, I "felt" as if room were being made for me...as if something was stepping aside to let me pass. I truly believe there were angels standing guard in that room last night.

Spooky? Definitely. A figment of my imagination? I don't think so...but like good old FoxNEWS...I'll report and you can decide!

Have a lovely day...may angels guard your steps!

Rites of Passage!

My oldest son has now developed the habit of emitting earth-shattering belches in front of my husband and then saying, "Do I burp just like you, Dad?" I suppose this is some sort of "rite of passage" for the human male species. I can remember my brother, when he was about Mikey's age, reveling in his ability to produce rattling gas explosions at the supper table and then gloating that he had grossed me out. I would look at my Mom and say, "That makes me feel like I want to throw up!" My statement only served to further Eric's ambition.

Jim has, of course, added fuel to the fire by regaling Mikey with tales of how Jim's grandad used to call Mikey's Pop Pop in from playing with a loud belch rather than simply calling his name. Then of course there are Jim's stories of his most glorious belches, including the one he loves to tell about his best ever burp which transpired after he had partaken of two beers. The windows of our first house were all open as we were without air conditioning and apparently in addition to not only shaking the walls with his explosion, passer's by also made comments about this most glorious burp!

Men, I'll never completely understand them.

However, there is something so tender about Mikey's question following his burps, "Do I burp just like you Dad?" I always feel a rush of compassion for a seven year old boy who is trying so hard to be like his Daddy...and perhaps Mikey is sometimes wondering if he'll make it. It also reminds me of a story I found within a Bible study. It is from Gilda Radner's Biography called, It's Always Something published in New York by Avon Books:

When I was little, Dibby's cousin had a dog, just a mutt, and the dog was pregnant. I don't know how long dogs are pregnant, but she was due to have her puppies in about a week. She was out in the yard one day and got in the way of the lawn mower and her two hind legs got cut off. The rushed her to the vet and he said, "I can sew her up, or you can put her to sleep if you want, but the puppies are okay. She'll be able to deliver the puppies."
Dibby's cousin said, "Keep her alive."
So the vet sewed up her backside, and over the next week the dog learned to walk. She didn't spend any time worrying, she just learned to walk by taking two steps in the front and flipping up her backside, and then taking two steps and flipping up her backside again. She gave birth to six puppies, all in perfect health. She nursed them and then weaned them. And when they learned to walk, they all walked like her.

I guess the moral of the story is watch how you walk...for little eyes are upon us always watching how we make our way in the world! It's pretty incredible if you stop to think about it for just a moment.

Have a day full of blessings,

A good time was had by all (I think...)

We left the day after Christmas to travel to North Carolina to see my family for Christmas. My parents had offered to come to our house sometime over the holiday in order to save us the trip, but I really felt we should give them a break and do the traveling this time. My husband agreed, although somewhat reluctantly. Before leaving, we had a long talk about his expectations for the trip. In the past, he has felt that I behaved "differently" around my parents than I do when they are not around and it was stressing him out. Jim just wanted me to be "me" and not to feel as if I had to cater to my parents...I agreed...he was right.

It didn't start out so well, of course! We had planned to leave on Friday around 1:00 PM which would have had us arriving at my parent's house around 5 or 6:00 PM. We ended up leaving around 2:30 due to some unexpected laundry trauma...the washer wasn't draining properly during the spin cycle and so it took forever for that last load of clothes to dry. Jim actually wore a slightly damp pair of jeans when we started out the drive. We then hit heavy traffic on good old DC beltway and also on Interstate 95 south of DC...it took us three hours to move 20 miles! We finally made it out of the traffic jam and started moving around Fredericksburg. We arrived at my parent's house around 9:00 PM to hot homemade chili and corn muffins. My mom is a wonderful cook!

The funny thing is that, for me, the closer we came to "home" and left the big city congestion behind, the more relaxed I felt. As the road opened up and we passed more trees than buildings, the easier I was able to breathe...I actually felt my blood moving more slowly in my veins. How I miss that slower pace of life, waving at people in cars in the opposite lanes whether one knows them or not. It's a way of life not preserved here in Baltimore except for the occasional transplant like myself who pushes around a "buggy" in the grocery store as opposed to a "cart." And those groceries are placed in a "sack", rather than a "bag."

The kids stayed up until around 10:00 PM which is very late for them, but, I wanted them to have some idea of where they were in case they woke up in the middle of the night. Luckily, they didn't. Poor David just looked totally shell shocked! The combination of the long trip and being up so late left a bewildered look on his little face, "why are you crazy people doing this to me?"

After we put the kids to bed, Jim and I stayed up talking with my parents until somewhere around midnight or so. The conversation was easy...I don't remember what was said as I was tired and also had a beer with my chili (I'm a lightweight) but it was an enjoyable time. Saturday morning arrived early as Ana woke up around 7:45. My mom and dad followed suit when they heard us in the living room cuddling in Grandaddy's big leather chair. My daughter took to my dad almost immediately. She didn't want to leave his side and spent quite a bit of time cuddling with him and playing with him throughout the weekend. The kids were slower to warm up towards my mom, I'm not sure why that is exactly!

My brother and sister-in-law arrived and we opened presents, again. Ana has become adept at present opening and no longer needs help. In fact, she tried open presents which didn't belong to her! My parents got some revenge by giving Mikey one of those wonderful space guns which makes an incredibly loud laser like noise when the trigger is pulled. I believe my grandparents gave my brother or I one of those...I guess one day I'll do the same!

At any rate, we had a wonderful Christmas with my family. I didn't feel the need to "be someone" for them. I was just myself. My parents talked and played with Mikey and Jim also had several conversations with my mother without me in the room. It took nearly six years, but, it appears that they have finally accepted Jim's place in my life...I continually asked Jim if I was "myself" and he continually answered "yes."

Jim also enjoyed the time at my parents house. Their kitchen table affords a lovely view of the woods surrounding the back yard. It's easy to relax and enjoy the clean air and nice view. I think he was very appreciative of the break from the regular "routine." We were in no hurry to get back except that we wanted to get the drive over with! My father gave us an alternate route around DC traveling by route 301 which was much more pleasant despite some traffic lights through La Plata, Waldorf and Upper Marlboro, MD. I think it will be our preferred route for future trips.

And the perfect ending to our trip...as we were leaving my parents neighborhood a gentleman was out power walking...he waved and I waved back....Ahh...I hope some day we will spend more time in the south!

Blessings to you this day!

Blessed Nativity, Happy New Year!

We went to church yesterday evening. Our first Orthodox Christmas Eve Service. It was a stunning experience with swirling incense, swinging chandeliers, haunting chanting, shimmying candles, microwavable underwear (yes that's what I said, I'll tell the story), sleeping children and the one that refused to sleep and even a few "Western" Christmas Carols. I'll tell you all about it when I've had more than 4 hours of sleep...hopefully before we leave to go and visit my parents tomorrow.

Until then, Have a wonderful day with family and friends.

Laura

I could have added more, but on four hours of sleep this was all I could manage. There may be another entry at a later time!

We attended our very first Orthodox Christmas Eve Service yesterday evening. The service starts with Matins at 10:00 PM and then moves on to a Divine Liturgy ending with a service of carols surrounding an Icon of the Nativity. We actually hemmed and hawed about the decision to attend this service because we would have to bring the kids with us. After talking with some other parishoners, we decided to bring them along in their PJ's with pillows and blankets. Apparently, this is standard practice for the late evening/early morning services.

I expected Mikey and David to sleep and for Ana to remain awake for the entirety of the service. It didn't quite happen that way! We entered the nave just as Matins was beginning. It was quiet, and the nave was darkened save the shimmying candlelight. We arranged the kids on the floor with blankets and pillows, Mikey actually spread out on three chairs and fell off to sleepy land fairly quickly. Ana and David rose from the floor quickly and wanted to be held. I had never attended a Matins service and so it was all new to me. I tried to absorb as much as I could while keeping the younger two children under control, with Jim's help of course. It's always a tag team effort.

Some where in the middle of Matins, one of the Sub-Deacons came to stand under the huge chandalier which hangs in the middle of the church. He then began to swing the monstrous behemoth, round and round. The chandalier had been cleaned recently and once the lights were turned up it's many twirled stems glistened and sent glinting little lights throughout the nave. Ana and David were enraptured...their little eyes glued as the lights made their twisting journey. Once the twirling stopped, Ana begged, "again." Unfortunately, we won't see this feat again until Pascha!

Aside from wanting to be held and wanting to make several trips to the front of the nave to "kiss Mary," Ana was fairly well behaved and eventually conked out on the floor after I rubbed her back for a few moments. It had been a long day with presents at our house and then presents at Grandmom and PopPop's. I thought for sure her little brother would follow suit, but no dice. David remained awake for the entire service! He was like a little commentator, remarking in his babbling way about what was going on, pointing out icons and candles to us as if we couldn't see them. Just when his head would start to feel heavy on my shoulder and I'd think, "A Ha!", his little head would pop up and his finger would be extended to point out something to Jim or I. At least we only had one child to worry about! He didn't cry often except when he wanted to switch being held by Jim or I. Even on the way home in the van he was smiling and babbing! I'm glad he had a good time.

Mikey woke up in the middle of the service and stumbled downstairs to the fellowship hall. Jim said to, "let him work it out." I decided to bring his blanket and pillow to him in case he was retiring on the floor. Once I made it down the stairs, I heard him crying softly in the bathroom and was obviously moved to investigate what was happening. I found him on the floor with his PJ bottoms around his knees all hunched over sobbing. Somehow, he had managed to wet his underwear, but not his PJ bottoms...I guess he managed to "drop trou" but not "undies!"

"It'll be alright honey, just take your PJ bottoms off, take off your underwear and then pull your pants up again...no one will no the difference."

"I don't like the way that feels," he replied.

"We don't have any choice," I said. "I didn't bring a change of underwear for you."

He was really upset, so I helped him do the switch. I had David with me so I decided to let him run around the I re-settled Mikey on the floor in the Fellowship Hall. Sadie, a truly delightful Lebanese woman I've spoken with before showed up downstairs while I was helping Mikey settle in. She tried to cheer Mikey up to no avail.

"He really doesn't like not having any underwear on," I told her.

"I know," she replied. "And we don't have a drier here. You could microwave them!"

"That's a good idea!"

Sadie held David while I rinsed out Mikey's underwear in the bathroom sink. She offered to take David back up with her, but he refused. Once I had the underwear rinsed out, she went back up to the nave while I microwaved the underwear. Underwear is microwavable! Who knew?! It took several minutes but I finally got the underwear dry and I handed it back to Mikey who I think rearranged himself again under his blanket. All was well...

(yes, I bleached out the microwave afterwards...even though urine is sterile.)

David and I returned to the Nave for the conclusion of the Liturgy. I grabbed two candles and handed one to the lady sitting next to me who I later discovered was Coptic. As I held the beeswax candle, I relished smelling it's honey sweet smell...reminding me of the sweet gift Christ brought into the world. We sang several traditional Christmas Carols starting with "O Come all ye Faithful" and ending with "Silent Night." It was a peaceful and beautiful way to the end the evening in the darkened nave with candles glowing on the faces around...reminding me that we all reflect God's image. It was a beautiful ending to a slightly hectic service!

Have a blessed nativity!

Yesterday evening, I decided to run to the grocery store for a few moments, leaving the kids at home with Jim. I was grateful for a few moments of peace. It's crazy how wonderful just getting out of the house for a bit, even just to go to the grocery store can feel so good for a mommy! I also am able to turn up the music in the van to nearly blistering (just kidding) levels as I'm not worried about ruining my children's future hearing abilities. Silly...yes?

At any rate, I needed to purchase a few last minute Christmas supplies including a roll of sausage to make the traditional sausage pinwheels for breakfast and some marshmallow fluff to make fudge. I use the "cheat" method, I only stir for 5 minutes instead of the interminable time my grandmother probably stood at the stove making fudge. The recipe is on the back of the marshmallow fluff jar...it's called "Fantasy Fudge." I don't even have the recipe written down, I just trust that every year Kraft will reprint the recipe for me. They have yet to fail me...so who's the patron saint of marshmallow fluff?

I had a little trouble locating the marshmallow fluff as I only buy it once a year, to make fudge. You'd think I'd remember the location of such an important item...nope! I expected it to be with the peanutbutter as when I was a child we made "fluffer nutter" sandwiches with peanut butter and marshmallow fluff...not there. Then I checked the baking aisle to no avail. I suppose the grocery layout people just don't think like I do. But then again, does anybody think like I do?

I asked a beleaguered store employee the location of the most sought after fluff and he said something about, "ice cream toppings," and "at the front of the store by the registers." I wandered around the front of the store, no fluff. I finally did locate the stuff over by the ice cream...anyone want to explain to me the sense that makes?

It was then that I met him, a little man in a dark outfit. He was shorter than I and his dark glasses took over half of his face, stooped, a little unkept looking and needing a shave, hair and clothes both rumpled. I happened to look over in his direction, "Excuse me, do you work here?" he asked.

"Well no," I replied. He hung his head, shaking it in defeat on the way down. My heart went out to him.

"Maybe I can help you anyway," I said, thinking to myself, "some grandma has sent her husband out grocery shopping for a few last minute necessities while she stays at home to make the final preparations for a feast. I walked over to where he was standing, the bright yellow cart cheerily contrasting with this small, dark and befuddled figure. He held out his grocery list so I can see what was written. "I am looking for 'Mr. Coffee' 8 to 12 cup size.'"

"Oh...that's probably over by the coffee. Just follow me and we'll find it." I needed to head back that way myself as I had purchased a large can of condensed milk and only needed a small one, according to Mr. Fluff. The canned milk and the coffee are on the same aisle...go figure.

"I have such a hard time finding things here." He said.

"Oh I do too," I replied. "The way they have things arranged here just doesn't make sense."

He smiled. We arrived at the proper aisle and I picked out the needed coffee filters and handed them to the unlikely gentleman. "Ohh, let me see if this is it!" He sounded thrilled....over coffee filters. I smiled.

"She'll be glad to get those, I guess."

"She's been gone several months now and it gets harder every day."

"Oh sir, I'm so sorry," I said. I squeezed his hand. What else could I do?

"Well, thank you." He replied...and then noticed that opposite from the coffee filters was the candy aisle. He began picking his way through the colorful bags of sweets. I didn't get a chance to say, "You're welcome." Perhaps admitting to someone in the coffee aisle of the grocery store that your beloved has passed and that you are lonely is just a little much...perhaps my hand squeeze felt trivial. I'll never know. I just hope that helping him find coffee filters lifted some sort of burden from his stooped shoulders.

I do know that I hugged my kids more tightly when I arrived home...and that I was happy to see my husband sitting with them on the couch...A blessed woman I am.

Say a little prayer for the lonely widower today. His image is printed on my heart...

Blessings to you....

...and blessings in unlikely packages...

Yesterday evening, I decided to run to the grocery store for a few moments, leaving the kids at home with Jim. I was grateful for a few moments of peace. It's crazy how wonderful just getting out of the house for a bit, even just to go to the grocery store can feel so good for a mommy! I also am able to turn up the music in the van to nearly blistering (just kidding) levels as I'm not worried about ruining my children's future hearing abilities. Silly...yes?

At any rate, I needed to purchase a few last minute Christmas supplies including a roll of sausage to make the traditional sausage pinwheels for breakfast and some marshmallow fluff to make fudge. I use the "cheat" method, I only stir for 5 minutes instead of the interminable time my grandmother probably stood at the stove making fudge. The recipe is on the back of the marshmallow fluff jar...it's called Fantasy Fudge. I don't even have the recipe written down, I just trust that every year Kraft will reprint the recipe for me. They have yet to fail me...so who's the patron saint of marshmallow fluff?

I had a little trouble locating the marshmallow fluff as I only buy it once a year, to make fudge. You'd think I'd remember the location of such an important item...nope! I expected it to be with the peanutbutter as when I was a child we made "fluffer nutter" sandwiches with peanut butter and marshmallow fluff...not there. Then I checked the baking aisle to no avail. I suppose the grocery layout people just don't think like I do. But then again, does anybody think like I do?

I asked a beleaguered store employee the location of the most sought after fluff and he said something about, "ice cream toppings," and "at the front of the store by the registers." I wandered around the front of the store, no fluff. I finally did locate the stuff over by the ice cream...anyone want to explain to me the sense that makes?

It was then that I met him, a little man in a dark outfit. He was shorter than I and his dark glasses took over half of his face, stooped, a little unkept looking and needing a shave, hair and clothes both rumpled. I happened to look over in his direction, "Excuse me, do you work here?" he asked.

"Well no," I replied. He hung his head, shaking it in defeat on the way down. My heart went out to him.

"Maybe I can help you anyway," I said, thinking to myself, "some grandma has sent her husband out grocery shopping for a few last minute necessities while she stays at home to make the final preparations for a feast. I walked over to where he was standing, the bright yellow cart cheerily contrasting with this small, dark and befuddled figure. He held out his grocery list so I can see what was written. "I am looking for 'Mr. Coffee' 8 to 12 cup size.'"

"Oh...that's probably over by the coffee. Just follow me and we'll find it." I needed to head back that way myself as I had purchased a large can of condensed milk and only needed a small one, according to Mr. Fluff. The canned milk and the coffee are on the same aisle...go figure.

"I have such a hard time finding things here." He said.

"Oh I do too," I replied. "The way they have things arranged here just doesn't make sense."

He smiled. We arrived at the proper aisle and I picked out the needed coffee filters and handed them to the unlikely gentleman. "Ohh, let me see if this is it!" He sounded thrilled....over coffee filters. I smiled.

"She'll be glad to get those, I guess," said I.

"She's been gone several months now and it gets harder every day."

"Oh sir, I'm so sorry," I said. I squeezed his hand. What else could I do?

"Well, thank you." He replied...and then noticed that opposite from the coffee filters was the candy aisle. He began picking his way through the colorful bags of sweets. I didn't get a chance to say, "You're welcome." Perhaps admitting to someone in the coffee aisle of the grocery store that your beloved has passed and that you are lonely is just a little much...perhaps my hand squeeze felt trivial. I'll never know. I just hope that helping him find coffee filters lifted some sort of burden from his stooped shoulders.

I do know that I hugged my kids more tightly when I arrived home...and that I was happy to see my husband sitting with them on the couch...A blessed woman I am.

Say a little prayer for the lonely widower today. His image is printed on my heart...

Blessings to you....

My Father-in-law is doing as well as can be expected. Thanks to all who read my words and took a moment to pray for him. He was able to use his right arm yesterday, but is obviously very sore. He also had a difficult time getting out of bed yesterday as he was extremely dizzy. Thankfully, my father-in-law already had an appointment with his orthodpedist on Monday and I'm sure the doctor will thoroughly look him over in order to make sure no extensive damage was caused by the accident on Friday...a season of miracles and we're hoping for more!

My son loves to wear the light up boots my mother-in-law purchased for him. They are black sort of "moon boot" looking (I think that's an ancient 80's word) and have red light up spaceships! David will sit on the floor and tap the heels hoping to see the lights. That's not the funny part though, the funny part is actually hearing him say the word "boot." It sounds more like "but" coming out of his mouth and he puts the emphasis on the "t." It's hysterical really...but I can't quite do it justice here.

My daughter made up an incredible story last night while looking at a painting created by my husband's uncle...the same who died recently. It is a lake scene with ducks and a very large rock. Ana's story included something about a whale coming in and smashing down the rock and the ducks somehow assisted the whale in this dastardly deed. Her little face was drawn and contorted when telling this story. I don't know where she gets her expressiveness from...it's not like her mommy and daddy send their musings off into cyberspace all the time!

Last week at the library, Ana was glancing through a book and telling story to go along with the pictures, loudly. I shushed her and the librarian working the children's section said, "No...don't do that. I love to work over here and here those stories." God bless that woman...she is a saint for a tired mommy trying to teach her daughter proper behavior!

Speaking of tired...Ana decided she wanted to wake up at 5:00 AM and lay on the couch. When I told her "no" that no one else was up yet she screamed for 45 minutes. Is there such a thing as an intravenous caffeine drip?

Actually what amazes me is that I can be even more selfish than my two year old. Such things our children teach us about ourselves!

Speaking of selfish, my husband thought he was being selfish yesterday when he accepted the gift of a prayer book from a certain monk on an online discussion board. "I shouldn't have accepted that. I can go buy one on my own at some point." I contend that he would've have been selfish not to accept this gift from someone so concerned about his soul. When love is offered, even from the most unlikely places, it should be received...and then shared. And what a wonderful signpost, altar almost, in regards to my husband's own faith journey. I think of the idea of that prayer book and imagine it's well worn leafs being fingered by generations after us...and the story told of someone who loved us over great distances.

We've had two such experiences of late. Our friend Serratia loved our kids enough to send them a gift card...and she's never met us. She's one of those new breed of "internet buddies." As soon as I can I'll send her picture of the toys we bought for them...the majority of them wooden. Someday, I hope to be telling a grandchild the story of a woman whom we'd never met who shared her love with us in a lean season and helped us through as he/she traces the worn paint on wooden toy mallet.

Who says the world is an unloving place?

My mother-in-law is desiring to build a stone altar to remind her of the many blessings she has in life. I look into the eyes and the hearts of my friends and family, nearby and distant...and I see mine.

Blessings to all of you,

Laura

Never-ending...

Yesterday evening, my daughter and I attended the Vespers service together at our church. We lit a candle and prayed for Pop Pop, my husband's father. I asked for God to watch over him, keep him safe and help his back to heal. Pop Pop has had rough go of it with back trouble and may have a spinal fusion in the New Year. I pray regularly for the entire family, but for Ana, saying a prayer for Pop Pop is something her brain can easily latch onto. The lit candle signifies that our prayers do not end once spoken, but continue.

Earlier today, as Pop Pop was returning home from trip to the bank on the Baltimore Beltway, a semi truck decided to attempt to merge into our Pop Pop and his Subaru SUV (the particular name escapes me at the moment). The driver of the truck apparently never stopped merging. Our Pop Pop had no choice but to attempt to avoid having the truck hit him by slamming on the Subaru's brakes while traveling at around 55-65 mph. The Subaru, with Pop Pop inside it, slammed into the Jersey wall adjacent to the Beltway and flipped several times. While Pop Pop was tossing and turning inside the Subaru, the seatbelt snapped and the air bag deployed. When the car finally came to a stop, the Subaru's windshield was mere inches from Pop Pop's face having been smashed and compacted in the tussle.

Pop Pop walked out of the Subaru. A witness to the accident reported that he didn't expect to see Pop Pop alive considering all that had transpired. The driver of the semi stopped, saw Pop Pop get out of the car and then promptly drove away. Pop Pop went to the University of Maryland Medical Center's Shock Trauma Unit where he was X-rayed and released, bruised, with a bloody nose and some difficulty moving his right arm due to the extensive bruising...but alive to celebrate Christmas with the granddaughter who remembered him in prayer yesterday evening. And that prayer continued into today...keeping Pop Pop here with us.

Thanks be to God!

A mommy and her daughter worship together...

A strange occurrence has happened in our little family. My daughter wants to go to church...every day. Each morning soon after she rises and wipes the sleepiness from her eyes, she says, "We go to church today, Mom?" Obviously, every day of the week isn't Sunday, so most days I say "no." But last night, while we were eating dinner (Shrimp Creole Redux), Ana again inquired about future church attendance and as it was my night to go to Vespers so Jim asked, "Mommy's going to church. Would you like to go with her?" Her answer was quite the vigorous head nod!

I was a little put off by the idea in my selfish nature. I spend all day with the children and was looking forward to spending some "out of the house without a kid attached to my hip time." It also meant I not only had to perform the miracle of getting the kitchen cleaned up and myself dressed in time for the service but also had to find suitable clothes for Ana as well. I chastised myself, asked God's forgiveness...and promptly bucked up! I am thankful my daughter wants to go to church!Ana loves to wear her tights and shiny patent leather shoes, so I put her in a little "skort" outfit. She looked adorable...I don't know when she doesn't look adorable of course. We bundled up and headed for the car. By this time, I was actually looking forward to worshipping and praying with my daughter.

Despite my husband's best efforts to warm the car before we left, it was chilly. Yesterday was a cold and blustery day...ridiculous as I kept saying to the children...I hate the cold. I have been obsessed with the Creed song, "Higher" lately for some reason. The guitar and base lines in this song are wonderful in my opinion. It may have been an unlikely choice for worship preparation...but it worked for me. I even managed a chuckle as I listened to the line, "Can you take me higher....to the place where blind man see" as I pulled in next to our beloved little stone church. No, I most definitely cannot...but I know someone who can.

I pulled Ana out of the car and grabbed her little hand and we slowly processed into the church. I wasn't in a hurry, even though we were pushing it a bit to get into the service on time. I don't want Ana's growing up church memories to be surrounded by feelings of obligation and hurriedness...but of peace and light. Up the stairs, coats off, into the darkened nave. Ana and I lit a candle for Pop Pop...the only one to be lit at that time. She almost inserted the candle into the sand without lighting it.

We went to the front of the church and said "hi" to Mary and Jesus. In adult language we venerated them. Ana is growing adept at crossing and bowing now...and when I lift her to kiss the icons, more often than not she leans her head on them as if giving them a hug. I wonder if somewhere in the heavens, a mother is smiling down at this tender embrace.

I sat down in one of the chairs lining the sides of the Nave with Ana in my lap. I regarded the face of Jesus depicted in the icons on the iconostasis and painted on the dome above the sanctuary, "Why me....why did you call me in the back of Deanne's old car on the way to school one morning. Why did you listen to my seven year old's heart as I cried out in my bedroom, alone in the dark, 'Jesus, come and live in my heart.' And why do you continue to seek me out despite my selfish nature..."

Ana nuzzled her head into my chin, strawberry blondish tendrils reached up and tickled my nose. I tenderly stroked her head and thought about something my husband had said earlier in the evening, "I remember reading somewhere that children sometimes see things that we adults cannot. Perhaps David was so vocal in Church on Sunday because he was reacting to something he saw that we couldn't." I regarded my daughter's voracious desire to attend church and to pray with us...and wondered. I gazed at the icons of the angels...and wondered...

The service began in the darkened nave, candles shimmying in the darkness. I silently consider, "the rocks are to sing...are the candles to dance?" Ana began the service in my arms as I stood, but quickly asked to be let down. She stood in front of me or sat for most of the service. The candles danced, reminding us that our prayer doesn't end when it's spoken, but that it continues onward upward...the incense swirled about us, reminding me of the sweet fragrance poured out by a prostitute and spilled all over Jesus' feet by an unworthy prostitute...and I think..."how like a prostitute is my soul..." The incense also signifies that our prayers are carried to heaven.

All of this, the dark, the dancing candles, the sweet yet acrid and swirling incense invading my nose, the chanting and singing of ancient prayers serve to quiet and settle my gypsy soul, center me, remind me that it's not about me, it's about Him...the one who did meet me in the back of that car all those years ago...the one who answered when I said, "Come and live in me." I regard the face of Jesus for most of the service. I don't yet know the prayers, "by heart," so I focus my heart on Him...and I feel at peace.

Ana was solemn for most of the service and even "shhh'd" the chanters a few times. I had told her we needed to be quiet while we prayed...she didn't understand the chanter's were leading the prayers. Toward the end of the service she decided she needed to proceed the the front of the nave. I asked her if she wanted to say "hi" to Mary and Jesus again and forward we went. She attempted to head straight up to the iconostasis where Father Gregory was standing. He smiled at Ana's insistence. I whispered through her fuzzy hair, "We'll say 'hi' after the service." Undaunted, Ana simply waved at them instead. Several times.

Ana announced, "Mommy I need to go pee-pee," just as the service was ending. I asked Ana if she wanted to say "goodbye" to Mary and Jesus before we left. She shook her head "yes" and we went through the whole bowing and praying process again...only this time, Ana wished to say "goodbye" to the depictions of John the Baptist and the icon depicting the discovery of the Holy Cross (for which our Parish is named). We did so, and exited the nave.

On our way out, several folks were in the Narthex and they all remarked on how "good" Ana was. If they only saw her when she is denied something she really wants I think....I don't say this, instead I say, "She loves to pray and come to church."

"How wonderful!"

YES, how wonderful. We head back out into the cold and into the van. The CD player in our van kicks on again..."Can you take me higher?" I wish I thought you knew....

Some time ago, I wrote an entry about my husband and music...

...which can be found here. Essentially, it's about my mourning of my husband's abandonment of his music. From a young age, Jim has very much enjoyed playing and writing music. At some point after our marriage, for reasons only his heart can completely express, he abandoned his music and his focus became taking care of our little family. Although on some levels, I can understand his reasoning, it still saddens me. Jim's response to that particular entry was something along the lines of "all things returned in the fullness of time." I can't look up the exact quote currently as it was left when I was posting both on LiveJournal and to this client. The comment was left on LJ and as my internet access is down, I'm currently unable to look up his exact words.

"All things returned in the fullness of time." I'm not certain exactly what Jim meant by those words. But, this morning, I had an experience which brought them back to mind. Actually, it began last night. I returned from babysitting a neighbor's children to find Mikey, the dear son of my heart, excited at having learned how to play a simple song on the piano. Unfortunately, it was the "Michael Myers" theme from Halloween. Rest assured, he did not watch this movie at our house...rather he was exposed to it somewhere else. As you can likely guess my opinions on that subject, I'll simply keep them to myself. This morning, he was ready to practice his new skill and consented to having his picture taken.

He was very proud of his accomplishment!

Both Ana and David enjoy tickling the ivories as well. Ana is constantly singing some sort of song, from her own meandering interpretation of "Jingle Bells" to a rousing rendition of the "ABC's," it seems music is in her blood. David, however, is the one who is most captivated by the piano. This morning, he continually returned to the keys, seeing what he could come up with. He was quite annoyed with me when I refused to let him play while Daddy was working. "The Piano is taking a nap," I said to him. He seemed satisfied with this explanation. I feel quite certain that as soon as the cover is lifted to reveal the shining piano smile once again, he'll be asking to be lifted back onto the bench...ready to begin composing anew.

Soon after the piano playing session, Mikey left for school and I hustled myself and the two youngest upstairs so I could give the bathroom a lick and a promise. Ana, still wanting to be musical grabbed two coat hangers and exclaimed, "Look Mommy, I make music!"

Ana was quite exuberant regarding her coat-hanger symphony. I couldn't help but think of the ridiculous PDQ Bach compositions I'd performed in my high school band experience. The PDQ Bach pieces frequently contained some sort of unconventional instrument in use, trash can lids being the one "musical intstrument" which I remember with particular clarity. At any rate, it appears my children have music in their blood...or at the very least a great desire to create.

Ana drew this face this morning and was quite proud of her work...so Mommy took the requisite picture. As you can see, her concentration level is fairly intense! Michael, when he was very young actually composed his first song while playing on Daddy's old keyboard. Jim discovered it one morning when attempting to recover some music he had written the night before. Apparently, Michael had inadvertently, pressed the "record" button on the keyboard and thus his music was preserved. Jim actually transcribed the music and a copy still exists somewhere today. I ran across it when searching for the words to a song Jim had written. I do that every so often, go searching through the old music binder, reading his words and looking at the notes dancing across the page....it is a wistful embrace...I feel sad writing about it here.

So were Jim's words, "All things returned in the fullness of time" an unwitting prophecy which involves our children? I don't know and as the old saying goes, "time will tell." I was talking with my mother-in-law this weekend about the differences between the way my head and Jim's head "work." I summed it up by saying, "I'm an amoeba, Jim's a cube." What I was trying to say was, "I go with the flow and Jim kind of fights it a bit." I was attempting to be poetic...I'm not sure it worked!

I do know this...Jim has tried to sell our piano in tight financial times on two past occasions that I can remember and possibly even three, each time, to no avail. The piano continues to preside in our overcrowded living room in our overcrowded little house in the midst of an overcrowded life. Jim regards it as the one item that needs to go in order to give us some more space...someone else obviously believes it needs to stay. "All things returned in the fullness of time."

I've no idea if the "fullness of time" will be realized in our lifetime or even that of our children. The piano may acquire dust for generations before it is put to loving use again. I do know this,

"'For I know the plans I have for you,' says the Lord. 'They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope. In those days when you pray, I will kisten. If you look for me in earnest, you will find me when you seek me. I will be found by you,' says the Lord. 'I will end your captivity and restore your fortunes. I will gather you out of the nations where I sent you and bring you home again to your own land.'" Jeremiah 29: 11-13

Jeremiah is actually one of the more depressing books contained in the "Old Testament" section of the Bible. That particular promise sort of stands out like a bright and shining penny in the midst of Jeremiah's dire prophecies. I wouldn't have wanted to be a prophet! This verse has followed Jim around most of his life. I believe it's one of Jim's mother's favorites and one she has clung to in times of trial. Now, in my own life, as I look at my children and the many losses and pieces of ourselves we give up along the way...I remember, "For I know the plans I have for you...." and "all things returned in the fullness of time." It's something my amoeba brain can encompass as I wonder about my children's future and consider the promise contained in the piano which sits silent so often. There will be music emanating from it's keys once more. I don't know who, or how...but it will be returned to its purpose, "in the fullness of time...."

This was supposed to be a short entry!

We had a busy weekend. Busy in a good way of course. We went to a "New Home Blessing" on Saturday. One of the families in our parish lost their home in a fire over Thanksgiving while they were away visiting family. They are currently living in an apartment until their home can be rebuilt and will be staying there for around six months or so. Of course, they wanted their temporary home to be blessed. It was a beautiful ceremony full of ancient prayers and ritual. After the service I told my mother-in-law, who graciously agreed to watch the kids for Jim and I that the house was definitely "clean." No bad elements could exist after all of that blessing.

I expected Father Gregory to arrive with Holy Water and he did. I expected the Holy Water to be carried in some sort of special vessel, beautiful, old and cherished. It was a plastic squirt bottle with the words, "Holy Water" printed on the front in bold letters. I have to say I was a little disappointed. Who says Orthodoxy doesn't except some of the trappings of modernity? However, it's also amazing that God can take a lowly plastic squirt bottle and use it for divine purposes, perhaps there is hope for me after all!

And just to illustrate how my mind works...I noticed that Father Gregory had received a hair cut since last I'd seen him. So of course, I had to wonder, "Does he wear his cassock to the barber shop?" I've never seen him without his cassock and likely never will. But I wonder when he goes without it. Surely when he's alone at home, he takes it off...but what if one of the parishoners comes by...does he quickly put it on? And what if he were to go out and about without wearing it and accidentally meet up with one of the parishoners....what then? I still have the insatiable curiosity of my two year old about such things...forgive! I'm also willing to admit it!

The truth is, I wouldn't want to see Father without his cassock. My husband and were talking with each other after the house blessing about how much we appreciate Father Gregory and how seriously he takes his role as "Father." He very much has the aura of "spiritual leader" without any "airs" if that makes sense. I don't feel uncomfortable around him. It is a unique person who can be in such a position of leadership and yet still be able to connect on an easy, personable level. Obviously, this is a God ordained position...I also think it helps that he's from the south (my husband will cringe a bit at that one).

My daughter talked about church all weekend. She really, truly loves the experience as much as a two year old can. Her favorite part, of course, is the candles. I let her pick one out and we usually say a prayer for Pop Pop as he is often not feeling well due to some long standing health problems. I try and explain to her that the continuing flame of the candle reminds us that our prayer doesn't end, but proceeds eternally. Ana doesn't yet understand, but she will in time.

We did go to church yesterday, through the wet, sloppy snow! Once my husband and I definitely decided we were going to make the mile and a half trek to the church, I started cooking. I was concerned that many other parishoners who may have been signed up to make food for coffee hour afterwards wouldn't make it and there wouldn't be enough food to go around. So, in the midst of coralling three kids into church clothes and somehow getting myself dressed, I made home-made mac and cheese (although I cheat a bit...you can make a wonderful cream sauce with can of cream of mushroom soup, mayo and milk), quick yeast rolls and grabbed a jar of applesauce from the basement. It actually looked pretty meager, but then, Jesus has accomplished more with less...

On the way out the door, I realized I had forgotten to brush my teeth...I managed all of the above paragraph, and forgot my teeth?! "Oh well," I reasoned. "I just won't stand too close to anyone else."

Ana did a beautiful job in the service today. We took a couple of bathroom breaks, but, other than that she stayed in the service. David, on the other hand, decided he needed to commentate quite a bit today. He wasn't mis-behaving, he was just commenting, loudly! At one point, during the service, he felt the need to continually point to the icon of Christ and say, "EESUS!" very loudly. As if no one else knew who He was. During the homily, I finally exited with David and allowed him to roam around downstairs in the fellowship hall...

Just as communion was starting, the kids started a war over mommy's lap, so I took both of them to the basement to heat up the mac and cheese I had prepared. A lovely woman named Sadie followed me downstairs, grabbed David and took him back up with her. David stayed with Sadie for about 15 or 20 minutes until she needed to come back to the fellowship hall to make some final food preparations herself. It was a wonderful respite...and after the service David was passed around from person to person. I had thought he might be shy like his sister...but actually he seemed to enjoy the attention and he is such a wonderful little guy...MY SON!

The pickings were slightly lean during coffee hour, but it seemed there was enough for the 60 or so parishoners who braved the weather...I was able to have actual conversations with several women in the church. I'm a little less worried about the choosing a sponsor. I have several weeks yet to make up mind about who...and it looks like I may be able to get to know some women by then, but keep me in your prayers...

Yesterday evening, my oldest informed me that I was "weird." He made this pronouncement due to my propensity for shouting, "woo hoo" after we pray for our food at the dinner table. "Why do you do that...you're weird." It's partly left over from being a camp counselor and working with kids all those years, partly due to my refusal to grow up completely (there is a secret corner in my heart that still believes in Santa...shhhh) and partly because of something else...

I was speaking with my husband last night about my favorite part of the Divine Liturgy. There is a hymn sung somewhere in the liturgy of the word which contains the lines, "Oh Christ our God, trampling down death...by death..." I always end up with goose bumps...because you know what? It's only through His death, that I, a lowly plastic squirt bottle of a human being, can be transformed into a vessel of blessing for others. He's accomplished more...with less...Without Jesus...what is the point of my existence. In my heart, I let out a silent "Woo Hoo!" I feel this after every prayer...thankful and grateful for God...it spills out into celebration. The pentecostals, say, "Amen," the Greek folks may say, "Axios." Me...a lowly squirt bottle from the southern climes says, "Woo Hoo!"

Have a lovely day!

Growing and learning. It "hurts so good!" Apologies to John Cougar Mellencamp...

As you probably know, I am a very emotional person. I've mentioned that a bazillion times. It's hard for me sometimes to separate the emotion out of a situation and view it with objective eyes. This can be a tough, exhausting way to live. One of the aspects of modern Evangelical Protestantism I was keenly drawn to and them repulsed by, was it's dependancy on emotion to stir the faithful into a relationship with God. There is an underlying problem with this idea...what happens when the emotion is gone? What does one do when the feelings have evaporated? Despite the fact that I am a very emotional person, I had these moments...and at times they stretched for hours, days, weeks, dare I say, months. The most difficult time for me was when I spent that hour at church, the first half being an emotionally laden "Praise and Worship." I didn't often feel the emotion I was singing about. It wasn't there. What an exhausting experience. I felt as if I was a balloon someone had stepped on, forcing the air out until it's a flattened, lifeless mess on the ground.

Not only was this exhausting, but frustrating. I would look around and see the others worshipping and think, "are they for real? Do they really feel this?" I didn't think so, at least not all of them, all the time. I've mentioned in the past so many times that I wanted to rip the masks off of the church people, times I wanted to come home and take a shower so as to wash the phoniness away. It hurt me. I knew there was pain under the mask, a true yearning for God as I felt it myself. Somehow, I didn't feel safe speaking these thoughts. I was afraid there was something wrong with me and my attitude toward God.

I have learned in my marriage...the hard way...that the emotion isn't the important part of the relationship. Emotions fade. That is obvious. The work is what's important. If I want to be in right relationship with my husband, if I want to truly love him, I have to do the work. The same would logically follow in my relationship with God. I am going to borrow someone else's words now to try and more fully express what I'm saying. She is a much better writer than I and also has more experience with Orthodoxy. Once again the book is At the Corner of East and Now by Frederica Mathewes-Green published in 1999 by Penguin Putnam. It is a long portion, but as I said, the author is a wonderful writer....

A popular informal hymn in evangelical circles is based on Psalm 42: "As the deer panteth for the water, so my soul longeth after thee; you alone are my heart's desire and I long to worship thee." The melody is lovely and haunting, somewhat like "Greensleeves." It speaks of yearning, even if the lyrics can't decided if they're addressing "you" or "thee."

Once my husband commented on this song, "Back when we were Protestants, we were always singing songs like this, about how we longed to worship. The truth was that we didn't know how to worship; we just glimpsed it from time to time. As best we could tell, it was about emotion."

I remembered that, that intense hunger for God and the frustrating sense that it would never be satisfied. Since we became Orthodox, I realized, that hunger has diminished. Not because our worship is particularly emotional; sometimes emotion appears, but when it doesn't, the dignity and authority of the ancient prayers are sufficient to bear you beyond yourself. In fact, when worship is emotion powered, it's like a fun-park ride, and you're being carried around as a treat. It's only when those emotions fade and you get down to the business of doing the work, following the way, saying the prayers even when you don't feel like it, that your stormy heart begins to budge. It's only the offerings done from deliberate will that bend the will and shape it to fit the will of God. Giddy emotions feel good, and all of us might need a bowl of ice cream from time to time, but the don't produce spiritual growth.

Orthodox worship doesn't engender that kind of emotion, I find. I'm less likely to face the twins I knew so well before: flushed sentimental weepiness, or vexed, restless yearning when that treat was absent, the yearning I believed the song was about. Instead the spiritual emotions I find prompted by walking the path Orthodoxy teaches are complex and hard to describe: the overwhelming, deliciously terrifying riptide of God's love; the rapturous joy of weeping over my sins; the sweet stinging desire to bring others to see the beautiful face of Jesus.

I don't have to "long to worship thee" anymore; I do worship him. The longing is satisified, not by emotional thrills but by something that just feels right, like a key in a lock, like "food is meant for the stomach and the stoach for food" (I Corinthians 6:13)

I was made for this.

Orthodoxy means "right teaching." It also means "right praise."(pp154 and 155)

It's not about me.

I don't really think I can add any more to that. At least not now...

Have a lovely day!

or demolition...

On one of the web forums I visit, a topic has turned into a deconstruction of marriage. I chimed in with a few comments, was of course challenged on them (nicely) and then I decided to bow out. I am not by nature a debater...I'm not a very confrontational or competitive person, except when playing Scrabble and sometimes pool. The question at hand is when is a person married, do they have to a formal wedding ceremony or can they just be committed to one another in their hearts and are then free to enjoy sex as they wish. Many call this deconstructing. It is a reaction against, "modernist" views. The movement attached with all of the deconstruction is called, "post-modern." It's kind of a misnomer in my mind...how can we live post-modernly?

I, being more conservative (as if you couldn't guess that) truly believe in the institution of marriage...and family. In my mind's eye when we start talking about deconstructing marriage I see pyramids made out of alphabet blocks being demolished...scattered helplessly all over the playroom floor. For someone as scatterbrained and seemingly free spirited as I, this would seem like a good thing, like fun! But, the specter of a particular person keeps coming to mind whenever I consider this question. He's haunting me, and I wonder if I should tell his story. Right now, I'm on the verge of tears just thinking about it. I'm going to dive in and do the best I can.

I first met Steven in the summer of 1999 when I was working as a substitute speech-language pathologist (SLP) for the school run by the local psychiatric hospital. The school was a non-public school for students who had emotional/psychiatric disorders and couldn't survive in the public school system. Steven had problems. However, he was also hysterically funny.

Steven couldn't really read or write all that well. He had been shuffled among so many foster homes that no one had taken the time to make sure his homework was completed and that he was functioning as he should. His father was dead and no one really knew where his mother was. They were never married. Steven had older siblings, the patronage of each I never knew, none of them lived in Baltimore. By the time I met Steven, he had completely flunked out of the foster care system and was living in a group home on campus. I already knew this but he told me when we first met...it came out quickly, "I live in a group home on campus." I wasn't sure if he wanted to shock me or if he was making sure it was "ok" by me...as if somehow he wasn't damaged goods in my eyes because of his lack of traditional living arrangement.

Steven also let me know on our first meeting that he wasn't happy to see me. He truly liked the SLP I was subbing for and even admitted a crush on her. I would've had a crush on her as well were I a teenaged boy...she was a very attractive, slight, blonde young woman. I'd seen her in pictures. I also think part of his issue with me was the complete lack of stability in his life as far as people who cared about him were concerned. I was another challenge...will she "like...maybe even love me" although I doubt he allowed his heart to speak the word "love." So, Steven and I had issues. I would go to pick him up for a session and he would refuse to come half the time. I would cajole...I would offer to let him play his music...anything to get him into my office.

Steven was not retarded...I don't think. I'm a little fuzzy on that one actually. He definitely had some learning disabilities which were exacerbated by his unruly childhood. As I said, he was hysterical, a dry wit. That summer, Steven was a member of the "Outdoor Adventure Club" and thus went on the yearly camping trip. When the students arrived back at school, I asked him how he liked it.

"There wasn't enough food and I heard a bear crawling by my tent."

"A bear, Steven!" I replied.

"Yeah...they're trying to tell me it wasn't, but I know a bear when I hear one."

I laughed. Steven was a city kid...I doubt he knew a bear when he heard one. He laughed with me. I'm sure he wanted to believe he'd heard a bear...

The summer ended and I was offered a permanent position at the school. I jumped on it. My previous job was in the city schools in Baltimore and as much as I loved it, I didn't like the way the system was planning to "do" inclusion (mainstreaming) without any regard to planning or consideration for the teachers, students and families. I was relieved to be "out." Steven ended up being assigned to yet a different therapist, but one he'd had when in elementary school. He was very comfortable with her and I think it worked out for the best. But I missed him. Steven was a good kid...

And so, the Wednesday before Thanksgiving that year, Steven showed up in the SLP/Occupational Therapy suite. He had a "date" to do lunch with his occupational therapist. I happened to be eating lunch at the same time and so we all sat down together...several others joined in. We talked and laughed. Steven asked if any of us would be dropping by the group home for the holiday. None of us were sure....we all had family obligations. Steven then said these words which wake me up in the middle of the night sometimes...they haunt me...

"All I want for Thanksgiving is a family."

Lunch ended...the day ended...we all left for the holiday weekend. I thought about Steven, but he wasn't forefront in my mind. We returned from that holiday to discover that Steven had escaped the group home and was no where to be found. Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. The search was eventually called off. It was postulated that he had tried to make it to Richmond, VA where his sister lived.

One day, we finally knew. Steven had been found in an apartment in Virginia with a bullet through his head, self inflicted. He died a lonely, desperate death...no family...

"All I want is....a family." It haunts me. I hope it haunts you. That's a terrible thing to say, I know. And I know all traditional families are not healthy. I know that. I know that all families that are healthy don't look "traditional." My own little family doesn't...we have a "blended" family. We have an amazing God who is big enough to transcend the traditional...when he has to.

But when you start deconstructing...spilling the blocks all over the playroom floor...someone is going to trip and fall. There are many kids out there like Steven...they may not kill their physical bodies, but they are no more than zombies...the walking dead. I fear that the more we deconstruct/demolish...the more Stevens there will be...That's the logical conclusion to the argument for me...

It's not based on facts...but a real person. I wonder what Steven would have to say about all of this. We can never know.

Sorry for the depressing entry. Have a good day.

I had to get out of the house today!

Yes it was windy and a little cold, but the sun was shining. We've been cooped up in the house waaayyy to long. The kids are on the mend, although both of them are still coughing just a bit. However, this time of year, that nasty cough tends to hang on longer than anyone would like. I thought it might do us some good to get out and remember what trees, grass and the sky look like when viewed face to face rather than the forlorn picture they present when viewed through a window. So I bundled us up and away we went to walk around Baltimore's inner harbor. Ana, of course, had to sit on every bench and exposed curb that she could. It wouldn't do for Mommy not to join her. Before long, she was imitating me here...sitting down for three seconds and then saying, "OK" and scampering off again.

We attempted to check out Santa Claus in the house he always constructs this time of year at the intersection of Pratt and Light streets. Ana even said she wanted to say "hi." As soon as she got a good look at him, she nearly climbed over the stroller to get away from him. That was that, I don't feel a particular need to force the issue! We instead hung outside of his house and I snapped a couple of pictures. Here is the best of them. I wanted to get a pictue of the kids chasing pigeons, but it was too much to keep up with the whereabouts of both kids at the same time and also to take a good picture.

Happy Early Christmas from Ana and David!

I recently read that I am to keep my blog entries short to make them more "readable." Sorry I was feeling rebellious...grab a cup of coffee for this one...

Yesterday evening, I prepared Shrimp Creole for dinner. It's kosher with Orthodox Nativity Fast as shrimp were, at the time of the apostles, considered an insect as opposed to meat. So, we can eat shrimp, or any other shellfish for that matter. I started to think of tradition yesterday, no, actually I've been thinking about it for some time. The Christmas Holiday Season is given over to many traditions among families and by participating in the tradition of the Nativity fast, I am joining in with Orthodox all over the world in preparing to celebrate the birth of our savior. Earlier in the day, I had read a section in Frederica Mathewes-Green's book, At The Corner of East and Now which explains, in part, the purpose of the traditional fasts within the Orthodox way of life:

In Orthodoxy, believers are called to ascetisim--to discipline the body to self control, cleansing the eye so that it may better see the rich beauty of this physical world, God's good gift. We fast to restrain and temper the appetites to reunite body and soul as they are meant to be, in harmony; then we love the world as we see it with God's eyes--beautiful, good, and filled with people whom he loved into being and saved by his death. At this point, the passions are transformed, and their energy redirected into zeal for truth, for loving others, and for humility. (p 37-38).

I considered all of this as I added the diced tomatoes and tomato sauce to the already sauteed onions, garlic, green pepper and celery in the dutch oven. This particular dutch oven was my grandmother and by all accounts has seen better days. But I love to cook in it as it unites me with my grandmother in some way...keeping her alive in my heart. I have the same feelings when I cook a fajita or bake corn-bread in Me-Ma's cast iron skillet. It was what I requested when she passed 10 years ago this May. I miss them both, especially this time of year.

As I swirled the the red tomatoes into the green peppers and celery and inhaled that wonderful, earthy, smell of garlic and onions cooking I considered the whole Orthodox system of labeling things, "little t" and "big T," sort of a way of distinguishing between the big Traditions and the other not so important ones. I suppose the nativity fast would have a "big T" as it's one of the more significant fasts throughout the year. Me cooking in the dutch oven is probably a "big T" for me, although to outsiders it wouldn't appear so. But for me, especially over the holidays, it brings to mind stories of loved ones who have left the physical world and crossed over into the spiritual. I know they're there, but I can't hold them close physically, so I hold onto them the only way I have left...through tradition.

As the tomatoes and vegetables simmered in the dutch oven I thought of how, I like the idea of the Orthodox fasts and the purpose behind them. I like the idea of dying to my own passions, especially those which are selfish. It's a good tradition, a big "T" for sure. I am a passionate person, extremely emotional, to a fault at times. I don't often show anger, but instead allow it to burn deep within me until it vehemently explodes unchecked with the power to hurt those whom I hold dear. My husband can attest to this. I also hold tightly to things I enjoy, music, chocolate, television shows, certainly not all of them are edifying. Giving up something so life-sustaining as meat for forty days, and surviving, makes it ever so much easier to burn off the rest of the dross...and hold tight to that which brings me closer to God instead of separating us further.

I puttered around the kitchen, preparing the shrimp to go in the pot with the tomato sauce. My thoughts on tradition stymied as I tried to keep my two babes occupied without killing each other. Somewhere, Ana has learned how to and subsequently decided that it is fun to run and bump into her brother with her belly. He thinks it is fun as well, until the first time he falls....

Finally, after the shrimp have been added and in cooking changed from gray to pink, the white rice boiled and cooked, the macaroni and cheese prepared for the children, we sit down to eat. I marvel at how "Christmasy" the meal looks, all red, green and white. Sort of like a Christmas Wreath someone stepped on and left behind in the snow...maybe more of a Dali-esque wreath. It's a pretty meal, and tasty as well. It almost seems "not quite right" as we're supposed to be fasting...aren't we supposed to feel denied? I don't really think that's the point!

Later on, Jim and I went to our Introduction to Orthodoxy Class at church while, "Miss Belli" watched our Ana. David was already in bed at that point. We came home to find Ana still awake. Belli said she had, "performed a concert" for Ana but still wouldn't sleep. We were in the house 30 seconds before I heard her begin to pitifully wail and it hurt my heart. Up the stairs I ran to her. She cried for a moment or two more as I stroked her cheek and hair, and then her big blue eyes opened wide and she said "SING."

"Do you want me to sing our special songs?"

The answer was an affirmative head nod.

The first...from the veggie-tales

Think of me everyday
Hold tight to what I say
And I'll be close to you
Even from far away
Know that wherever you are
It is never too far
When you think of me
I'll be with you

The second is from my childhood. I vaguely remember someone telling me my grandfather wrote it, but I can't be sure. I'm sure someone's grandfather wrote it:

When nighttime comes and my prayers
are said
I go to sleep
in my little bed
and God
Takes care
of me

Ana then rolled over and went to sleep, satisfied. Tradition is a good thing. I think all traditions should be counted as "Big T." We just can't get away from them, can we?

Have a lovely day!

Mommy's log...stardate 12/08/03

"Mommy is tuckered," I thought as I wearily put on my workout attire and dragged myself up the stairs to go through the motions of my workout with two kids in tow. "Why the heck am I so tired? Probably because I rose at my usual early hour, read a bunch of stuff on the internet, rescheduled my yearly gyno appointment which was already three months late and will now be 6 months late, scheduled an appointment for my son to see the doctor, cleaned the main level of our townhouse, took the kids to the doctor, dropped off the script for prednisone as David has croup, dropped off the DVD's borrowed from the library which were due today, somewhere in there had a convo with my neighbor who was distraught over having to take another neighbor's child off the school bus and that child's mom was MIA, folded some laundry (still not finished with that and it's on the bed and is a pressing matter), picked up a hand-me-down booster seat, went back to the drugstore to pick up the prednisone and purchase a humidifier, played on the internet a bit while baking cookies for an internet friend who's going through a rough patch, wrapped the cookies, made dinner cleaned up the mess and now here I am working out. I'm sure I forgot something in there..."

Who says stay at home mommy's don't work?

After my work out I read "Jack in the Beanstalk," Ana's current favorite for the 433'd time. And here I sit, writing this down...still tuckered...all in day's work...

There you have it...straight from the trenches...

We all missed out on church today...

My husband stayed up half the night with my daughter who couldn't sleep as she was continually coughing. I woke up around 2:00 AM or so realizing I was hearing Ana coughing in the den as opposed to her bedroom. I walked up the stairs to see what was happening and found Ana and Jim cuddled together in the recliner. Ana peeked over her Daddy's arm and said,

"Oh hi Laura."

She sometimes calls me Laura like big brother Mikey. She's experimenting...Anyway, Jim didn't get much sleep and so decided to stay home from church today and keep the kids with him. I was planning on going by myself, which didn't feel "right" but I was going anyway. One of the family's at our church recently lost their home in a fire and there were to be some special happenings and I wanted to take part. However, on my way out the door my son started crying and holding his hands up to me. In the long inspiration before the loud wail I realized he was wheezing, so it's likely that his nasal congestion has gone pulmonary. Instead of going to church, I bundled him up and went to the local immediate care walk in medical facility. There I was told the doctor on call was not certified to see pediatric patients. I was referred to another facility specializing in pediatrics...called them...they were to open at noon. I then travelled back home with David as it was only 9:30 AM.

To make a long story longer...the second walk in place specializing in pediatrics that didn't open until noon only accepts patients by appointment. They are not walk in...which wasn't specified on the voice message I heard when calling to inquire about their hours. When I walked in, the first available appointment was for 5:00...and the appointments were scheduled every 10 minutes...back to back. Just how long do you think I would have to wait to be seen for my 5:00 appointment. I walked back out. We'll hopefully see our real live pediatrician tomorrow and hopefully David's wheezing will not grow worse.

All that to say...and to make this tale interminable. I missed church. I missed the break up in my weekly routine to stop and bow before the Lord...to remind me just what a tiny grasshopper I really am and how grateful I am that He is Lord of my life. It didn't feel "right" to go alone and without my family, but, it also didn't feel "right" not to go at all. It was always an easy decision to skip church prior to out attendance at Holy Cross...the slightest kiddie sniffle would have us staying home and oggling at Bob Vila's amazing home improvement projects. Today, we actually discussed the whole thing. The kids really are sick, Jim was exhausted. God knows all that and understands us staying home. It didn't make it any easier....

I was wrong about the title of this entry...it wasn't a little something missing...it was the biggest something in my life....

Lord, have mercy on our sick and tired little family...

Yesterday was a busy day and today it's snowing "to beat the band!"

Yesterday was a fairly eventful day for our little family. Fr. Gregory came for a visit. True to my southern nature I had to have at least two yummies to offer the Fr. when he arrived. It was a little hectic preparing with Ana and David "helping." Apparently Fr. Gregory really enjoyed the chocolate chip cookies I had prepared for the All Hallow's Eve party at the church, so I made those and some cheese wafers from my Charleston Cookbook. The cheese wafers were supposed to have sesame seeds in them, but those I burned while toasting them...oops. At any rate, I pulled it all together after having burned the sesame seeds and making a two pitchers of iced tea...the first being too weak as one of the kids distracted me while I was adding the extra water to the super strong brew.

At any rate, Fr Gregory arrived and we set a tentative date for our little family to enter the catechumenate (hope I'm spelling that correctly). It should be sometime around the first of the year, the first full weekend in January I believe. I haven't actually looked at the date yet! So now the race is on for me to find a sponsor. Jim, of course, already has an idea of who he would like to have as his sponsor. Me, I'm not so sure. The times I've spent with some of the women in the church I've also had my children with me. Getting to know another woman well enough to feel comfortable enough to ask if she will sponsor me has been difficult. My reserved nature doesn't help. I may appear a party animal here, but most of the time I'm a sort of wall flower! I entreat the prayers of those of you who understand such things.

Fr. Gregory also graciously brought us our first Icons. One of Mary and Jesus and another which is sort of a mini-representation of the iconstasis at Holy Cross. They have been given temporary homes amidst the Christmas decorations. I installed a candle in front of Mary, which Jim removed as he singed hair attempting to kiss her. Oh well...David even looks at the icon and says, "Dee Da" as in "Jesus." Ana is still non-plussed. We've started saying our prayers in front of the icon of Mary and Jesus. It's interesting the extra solemnity and "realness" it adds to the experience of prayer. I can't exactly describe it, but it definitely feels "richer" if that's even a word. I actually just said my morning prayers standing up in front of Mary this morning instead of slouching in front of the computer monitor. I also was able to kiss Mary good morning...I know I'm supposed to say "venerating", but if she's supposed to be my saintly friend I suppose it's OK that I say good morning...right?

I went to Vespers again last night. It's always nice to attend and slow myself down a bit during the week. I attempted to follow along in the service book this evening to no avail. I don't know if the church adds to the service according to the particular saint's day, or if the service changes somewhat because of advent/nativity season or some other variable I've yet to learn. At any rate, I eventually gave up and just tried to pay attention and sort of meditate as the chanters went through the service. I'm growing more comfortable with the crossing and bowing, etc. There were only two other people in attendance last night, aside from the chanters and so I stood in the back so as to take my cues from the others.

Even though I attempted to meditate last night, and did have some feeling of communion with the Saints, I was also quite amused at one of the chanter's children. Apparently, her stockings itched. I noticed her upon entering the nave, mostly because she is adorable, bobbed blond hair and glasses just a bit too big for her sweet face, but also because she was wearing her hat and gloves while still in the sanctuary. She was pretty fidgety throughout the service which I understand completely, never having been one to enjoy extended periods of sitting still myself. In graduate school I actually asked my professors if they minded me cross-stitching in class. None of them did and I have a beautiful series of stitches I made while learning about alternative communication strategies, language development, neuroanatomy...etc. I only earned one "B" while in grad school..the rest were "A's." I had found a way to effectively deal with my fidgety nature. I don't think most of the congregation at Holy Cross would appreciate it if I brought my stitches with me. Luckily, I have my two children to keep me occupied!

At any rate, this little girl had a pair of itchy stockings. She began with a few gentle scratches with her hands. The movements kept getting bigger and bigger until she was literally dancing in her scratches. Several times, she grabbed the waist band of her stockings through her dress and pulled them up, almost to her chest. She then did the scratching dance again...first one booted foot up and down the length of her leg and then the other. Which of course caused her stockings to come down again...and then the dance would begin anew. The wee one also made several trips in and out of the nave. Her long suffering father attempted to corral her in a seat behind him...but she just couldn't keep still. The itchy-scratchy dance continued through most of the service. I really wanted to give that little girl a hug and tell her I understood...(Shh...don't tell Fr. Gregory my entire attention wasn't on the service).

The service ended and I ran to my mother-in-law's to grab some snow supplies...bread and juice for the kids. Being the sweet woman that she is she threw in some oreos as well. I woke up to several inches of snow on the ground. Yuck...sorry. I just don't like it any more and could quite easily picture myself moving to some southern coastal town where snow is an anomaly! Ana is also coughing so we'll have to at least make it to the drug store if the doc calls in a script for her. Life marches on around us...I do my best to join in and add a little joy to the tune...

Laura

Anyone else ever had this happen?

I have been pooped, peed and vomited on. I have been slobbered on galore and have even been used as a tissue for snotty noses but this one takes the cake.

Ana came up to me yesterday with something in her hand she wanted to give me.

"Here, Mom," she said extended her little hand to me.

I reached out, expecting a marble or a stray ornament from her Christmas tree. Instead of dropping something into my hand, she rubbed her hand against mine. Uh oh...

"What is it Ana?"

"Throw up."

"Oh Thank you very much."

She's been coughing quite a bit and I suppose that a little extra came up.


On a happier note, David loves his little Christmas Tree. Everything that has lights on it is now a tree. He points and says, "Tee, Tee." Very sweet to spend his first Christmas he now being somewhat aware of the goings on.

Borrowed the title...don't tell Truman

The little stone church looked tranquil as the family pulled into the parking light. Soft light glimmered through the windows, stained glass window shimmering in the early evening. The girl and her family walked down the steps and continued on the sidewalk, past the stone wall where she had taken many an after church service walk. They parted ways at the side entrance where the choir entered the building before services, the girl and her brother continuing on into the Narthex. The accepted candles from the gentleman at the door.

"Merry Christmas"

"Merry Christmas to you."

Continuing through the Narthex and into the church, the girl and her brother found seats and settled in. The girl pondered how the air always seemed different on this night. It was almost as if there were little glinting lights strewn through it, angels perhaps? Even the young children were quiet, their parents not having to go through the usual litany of "shh...." The usual pre-church chatter was replaced with hushed and respectful waiting. The girl pondered the candle she had been given. It had been used many times before, trails of wax led down to the white and green cardbord ring surrounding the base, an effort to protect tender skin from burns.

Looking around the sanctuary, faces seemed to glow, reflecting the light of the candles behind the hurricane glasses in front of the large windows. Huge wreaths covered the pipe organ cover on either side of the choir's seating area. The altar was filled with red poinsettias. The girl took it all in, as she had in years passed and waited for the service to begin.

When it did, the usual carols were sung along with some special music. The girl began to squirm a little impatiently in her seat, continually checking her bulletin and wondering how much longer until....Finally, his face emerged from the sea of choir members and proceeded to the pulpit. The organ began to softly swell the opening chords. The girl had heard this music over and over over the last weeks...practice, practice, practice...

He opened his mouth and began to sing in a clear tenor,

"Oh Holy Night,
The stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of our Dear Savior's birth
Long lay the world
in sin and error pining
Till he appeared and the soul felt it's worth
A thrill of hope...."

The girl leaned forward slightly in her chair, those around her hushed by the song and it's gentle presentation. The man singing believed the words and loved them. The girl thought to herself, teenaged parental/child turmoil forgotten... "That's my daddy."

Random thoughts on an oft-used word...

The last few days I have had the word, "judgemental" on my mind. Although I think it is most likely heard more often in Christian circles, I have also heard it used by people who wouldn't consider themselves to be Christian. I'm still working through the whole idea, but, I am going to attempt to put some of my thoughts down in an effort to draw some conclusion. The conclusion may be that there is no conclusion...who knows.

When someone decides to call someone else, "judgemental" that seems itself to be a judgement. So is it the proper word or response to someone who seems to be acting in an unloving way towards someone else? I think it has pretty much become a word that has lost true meaning. We readily dismiss people as being "judgemental" instead of trying to understand where they are coming from. Is that truly the way to walk?

More and more, I think "no." More and more I think rather than readily dismissing someone as being, "judgemental" and "intolerant" we should try and understand who they are and where they are coming from. Unfortunately, that takes a lot of work. No more "snap judgements" allowed. We have to find a way to borrow the other person's shoes and walk in them for a while.

I am ashamed of all the times I dismissed someone as being "judgemental," whether I outwardly called them so or not. It smacks of self-righteousness and false humility to me now. I feel lower than the grasshopper, more like a flea. The truth is that even if another seems full of hatred, Christian or not, they are still created in God's image and we need to look for that image and draw it out. All too often I looked away. It was just easier.

But then the question is begged, at least in my mind, how do we hold other's accountable? Certainly, if we see someone steering their train into a ditch we should try and stop them. What is the right way to go about this? Must we be in a long standing relationship with the other person to do so? Must they have given us some sort of authority in their lives to say..."yes this is ok...no that isn't?" How does one stay humble in this situation?

What is true humility anyway? I asked that question on a message board once and received many answers, many good ones. But I'm still not sure I know!

I don't know...I just don't know. I guess I didn't really draw any conclusions. I may never. Perhaps this is one of those mysteries the Orthodox like to speak of. I feel the box that is my life has been dumped out and I am now picking up the contents and burning the worthless stuff and keeping the good stuff. Much of this arises from interacting with the Orthodox faith.

What a strange journey is my life!

Have a beautiful day!

It's "Mis-mas!"

The halls are decked here. I usually try and get as much of the Christmas decorations up the weekend after Thanksgiving as I can. It was definitely a more interesting adventure with two young mobile children walking around and one who no longer naps. Luckily, Daddy kept Ana interested by decorating her own little tree with her in her room last night. We have no "big tree" up for several reasons. One is, we simply don't have the room here in our tiny little row house. The other is it's a safety hazard with the two little ones. I could turn my head for 30 seconds and the tree with all its trimmings would be on the floor! So, I simply hang up some garland with some lights, irridescent ribbon and family ornaments strung through and it's actually quite beautiful. The ribbon has tiny glinting stars all over it...it glows when the white lights are shining. And it's out of the way of inquiring little hands. Yesterday as I was stringing the lights, David decided to chew on them...pretty much solidified my idea of no tree!

We have a lot of left over decorations, some of them in poor shape. Today I'm going through and junking some of them. Many of them are from Jim's childhood and he doesn't seem to have much of a sentimental attachment to them so out they go. I felt badly yesterday that I was going through all of it to decorate, I thought to myself, "this is really a pain in the a**." Tradition is important, however, and so up everything went. The kids will have fond memories to look back on..as I do. I tried telling Ana about the Santa Claus ornament my grandmother bought when I was first born so I would have an "old" Santa to hang on our tree. It is now 32 years old...but it doesn't look it (just like me!). Of course, she doesn't really care just yet...she loves the lights though...as does David. My mother will hang the "Smith family Santa Claus" on her tree in NC. I'm not positive how old it is...but it's surely at least 100 years old...hence my grandmother's idea for me having an old ornament. I hang him every year and also the "Mr. and Mrs. Claus Kissing" ornament we bought in a tiny shop in Portland ME the last Christmas my grandmother was alive. It keeps her here with me...like the redbird ornament my Mother-in-law bought for David's tree. My Me-Ma always had those on her old, ratty artificial tree in Trussville, Alabama. Her children set that old tree on fire in her backyard after she passed away. Life is funny...

Our power went out yesterday evening just about the time I would begin to put dinner together. Being my ever resourceful self, we had peanut butter sandwiches for supper. My oldest child decided he didn't like the crunchy peanut butter and so took a fork and picked out all of the nuts...can you say determined?!

After dinner it was fairly dark in the house even with the candles so we decided to go to a dinky local mall which we knew wouldn't be too crowded so the kids could stretch their legs a bit. We arrived and Ana took off her coat and I then noticed her behind. She was wearing her last pair of clean pants which she had retrieved and put on herself following a lunch time accident. The pants had holes in the seat and she had dispensed with underwear...my little nature girl...so her tiny hiney kind of showed through. I was embarassed for 10 seconds...but decided to stay proud that she had dressed herself instead. She's quite the little fashion trendsetter my Ana...I'm sure ripped jeans will be making a come back any time now!

The mall was fairly empty, especially at the store-less end so we let the kids run around. Somehow, my Ana managed to creep up into one of those machines that tricks you into attempting to retrieve a stuffed animal with a claw hook after surrendering 50 cents. I'm not kidding...she crawled up and sat in the opening the stuffed animal is supposed to fall through. I caught her before she became stuck or caused major damage.

Michael ran around like a monkey freed from the zoo. It rained all day yesterday and so no one was able to go outside and play. The kid actually tried to climb one of the fake ficus trees...I saved the tree don't worry!

David was just overcome with the lights and the ribbons decorating the mall. A sweet little smile glowed on his face every time he found a new one and pointed it out for us, "A zsha, zsha, zsha!" My son!

We arrived home and the lights had returned to their normal state and Ana looked at out decorations and exclaimed, "Mis mas." Ok...so the decorations are worth the trouble. Last night, she wanted to leave her little tree lit in her room as she fell asleep. When I checked on Ana before retiring myself, she was facing the tree in her bed, her little face reflecting multi-colored hues. For an instant...I knew what heaven was...

Have a wonderful Saturday!

Laura

As the children grow and seem to demand more of me, I almost feel myself shrinking...


Between last night and this morning, I entered somewhat of a personal crossroads. Ana is growing to the point that it appears she may no longer need an afternoon nap. She continually fights sleep at bedtime and comes up with excuses to have either me or Jim racing up and down the stairs to fix a blanket, take away a stuffed animal etc. It all appears to be a way to avoid going to sleep. So it seems nap times have come to an end and thus mommy's few moments of rest and peace in the middle of the day. In talking this over with Jim he stated that Ana would have to learn to give Mommy a break...which means that Mommy will have to teach her how to give me a break. Eventually we'll get there, but not before more work on my part, not before more of me is given over to her. It's exhausting.

Additionally, the children need to learn to respect the early morning sleep habits of the other inhabitants of the house. Jim and I decided that there must be a "no unnecessary noise before 8:00 AM rule" in the house. After all, the late risers aren't up playing music and stomping around after us early risers have gone to bed. Everyone must learn to respect each other's quiet time. The burden of this again falls on Mommy...more of them/less of me. My "quiet time" in the morning is generally accompanied by the waking noises of David talking to himself and his stuffed animals. Ana soon wakes up herself, only she isn't content to lay in bed and play...she usually begins screaming for me to come pick her up.

All of this leads me to wonder where I fit into all of this. It means a continual re-shaping of me and how I live and where I find fulfillment. It's the toughest job out there, I think. When flipping through The Complete Book of Baby and Childcare from Focus on the Family for sleep advice I landed on these words:

If you feel that there is no end to your day's work and that life has been reduced to an endless, draining, and monotonous routine, wake up and smell the coffee, because life is not passing you by. On the contrary, you are at the center of the action. You are shaping and molding the very core--the attitudes, the faith, the future --of one or more young lives. Very few careers offer anything resembling this opportunity and note to the depth that is possible as parent. Believe it or not your friends who are navigating the freeways by the dawn's early light may actually envy you.

I really needed to read that this morning. It offered some validation to my feelings of shrinking, of looking at all of the undone writing projects stored in folders. I stared at some of them the other day and had very little energy to continue working on them. They feel like bastard children almost...I don't mean to ignore them but sometimes I just don't have the energy to deal with them or think beyond the level of The Runaway Bunny.

It's easy to forget in the midst of my selfish ambitions that I do indeed have a very important job to do. In fact, in some ways it feels as if the future of the planet rests partly in my hands in that how I raise my children will have profound impact on the world. Not that they are going to go out and be amazing public contributors to society...they might. But each one of us in our own way does have an impact on world motion...whether we choose to believe it or not. It goes back to that whole ripple effect idea.

It's easy to forget that amidst poopy diapers, potty training and peanut butter and jelly smeared kisses. Sometimes I need to be reminded of that...

Happy Thanksgiving,

Sorrows shared...

I read an incredibly tragic story yesterday. One that made my heart and spirit sad and stayed with me throughout the day. This soul had been through a gauntlet I'm not so sure I would've survived to write about...but this soul did survive. The most tragic aspect of the story to me was not just the events that transpired in this person's life, but that this soul felt the need to "get over it."

"Get over it?" Where have we gone in our society with wellness and healing that we are just supposed to "get over" such pain and suffering. We are told of the stages of grief as if once moving through them, we will, "be over it" and then the tragedy is never to affect us again. We will walk unencumbered. I think the very idea of being able to let go of a tragic event, a loss and just get over it is a lie. It's impossible. I don't think it's "healthy."

In Isaiah 53, Christ is described as "a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief." It doesn't sound as if Jesus just "got over it" does it. It sounds to me as if Jesus wrestled with his grief. If that is our example, that is what we must do. Go to the mat with pain, examine it from all sides and we mustn't let go until it blesses us. If we truly come to know our pain, we will find the truths and the lies it contains. When the lies crop up in our lives, forcing us to freeze in out tracks, we will recognize them more clearly and be able to push them aside. The truths we can share with others and help them as they wrestle with their own grief.

It's not just our joys that we share as a part of humanity. It is our grief, our pain, our scars. If we just "get over it" a significant part of our human experience will be lost to others. Our scars shouldn't be covered over, we shouldn't be ashamed to show them. Grief is a river we should dive into and explore, not cross over as if it isn't there. When others share similar experiences we can dive in with them and help them through the raging waters, show them the weeds which entangle and try to hold us back and gently carry them up the shore on the other side and hold them as they rest...let them weep in our arms.

Our sorrows, our griefs, we should get to know them and how they affect us and the rest of the souls which inhabit the earth. We may never understand how or why all of them came to be...but they unite us as much as our joys, if not more.

Just let me be
naked before you
all my bruises
in your eyes

Laura

Are southerners more hospitable than our northern neighbors?

Yesterday morning some ladies on one of the discussion boards I visit were talking about the differences between southern and northern food. The conversation started with the southern appetizer made with pouring a jar of pepper jelly over some cream cheese and spreading it on crackers. It's really delightful, I promise! Other southern dishes were mentioned until we arrived at fried okra...yummy! All the talk of the differences between northern and southern cuisine reminded me of one of my first experiences after having just moved from a small town in the south (population 8,000) to a larger metropolitan city (population closer to 1 million in the greater Baltimore area).

One Friday evening, a few months before moving to Baltimore while driving home from my internship at Duke University Medical Center to Oxford, NC, the "alternator light," began flashing on my car's dashboard. I called my Dad on the way home and informed him of the problem. He and I drove the car to the "alternator man" in our small town. The shop was closed so we left the car in the parking lot, keys in the ignition and Dad and I drove home. We picked the car up the following afternoon, from the parking lot as the shop was closed before we could arrive to pick up the car. We saw the "alternator man" in the local "Wendy's" after church on Sunday afternoon. He asked how the car was running. My dad told him all looked well and he would drop a check off on the following Monday.

About 2 weeks after arriving in Baltimore I had a blowout while on my way home from my last "home visit" of the day. I was of course in one of the worst possible sections and it was one of the hottest summer days Baltimore had ever known. I stepped out of my car and started to call good old triple A...what do I know about changing tires? Not enough that's for sure! A gentleman offered to change the tire for me. He was slightly shaky looking but as I wanted to be on my way I allowed him to do so. Once he finished with the tire he looked at me rather expectantly and then, it hit me, "he wants money." I had $5 in my purse which fortunately he accepted and promptly headed to the corner liquor store. "A ha," I thought. Well...at least my tire was changed.

The next day I drove to the local Montgomery Wards which I understood to be similar to "Sears" to have a new tire put on the car. The technician came out to the parking lot ...looked at my tires...shrugged, "We don't carry that kind of tire." He then turned around and walked back into the service area. That was it! I was slightly flabbergasted. At home, he would've told me where to find the proper tire, giving me directions down to the last dip in the road . I went back into the service center where the technician had busied himself at a computer.

"Excuse me," I asked, "but I am new to the area. You wouldn't happen to know where else I could possibly buy a tire?"

Without looking up from the computer screen he replied, "You could try the NTB (National Tire & Battery) down the street."

"Which way, sir (momma raised me right)."

"That way," he pointed, eyes still on the screen.

I turned and walked back to my car...got in and drove to the NTB...where my car was fitted with two brand new tires so that the tread would wear evenly (I hope). I don't know if the first technician was just having a bad day, or if southerners and northerners really do have differences in basic etiquette or perhaps it was the small town/big city mentality that made a difference. Maybe it was some combination of two or three of those aspects. But I will say that generally speaking, southerners are more openly embracing of others than are northerners. Although, once a yankee opens his or her heart to you...they are just as warm and friendly as southerners...just maybe not quite as demonstrative...darlin'

Have a lovely afternoon...

Laura

A little story on what happened after church....

Jim wrote a wonderful piece on our church experience yesterday. I want to expound just a bit on what he said. After church and after we had eaten in the fellowship hall, I took the kids outside to play on the playground while Jim stayed inside to speak with Fr. Gregory. There were many other children outside running around, playing on the swing-sets, sliding, throwing balls, etc...David, at 15 months is somewhat oblivious the fact that there are feet hurtling at him at relatively high rates of speed when he walks in front of swings. I had to steer him through the gauntlet many a time.

This in itself isn't all that amazing. Here's what is amazing. A child of about 4 adopted David, put his arm around him and walked him around the playground attempting to ensure that no balls hit David in the head and that he was steered clear of running feet, etc. When this little boy had to leave, another one of about 3 took over. I had several children of 7 or 8 offer to push Ana on the swing or hold David for me. I don't know, this just astounded me.

Granted, the majority of my work with children was with exceptional kids...ones with psychiatric disorders and/or any of a variety of intellectual limitations/learning disorders/autism. My view on appropriate kid behavior is somewhat skewed, I know. I think my own children are geniuses. In actuality they're probably just "normal" whatever that means. Most 3 and 4 year olds I know probably wouldn't adopt a kid, one they didn't even know and become his protector. Many pre-teens and teenagers are the same. The girls who watch our kids on Tuesday evenings are doing so without payment so we can attend the intro to Ortho class. Their mom didn't put them up to it. They just want to help. I suspect they also enjoy getting out of the house...but still.

This is a new experience for me. I wonder if the Orthodox focus away from self, away from "getting something out of church," of being "fulfilled," of being "entertained," has anything to do with it. Children worship with their parents on Sunday mornings. Some of the idea of the bigness of God has to begin to worm its way into their little hearts. They have to begin early on to sense a focus outward, away from themselves. I wonder if this gives their hearts eyes that see outward instead of inward, past themselves and to what others need. I just wonder....

My prayer life is changing and evolving....

I am currently reading a book called The Way of the Pilgrim, which has been translated by Helen Bacovcin. It is the story of a Russian Gentleman who goes on a journey to understand the exhortation in 1 Thessalonians to "pray without ceasing." I am about 2/3 of the way into chapter 2. Our pilgrim has discovered the "Jesus Prayer" which goes like this, "Lord Jesus, son of God, have mercy on me." Sometimes, "a sinner" is added to the end of the prayer. The pilgrim borrows a rosary, or "prayer rope," and begins to say the prayer on each bead over and over again throughout the day increasing the number of utterances each day. He eventually begins to say the prayer with each beat of his heart. It is absolutely incredible. I've no idea where the story is going to end as I can't imagine anything more incredible than this...but I did find a quote in the book I wished to share and to talk about how this Orthodox way of praying is personally affecting my life.


...the fruits of the prayer of the heart can be experienced in three ways: in the spirit, in the emotions, and in revelations. In the spirit one can experience the sweetness of the love of God, inner peace, purity of thought, awareness of God's presence, and ecstasy. In the emotions a pleasant warmth of the heart, a feeling of delight throughout one's being, joyful bubbling in the heart, lightness and courage, joy of life, and indifference to sickness and sorrow. And in revelation on receives the enlightenment of the mind, understanding of Holy Scripture, knowledge of speech of all creatures, renunciation of vanities, awareness of the sweetness of interior life, and confidence in the nearness of God and His love for us.


That about says it all doesn't it. But I'm only 2/3 of the way through the second chapter. I hope my heart and mind can "take" the rest.

When I first began my journey into Orthodoxy and started picking up on some of their "prayer" habits, I balked. "How can a scripted prayer come from my heart?" It didn't feel natural. It felt stiff and stilted and anyone who knows me well knows I have a bit of a "free spirit" that doesn't like to be hemmed in. I am also willing to give anything a try...and so I said the prayers. What I found was not that my prayer life became more scripted. The opposite is so. For me, it became bigger, bigger than me. A whole new world of freedom opened up.

Before I used such prayers I would wake up in the morning knowing I needed to pray but not knowing what to say. I would say the same things over and over essentially inventing my own "script." However, I always felt as if I may have "left something out." I felt awkward with God...as if my need to treat Him like Santa Claus was somehow undignified. I am now finding that reciting prayers that pretty much cover the bases free me from that awkwardness and guilt. I don't feel as if anything important is missing from my prayers. I also don't have to search for something to say. No longer am I afraid to approach God because of etiquette issues...I find myself continuing the conversation all day long. I start with those written prayers to get the ball rolling, to enter into God's presence, and then it is ever so much easier to talk to Him more extemporaneously, at least for me. The big stuff is out of the way. I never knew it would happen this way.

I also am finding a deep appreciation for the "Jesus prayer." When my son is covered in poop, my daughter is screaming for whatever she needs RIGHT NOW, the dog is barking, the sink is overflowing, I can't find my shoes and all my marbles are lost I can still manage to say, "Lord have mercy." It calms me down because I know He hears, and responds. Such a simple prayer, such vast rewards for God and for me!

I certainly would never win the award for "housekeeper of the year!" I could also use an editor!

just ask my husband...

In my continual ineptness with modern technology somehow the email from this site wasn't working. Several people attempted to send me emails which ended up in some "admin" mailbox I didn't know existed. My webmaster, AKA my husband somehow discovered them when he added the admin box to his login. I have attempted to answer all of those emails. However, when I first answered the emails, I hit the reply button so they ended up back in the "admin" box on my husband's login. So...I then went back to my sent message box and forwarded all the emails. I do hope that everyone has received my answers and I appreciate the feedback!

Also, there is a new feature on "My Front Porch." It's called a "guestbook" and so so far only my husband has signed it. Please feel free to drop in and say "hi" if you want to. You don't have to comment on a particular entry, just let me know you were here.

I've never claimed to be a very good housekeeper. I am blessed among women as my husband is legally blind and so he can't see the dust around the house. Forgive me for my slovenly ways!

My State of the Heart address...

Something interesting has happened with me over the last week or so. I've written a couple of "entries" in my paper journal and haven't felt the need to publish them here. It's as if my heart is saying, "hold on...hold on." I can't explain it except to say that I am experiencing the joys of private reflection again.

When first I started this online journal, I pretty much abandoned my "personal" journal. I felt some sort of bizarre need to write something every day which could be published here. Part of this is due to the fact that despite my introverted nature, I want to be known. I also think I was likely arrogant enough to believe my words could transform lives. Which is very arrogant. I do have within me a deep drive to help others to discover their full potential. I felt that in sharing my struggles along the way I might help someone else. In a sense that was partly correct. Solomon said there is "really nothing new under the sun." The struggles of humanity are often a shared experience.

However, I have forgotten that I really am just a grasshopper...an infant really in this journey we call life. So why would what I have to say be any more important or fulfilling that what anyone else had to say. I also became too interested in whether or not others would comment on my musings. I began to write more for an audience than for me. I'm not sure that's really the reason to journal. A journal is for introspection...not for praise. Am I making sense?

I feel again as if I need to ask for forgiveness for my arrogance.

Maybe I'm just a drama queen...but I imagine you already knew that!

I also have come to the conclusion that I do want to be a writer and not just a word doodler. It would seem that if that is the case, perhaps I should not be as concerned with quantity of output as with quality. I don't know if I'm necessarily going to concern myself with putting something out there every day. I will confess that there are times when the words strung together in my head form battle lines to fight their way out of my brain and onto paper. Those are likely the times when I should be writing. There are also times when I force an entry out for the sake of having an entry published every day. I'm sure some lousy writing has resulted.

I'm not sure where I'm going with all of this except to say, I want this place to become more focused and more "real." I want you to see my struggles and my triumphs and to catch the glimpses of life I offer through unselfish eyes. Not eyes begging for attention, but eyes longing to share and connect with others. I don't know that there will necessarily be an entry up every day. I don't honestly know how it's going to evolve. I do know I have outlines for two different novels and countless essays I have started and never finished laying around in this computer somewhere. I really should do something with all that, continue working, or burn away the dross as it were.

So...there you go. I'm probably leaving you with more questions than answers. I'm thinking that's a good thing.

Have a beautiful day and blessings to you on your journey....

Laura

The rhythm of the rocker is so like life...

I acquired the rocker two summers ago just before my son was born. My mother-in-law and I were walking through Wal-Mart one weekend afternoon looking for last minute "baby stuff." She saw it first.

"I've been looking for one of those for you," she said.

"Oh, I don't need one of those," I replied. I got "the look" back. Texas isn't big enough to contain the vastness of my mother-in-law's heart. If the price was right, the rocker would be going home with us.

"Really, Mom," I said. "I know times are tight for you guys financially right now. I don't want you to spend money you don't have." I got "the look" again. We walked over to inspect the rocker. It was one of those glider types of rockers with an ottoman. The cushions were hunter green with a white design scattered evenly throughout. I'm sure you could likely walk into any Wal-Mart today and find the same rocker.

"Do you like that green cushion?" Mom asked.

"That is actually my favorite shade of green."

"Oh. Well do you like it?"

"Of course I like it, but...." Mom started looking around for a salesman who could load up the chair for us. I was about 8 months pregnant and Mom is only about 5 feet tall. We wouldn't have made a suitable moving crew.

"Are you sure this is OK," I asked. A smile was my only answer.

The box was paid for and loaded into our mini-van and then transported to our house. Jim carried it up to what would be David's room, where it sat in its box and gathered dust. It was still in the box when I went to the hospital to deliver David.

I arrived home with my newest babe to find the rocker assembled and in the corner of David's room. A small lamp had been scrounged from somewhere and placed on the top of the bookshelf adjacent to the rocker. I would come to know that rocker well...

In those first few weeks, David and I shared the rocker quite a bit. I was sore those first few weeks following his delivery and the rocker's cushions were soft and comfy, the ottoman a perfect resting place for still swollen and sore feet. David arrived knowing how to nurse and as I had continued to nurse Ana through my pregnancy I had plenty of milk for him. I remember marveling that the colostrum, the first milk, was creamy yellow this time and not thin and watery as it had been with Ana.

Through his first year we spent many quiet moments there, he snuggled against me receiving what only I could give him. I would tenderly stroke his cheek in the wee hours and wonder, wonder what my little boy would grow to become. After a long day, I would often fall asleep as he nursed and wake up to find him finished and breathing heavily in my arms. Many a midnight moment was spent sitting in the rocker listening to the soft whispers of his breath in...out...in...out...

During the day, Ana would crawl into my lap and nuzzle her fuzzy curls under my chin while I read her a story, or we rocked and sang or sometimes just rocked. It depended on the day and the time and the mood we were both in. Ana and I share volatile emotions. I try to remember that as she throw "duck fits" on the floor. Sometime I retreat to the rocker when she's in the middle of one.

Last night, I sat in the rocker and both children decided to join me. Ana, in her typical way, attempted to curl herself into a little ball in my lap, her head resting on my shoulder, curls nuzzling my chin. David, sat with his back against my chest, legs sprawled about, right thumb in his mouth, left hand clutching a blankie. We rocked and I stared out the window as the light turned from hazy orange to smoky purple. The kids were quiet and content. And so was I.

I'm sure there are nicer rockers out there. Ones that aren't made of cheap pressboard and laminate and that have nicer cushions. But I think I'll keep mine just as it is. The memories it contains are priceless, and the ones to be made are promises to come. I hope one day to rock a grand baby in that very same rocker.

Have a good day!

Laura

I feel I owe an apology for all who I may have offended with brash words. Forgive me. Perhaps I have been remiss in tempering my emotions surrounding the new discoveries I am making every day about life and about God. If you feel slighted, judged or excluded from God's family, forgive me.

Please understand that my embracing of the Holy Orthodox Church has little to do with the way others currently worship. It may appear that way from past comments I have made. I do not wish to create division within Christianity, Orthodox or no. I struggle every day with separating what is true from what is not and in learning a new way to walk with God, the one that I feel is proper for me and my family. Please extend the grace to me to do so and I will be more mindful of the grace I need to extend to you. I think we would all agree we worship a pretty big God!

Last night I was thinking about God and I wrote this down. It didn't start out as a prayer; however, it seems more fitting that way.

I've been thinking about you, God. I've been thinking about you and about worship. I can't escape you. I see you, Lord, in the spring of my daughter's curls, in the gaze of my son's eyes as he discovers some new wonder of your creation. I feel you, Father, in my husband's breath caressing my cheek. You are everywhere, Lord.

You call me to praise you as I look upon the garden stars you planted in the heavens that mirrors the smattering flowers you caused to spring from the ground. I stand in awe as you caused the rivers to gush into oceans swelling with fish you formed. I praise you as I observe each chortling songbird and scampering squirrel, whinnying horse, lowing cow, bleating sheep...I praise you as I consider the large and wonderful family of humanity you have blessed me with.

You God, the one who created each speck of dust I furiously whisk away in hopes of keeping "clean." You God who number the hairs on every head of the swirling ball I call home. You God who exist outside of time, space and energy squeezed yourself into the form of a tiny human. I stand in awe of you.

You were born. You struggled to walk, talk and breathe. You felt the sting of tears in human eyes. Sandals rubbed blisters on your feet. You, oh Lord, inhaled saw dust and sneezed. You struggled to walk in rainstorms and the sun you created burned hot on the back of your neck. You, Lord, experienced what it was like to sweat and to thirst in human skin. Lord, you squeezed all of eternity into a human frame. You sacrificed it all Lord and bore the pain and shame of being bruised, beaten and pierced. You did this so that I and all of us who inhabit the earth will have no death, so that we can know you and praise you...

Lord, you have have done all this and ever so much more. Please dear Lord, have mercy on me. A sinner...

Blessings to you as you live today...

Regular readers (I think there are three of you!) know of my affinity for the rock group Creed. They are breaking up...

But not before their record company can make a little money with "greatest hits" album and "previously unreleased" songs. You know...the crap that DIDN'T make the albums. Many people on the bulletin board I visit are very upset about the whole thing. I suppose I can understand why. I'm a little disappointed, but, I also know that life will go on. The musicians will go their separate ways and we will likely have solo projects with varying degrees of success from each of them. I also wouldn't be surprised if there were a "reunion tour" in 3 to 5 years... I am thankful for the music they provided over the past few years. And as my way of tribute, I will link two of my Creed related entries. The first I wrote over the summer and the second just a few weeks ago. I once said to someone somewhere that Creed was likely the soundtrack for many a soul's spiritual wanderings. I know the music caused me to think...

Thanks boys....

A Conclusion of Sorts (warning...this one was written back when I didn't use capitalization...I apologize in advance!)

What is the Truth

Have a lovely day!

Laura

Jim and I attended the Intro to Ortho class again last evening. We focused on the second part of the Divine Liturgy, or "The Liturgy of the Bread." In ancient times, the catechumens or "apprentice Orthodox" were asked to leave this part of the service. The time to depart, does not happen anymore the main reason being, "we aren't the same kinds of people." Basically, we aren't heretics or pagans. We're actually not even catechumens yet...but we are Christian so we're allowed to hang out for that part of the service.

There are four parts to the Liturgy of the Bread and they are based on Jesus' own ceremony performed at the Last Supper and actually any time He met the hunger needs of his flock. The first part, Jesus "took the bread" is in the Great Entrance. The second part, Jesus, "gave thanks" is found in the Anaphora. I would also add that Eucharist in the Greek means, "gives thanks." Those wishing to partake of the Eucharist must be reconciled at the very least with those inisde the church and should be with those outside of the church as we (as Christians) are called to be reconcilers. The third part of the service is when Jesus "broke the bread" and this is found in the Fraction of the Bread...it is divided yet not disunited, eaten yet never consumed...O great mystery! And finally, Jesus "gave the bread" which is the actually distribution of the bread. That is it in a nutshell.

Father Gregory then went back and addressed "The Anaphora" in greater detail. The Anaphora is also broken down into several different stages. The first being, "The dialogue" which is the mutual action between the priest and the choir/congregation. Then we have the singing of "The Triumphal Hymn" or the "Sanctus" which is the same hymn found in the book of Isaiah and the one the angels sing all the time; however, we get to join in with them at this point. Now that rocks more than any rock and roll church band I've heard on a Sunday morning (sorry, couldn't resist).

Ok...now here comes the cool part...the Anamnesis. This where much controversy occurred and much of the reason the reformation occurred. I never knew this! Those reformers somehow believed that every time a mass was given there was a re-sacrifice of Christ as the bread and wine are believed to mystically become the body and blood of Christ through the power of the Holy Spirit. Unfortunately, the Eastern Church, the Orthodox, were not part of that dialogue. This is not what actually happens. There is not a proper word for the translation of "The Anamnesis"...the best Father Gregory could come up with was, "The opposite of Amnesia," or " the fullest possible way of remembering and recalling so that what happened in the past and what happened today are one and the same." The actions of the past are made present today.

I have a picture of that idea, "anamnesis" in my head. Essentially it looks as if a lightening bug (firefly for you yankees) magically flies forward from the past on a timeline and joins the lightening bug waiting at the present on the timeline. The two fireflies join so that we only see one light. It's a really cool picture and I wish you could jump into my brain and see it. I have had that image in my head since first learning of this concept last night. I have no problem with the concept as I have that bizarre visual. So there you go! So Christ isn't being re-sacrificed every time communion is served...that would be horrible. But we are, in effect, mystically rejoining the sacrifice that was made all those years ago. Kind of blows your mind, doesn't it?

The "Epiclesis" is the next part of the the Anaphora. This is when the Holy Spirit is exhorted to change the bread and wine into the body and the blood. Then there are intercessions and Thanksgiving and finally the Lord's Prayer. The priest says something along the lines of "Let us depart in peace" and then 20 minutes later everyone leaves. I think what is especially touching about the whole "Liturgy of the Bread" is something that the Father said towards the end of our evening togehter and that is, "When God takes something, and He returns it, it is never in the same condition." The idea being that when we attend the Euharist and offer ourselves to God, he takes a nasty individual and returns a loving person...we are transformed as is the bread and wine.

Sure beats the crackers and grape juice served in Dixie cups I enjoyed at my last "holy communion." Sorry...couldn't resist again...have a wonderful day!

Watch her....there she goes...way out in "left" field again!

Something has buzzing on the outskirts of my consciousness for a few days now. It's strange how these ideas start and then how the compulsion to write about them grows stronger and stronger until it's almost as if someone is screaming in my head, "get it out...get it out!" Most of the time, the ideas aren't even completely formed until I see my words take shape.

Anyway, I've been thinking about words and how they sound and their connection to me and perhaps others. I've had a love affair with words (obviously) for as long as I can remember. As soon as I knew how to read, I read everything, cereal boxes, labels, the fine print...all of it. And once I learned to write I felt compelled to create my own strings of words. Stacks of journals sit in my basement. So words and I, we're simpatico!

I've had three words in particular on my mind lately. Actually, it started out as two words and then the third one sort of came to me later. The words are, "haunting," "hollow," and "holy." If you look them up in the dictionary, they really have nothing to do with one another. Who needs a dictionary...my crazy brain makes a connection between the words. In fact, in my brain, "holy" and "hollow" sound almost like the same word. But I have found yet another connection, and here's how it goes...

When I think of music that's "haunting," the melodies and tunes that stick with you all day, I am constantly struck by how "hollow," it sounds. To my ears, it's as if there is something missing, something central to it's meaning, gone. I experience it almost as if the song itself is yearning for something. These "haunting" melodies echo my own hollowness and bring me to teary searches for the truth in my life. I have a feeling I am not alone in the impact these songs have. At least, I hope I am not.

I think there is a deep longing in all humanity which searches to be whole, not hollow...which leads us to search for that which is holy, something bigger than ourselves. For so many people, myself included, this search ends when we find Jesus. I don't really know how it ends for others who don't find Him, but, I'd love to hear their stories. I want to understand...

What I find fascinating is that even after I have found my missing piece, I am still so moved by these haunting, hollow sounding melodies. I think that in part they remind me of the time when I was hollow and alone, transported backwards to the more desolate times in my life...We've all had them. They are part of the "shared human experience." I also think the haunting melodies speak to the part of me that realizes I can never completely understand the holy one. The mystic nature of God will never be completely comprehended by my feeble human brain. So those haunting memories remind me that I will never really amount to much more than a grasshopper...even though I may roar like an elephant...

Rather a humbling thought.

What started all this for me was thinking about the song, "O Come, O Come Emmanuel..." I started thinking about that song one day last week...and it has continued to "haunt" me until now. I think I have ascertained why!

Happy Hauntings!

Laura

The moon must be in it's proper house and all the stars in alignment, etc, etc...

...that is if you believe all of that astrological stuff. I don't, but I like the imagery it creates so every now and then I play pretend. Why do I say such things? Because I just folded 2 weeks worth of laundry with nary a peep from my children. The universe is either in proper order or it's very out of order.

And just to make this long enough to warrant posting I'll add this latest story from the annals of Ana. She has enjoyed playing her version of "hide and seek" of late. Yesterday at Grandmom and PopPop's, Ana climbed up on the couch and buried her head under several brown pillows, fuzzes of strawberry blonde escaping the stronghold in several places. Her little behind was straight up in the air and formed a 45 degree angle with the couch. Once she had herself perfectly positioned, she exclaimed, "Come and find me Grandmom, come and find me!"

Grandmom "found" Ana by pretending to sit on her, thereby beginning a fit of giggling which lasted for at least 2 minutes...a good time was had by all.

Isn't that just like life though. Despite all of our sophisticated machinations, most of us do a poor job with hiding. There is always something obvious peeking out from behind the mask that offers a clue as to who we really are and where we stand. Is it because we want to be found? I think deep down we know that "sardines" is much more fun than "hide and seek." I'd rather be found...

It was a good weekend...busy...

In the last 48 hours I have gone to church three times and spent more time with people other than my family than I can remember in years. I'm whoopped (gee...my spell check doesn't like that word?)! I had planned on staying in bed as long as possible this morning, but, true to form my daughter woke up and I also started to "write" in my head so after I took care of Ana I decided I might as well get up and do it. Likely I will be crashing later in the day, despite the fact that there are currently 2 weeks worth of clean laundry waiting in the basement for me to fold. I just didn't feel like dealing with it last week. I don't think I need to explain why!

We went to Divine Liturgy yesterday with all three kids in tow. I'm kind of getting used to the rhythm of the service and of being there with children. It's definitely a challenge each time. Jim had the more frustrating morning as it seems he was chosen to be the bearer of the screaming kid. Each time David or Ana had a minor melt down in church, Jim was holding he or she. Michael also did not stay in the service as he was supposed to. He pretty much went in and out the entire time which drove us all nuts. But all in all, it's getting better and we'll continue working out a system as we go along. Jim doesn't want the little ones to grow used to leaving the service. It's tough though, it's really tough. Jim will go to Divine Liturgy Thursday evening all by himself. He'll actually be able to concentrate on the whole thing!

O Come O come Emmanuel
And ransom captive Israel
That sleeps in lowly exile here
until the son of God appear...

I think you could line up Christians the world over and that would be their story...ransom the captive. Aren't we all captive?

And so I mourned for a bit the loss of that song. I was saddened that I would likely no longer be singing "O Come..." as it was likely not part of the Orthodox hymnity.

Until, I took myself to the Advent Paraklesis service which is a "Service of Prayer and Preparation for the Great Feast of the Nativity in the Flesh of our Lord, God and Savior Jesus Christ." Essentially, a service for getting ready for Christmas. This is a relatively "new" service within the Orthodox tradition as I learned last night after the service at the Ortho Friends meeting. It follows what I'm finding is the typical Orthodox way of prayer and repetition. It was very beautiful and I think I got the censing thing right this time...But anyway, let me share the words of this Hymn with you. I've no idea if it has a name. The service book I "borrowed" from church doesn't list one:

Make ready, O Bethlehem for Eden hath
been opened for all. Prepare o Eph-
ratha: for the tree of life hath blossomed forth
in the cave from the virgin; for her
womb did appear as a supersens
ual paradise in which is planted-
ed the divine Plant, where-of eating we
shall live and not die as adam,
verily, Christ shall be bron, raisint the like-ness
that hath fallen of old.

The melody was unfamiliar to my ears and quite beautiful, haunting, just like "O come..." I don't think I'll be missing anything by not singing those old Christmas Carols in church. It seems that the Orthodox have their own wonderful music and tradition which far outweighs singing "Joy to the World." I will however listen to Christmas music with abandon in my own home. It's good stuff.

I also found it amusing that Mary was symbolically referred to as a "heifer" in the service. That made me laugh...silently because I have this overwhelming need to behave myself in Orthodox services! I also appreciate the truth of Christ being born in a cave. In EP churches there is a pretty picture of a sparkling clean manger scene with nice clean goats, cows, etc...it doesn't impart the reality of God lowering himself into human form to be born admidst barn odors, and dirty hay. And anyone who's ever given birth knows it isn't pretty...it's quite gory actually. And so imagining Christ born in a cave somehow drives the point of God's stunning humility home...at least for me.

I'm still unsure of all the bowing and crossing myself and prostrating. I said to someone once outside the service, "I'm still afraid of doing something incorrectly."

"Doing something wrong?," he said. "You can't do anything wrong. You're there and you're participating. That's what's important."

Oh...

Hold on tight.....

Have a marvelous day....

I love lazy Saturday mornings!

I love Saturday mornings. I don't work out on Saturdays and for the most part there is no schedule that has been set in stone for the day. I stay in my pj's as long as possible and do crazy things like eat chocolate chip cookies for breakfast. After the week we've had, it feels good to deflate, exhale, take a few steps back and allow the tension in my shoulders to release. I also don't get up at 5:15 to write on Saturdays. I stayed in bed until 6:30 today...of course not before checking on Ana when she screamed at 5:00 and again at 6:00. I forced myself back into bed at 6:00. Staying in bed until 6:30 feels so decadent to me! We are meeting some new friends today. That will be fun. But for the most part I'm chilling as much as possible this morning.

It's been a week. I told a friend of mine yesterday that I had passed the "waiting for the other shoe to drop" feeling. I had now reached the "it's raining shoes and I can't escape them" feeling. I know many of us have been there. As Jim and I prayed together last night, I said, "you know God, I'm almost afraid to ask you for mercy right now cause I don't know if I want it anymore." Of course I was mostly kidding, and of course I asked for mercy....but what a step of faith that was in that instant. Trying to trust that all the dissonance that has occurred this week has a counter melody my ears haven't picked up yet...harmony amidst the screeching. I'm sure it's there...it's just too quiet or my untrained ears can't hear it yet. We'll see...we'll see...

So...it's going to be in the 50's today and no wind. We'll get to spend some time outside with the kids. I'm actually looking forward to the day. You all have a wonderful one!

Snappy intro goes here...

Jim and I decided earlier this week that I would go to vespers on Saturday evening. He was supposed to go on Thursday; however, that didn't happen ! I offered Jim my evening at vespers as I will be attending the ortho-friends meeting tonight. It seemed selfish to take two nights out in one weekend. Being the ever gallant man that he is, Jim refused and so off I went.

It had been a very busy day. We had "new" friends up from Silver Spring to visit. They were folk we had actually met via the internet! And somehow we survived! We had a wonderful afternoon with them and look forward to getting to know them better. I'm leaving their names out in case they're "hinky" about such things. I hurried through our dinner prep and clean up and somehow managed to leave with 20 minutes intact for my trip to the church. It only takes about 7 to get there!

On the way in the van I tried to slow my breathing down and relax and to keep the speed in the car down to around 25-mph. It had been such a crazy week and I could still feel the tension in my shoulders. I didn't want to show up for church in such state and so concentrated on breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth and managed to arrive feeling almost relaxed. I couldn't shake the nervousness about going to this service however. I'm afraid of doing something "wrong" and being banished forever. Which gives me cause to wonder if I will ever completely let go of those old performance issues.

I walked into t