Laura's Front Porch

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 the narthex and started to walk into the nave. It appeared that some preparatory work was going on...or at least some preparatory prayer so I hustled back out quickly, again, afraid of doing the "wrong thing." I chastised myself, "Laura, it's really no big deal." I walked back in. It appeared that everyone was sitting in quiet reflection regarding the iconostasis. I sat down in one of the chairs lined up against the wall and joined them. I deflated. I was close to tears within 30 seconds. Apparently I was supposed to be just in that spot. I knew I was worn out and depleted. I don't think I knew how much until I actually sat there and regarded the face of Jesus. It was almost as if he said, "Glad you are here. Girl...do you NEED to be here." Just like I used to talk to the big stained glass Jesus at Trinity....

Some unknown signal passed and the service started. I am still unfamiliar with the signing of the cross and so I had planned on ignoring that procedure this evening as I usually do. However, my inaction was rather obvious as there were only 3 other people in the "congregation" and three chanters. I decided I might as well go for it. I also felt myself moved by the icons of Jesus and Mary and all the other saints whose names and stories I've yet to learn. I wanted to show them honor. So I signed, taking my cue from the others in attendance. I'm almost positive I "screwed up" a bit at one point. One of the deacons came out and censed us (I suppose as a way of blessing us). I bowed to him, but apparently I was supposed to turn and watch as he censed the others in attendance. At one point, my back was to him. It was too late for me to change what I was doing. I'm hopeful that I will be forgiven for my ignorance.

As usual there was a lot of singing and, "Lord have mercies" which I tried to participate in. I couldn't really sing along much as it's still very unfamiliar. I just tried to listen and breathe in the experience. I'm constantly reminded how much bigger it all is than me, and how much it's not about "me." It's a much bigger whole, and it's about God. I also so appreciate the Orthodox habit of praying for everyone under the sun it seems...those in military service, those who travel, those who...it goes on and on. Those on the outside want to say it's an exclusionary faith. I don't think so. Attend and see for yourself.

I spent most of the service close to tears, reminded that God is bigger than me and that as much as I had asked for his mercy this week I should be able to let the tension in my shoulders go and trust him. After the service I joined the small line to venerate the Cross...I missed the Cross, but managed to make it to Father Gregory's hand...another way to show honor to Christ. I'm sure it will all come together for me at some point.

I walked out of the service and couldn't help but think, "Hold on tight." Somehow, all of the focus placed on God in the Orthodox Way encourages one to "hold on tight" to the fullness of God. Thank God. I needed that then, I need it now...may I see my need for always....

I think this is what "they" call, "White Knuckling it."

Well, yesterday pretty much teetered on the brink of disaster. I'm sensing a theme in my life. What comes to mind is that little children's game I play with my daughter. I position her on my knee and rock her up and down saying, "Ride the horsey, ride the horsey, way down town. Hold on tight so you don't fall down!" The part to pay attention to is the, "Hold on tight," part. Ana, like most little people, loves to be rocked and bounced. She also knows Mommy's not going to really let her fall. But still, she "holds on tight."

Yesterday evening my husband had planned to attend his first Vespers service at Holy Cross. I had taken the kids with me for my doctor's appointment and therefore last had possession of the one and only functioning van key. The reason we have only one functioning van key is my fault entirely! It's also a long story and I don't want to belabor this one. Jim called to me from the living room, "Laura, where's the key?"

"I put it on the computer desk like always. In fact I remember putting it down in front of the computer with appointment card. I swear you took it and put it in your pocket," I replied.

"I have a hole in my pocket, Laura."

It's almost funny looking at it now. Almost. Hold on tight so you don't fall down.

Jim raced down the stairs to the basement to check his pants. I checked my pockets. Nope, no key. I distinctly remembered putting it down with the appointment card. Thus began what shall be known as the great key hunt of 2003! We looked everywhere. Trash cans were emptied. Drawers turned upside down. Cabinets searched. The flashlight obtained and every dark recess of the house was inspected with frantic eyes. No key. Jim changed out of his church clothes. No vespers tonight.

Hold on tight so you don't fall down.

Ana, tried to help. She continually brought us the lobster claw clips we often use as key chains. "Mommy, I have keys for you."

"Thank you darling. Those aren't the ones we're looking for, but, thank you for helping."

Jim gave the kids a bath. I put up prayer requests on online message boards and called Jim's parents. I continued looking.

Hold on tight...

All the while praying. "Please God, we have to find that key." "Lord Have mercy on us. We need the key." I was one step away from swearing at God. It was a test of my will to remain in the right attitude. It was awful. Hold on tight.

I failed as I gave into my craving and smoked half of a cigarette. I knew it was not the right coping mechanism. But I was pretty much depleted. The last few days have been one jostle after another. I wasn't sure I even had the strength to hold on tight any more. I went up to the bathroom to search there one more time. No luck. I ended up prostrating myself on the floor..."Please God..." In the bathroom. It's almost funny. Early in our investigation of Orthodoxy I queried an online friend about icons in the bathroom, "Do I have to have an icon in the bathroom. Because I don't want a window to heaven in there." He let me know it was the one room in the house where icons weren't expected and also that a priest wouldn't bless it. It was now my prayer closet. Life is funny. Hold on tight.

The key thing is significant as it would cost around $130 to have a new one made. Add to that the cost of towing the van to the dealership as for some reason they need the van to make the key. We're in the midst of financial crap now. It also brought up an issue from our "old" marriage...old resentments and worries supposed to be long buried. For an instant, I wondered if Jim would forgive me for this and we'd be able to move on. Just an instant...but that instant was an eternity of sadness and desperation. It was awful.

Hold on tight...

I gave up the search. I sat on the couch and continued reading Facing East. Jim obtained the flashlight and looked under the couch. Again. He found the key. The dark and dusty environs of the couch's underbelly had been searched at least three times previously by both of us. Now, we find the key. I called around to Jim's parents and let them know.

Jim and I basically stared at each other in disbelief. The past few days have been horrendous. We're walking around with that "waiting for the other shoe to drop" feeling. I'm almost afraid to step outside. Of course, God was faithful to us. We found the key. Obviously though, I need to remember, "Hold on tight..."

I know He's not really going to let me fall. But still, I "hold on tight!"

Wacky Wednesday....

Do you ever walk around feeling something just isn't quite right. Or have a day (sometimes weeks or months) when it feels as if everything is topsy turvy, but it all appears to function normally. Of course, that makes no sense, but it's how I feel, felt. At least yesterday. Nothing was quite right.

The day started out with Ana screaming uncontrollably because she wanted me to retrieve her blankie for her...at the time, blankie was downstairs and I was upstairs, taking care of some bathroom needs. I told her to get blankie on her own. Wouldn't do. She spent the next 15 minutes screaming.

The cleaning I wanted to do yesterday morning didn't happen. I concentrate on one area of the house each week of the month. This week it was the kids rooms. They still have dirty base boards...but I held David as he seemed to need it.

Before taking David to the doctor, I logged onto the computer to check my email. Jim IM'd me (from downstairs) and informed me he would have a lousy commission check for the second month in a row. Yay. Won't that be fun? At least we're attempting to do the Orthodox Nativity Fast...so no meat starting Saturday until Christmas. That does help with the grocery bill.

I came home from the Doctor and decided to share the information about the Chicken Pox Vaccine (I have followed up what the Doctor told me by the way with research on the web. I stand by my decision...it seems a useless vaccine which could do more harm than good in the long run. Improve it's effectiveness and I'll consider it. It sounds like a money making machine concocted by the government in conjunction with the pharmaceutical companies). I presented the information on one forum and ended up having it insinuated that I am some sort of "bad" parent because I didn't do the vaccine. It turned into a good parent/bad parent debate. I asked that the thread be deleted. It was.

Another friend on LiveJournal wrote a lovely piece on labels. I don't know if it was influenced by what I wrote the other day or not, but I again felt icky. I reacted poorly actually. I was going to delete my responses to her post but decided to leave them. I am only human after all. I suppose I shouldn't hide my less than savory performance.

Just before dinner Jim discovered the car company tacked an additional $500 on the money that was supposed to be deducted from our account for the monthly payment. We don't have that $500. The department he needed to talk to which could fix the problem was closed for the day. Fun.

And we had bread for dinner. I made foccacia bread as I wanted something different. Jim said, "Bread...we're having bread for dinner." It's a meatless day and I'm tired of having mac and cheese and/or cheese pizza for dinner. We had hunks of mozzarella cheese with the bread. I don't think we'll be doing that again. Pasta with red sauce, grilled cheese and tomato soup...here we come!

There's more but I think that's enough!

The worst part of yesterday wasn't all the trials I listed. It was the feeling I had deep in my spirit..."something just isn't right." An itch I can't scratch, a sore muscle that can't be rubbed. As Jim and I prepared to pray before retiring, I said, "I think it's one of those, 'Lord have Mercy' kind of days." He agreed. I must've repeated that prayer a bajillion times as I sat on the couch reeling from everything. I felt better...the repetition almost a mantra. I didn't really know what was wrong or what to pray...but just saying that over and over and over. It helped.

The Orthodox call it, "The Jesus Prayer." It goes like this, "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, Have mercy on me, a sinner." Nice and simple for such a complex faith. It is probably their best loved prayer. It's becoming mine. I don't know if today will be any better. I hope so.

Have a good one all...

Just passing some information along...us Mommas have got to stick together!

AKA the chicken-pox vaccine.

I just refused it for my son. The doctor informed me that it has a 30% failure rate and that its effectiveness diminshes over time so that at age 10 it is as if the child has never received the vaccine at all. If a child actually contracts chicken pox, he/she has a lifetime immunity. The older one is when they contract chicken pox, the more severe the reaction to the virus and it can lead to lovely things such as encephalitis.

I pretty much said, "What's the point of the vaccine? I'd actually rather he catch chicken pox naturally and obtain the lifetime immunity rather than a sketchy immunity that diminishes over time. Can I refuse it?"

In my state (MD) it's only required for kids in day care and if he goes to school he has to have the vaccine by age 5. I decided to refuse it in the hopes he will catch chicken pox on his own. My doctor supported my decision. I have become even more leery of vaccines since learning of a woman who believes she contracted Guillan-Barre Syndrome from a flu vaccine. No point in giving him a needless vaccine which may cause more harm than good in the long run...in my opinion.

Just thought I'd share in case there are other Mom's (and those who would like to be) out there.Disclaimer: Check with your doctor, your mileage may vary and the immunization laws are also different in every state.

I write the stories down so I won't forget how my kids were when they were little. When David woke up yesterday morning I would swear to you he had grown an inch over night. I can't take their growing up years for granted...just can't. That's why I try and write these stories down. I also think I have cute kids!

My daughter's eyes they are upon me! The other day the kids and I were playing upstairs. Ana grabbed her stuffed elephant and pretended to put it to bed. She tenderly and carefully pulled the pink blankie over it's little gray body, leaned over and gave it a kiss. "Ok, goodnight," she said. "You want door opened, or closed. OK...Good night, sleep tight." Pretty much exactly what I do with her bedtime routine with the exception of the prayer and the singing. The door thing allows my very strong willed daughter some control over bedtime. Little vignettes like this one remind me that I am to be ever on my toes...for little eyes are watching me always...gotta watch how I walk! Perhaps I shouldn't walk on my toes!


I have had to move the cookie jar to the top of the refrigerator. Why? Because my little munchkin is becoming devious. Once again we were playing upstairs and Ana asked to go downstairs to go potty. "You can go potty upstairs," I said.

"No, I go downstairs."

"OK," I said, "Whatever. It's not worth the argument." I opened the baby gate at the top of the stairs to allow her to creep down them. Two minutes later she was marching back up the stairs, triumphant, a chocolate chip cookie in her raised hand.

"Look mommy, I have cookie."

"I see," I said. She had pulled the little stool we keep in the kitchen for her when she wants to watch mommy cook over to the counter by the cookie jar, climbed up, picked the cookie jar up off the counter, placed it on the floor, unscrewed the top and retrieved her grail. Smart cookie she is. The jar is on top of the refrigerator now....


Yesterday, Ana grabbed her suitcase out the closet and began filling it with clothes from the dirty clothes hamper. I inquired, "Are you going on a trip?"

"Yes," Ana replied.

"Where?"

"To the liberry."

"Ahh, I see. Don't forget clean underwear."

"OK mom!"

She has inherited my love of books. She wants to learn to read...is it OK to teach a two year old to read or is that pushing it. I really don't know...


A tale of two children...Ana, my daughter is fascinated with bubble gum. When I blow bubbles for her, she giggles hysterically and pops the bubble, not thinking of the fact that she may be causing mommy bodily injury. My son assumes a startled and scared expression when the bubble emerges from my mouth and begins to cry. David, does not like the bubbles!

It's amazing how two children can be as different as night and day! Ana won't eat meat and it's David's favorite food. Ana can drink regular cow's milk, David is lactose intolerant. Ana jumps into life no holds barred with both feet, David is cautious and studious about living. They have the same two parents...honest. It seems they inherited pieces of mine and Jim's personalities. David's studiousness is from Jim. Ana's high emotionality is from me. David's love of animals and all things cuddly (and not so cuddly, he picked up a cricket with his bare hands the other evening...that's from me too) is from me. Ana's strong will is from Jim. I am sure as time goes on more traits will emerge. It's just all so very, very interesting and exciting. The bubble gum experience just sort of high lights their two personalities well...

That's enough cute-ness for now!

Have a lovely day!

It's not about me...It's not about me....It's not about me...

It's not about me. That seems to be the defining point of much of Orthodox practice. The whole faith is not about me. It's about God, giving him honor and glory. The Divine Liturgy was created for that purpose. The people are to, "love God with all of their heart, soul and mind." The Liturgy seems to show how to love God by giving Him glory. I have yet to notice a hymn which mentions what God has done for me. It's all about Him.

When first diving into Orthodoxy, as a former evangelical protestant, that water feels a little strange. Aren't we supposed to be in this whole religion thing for ourselves. That's the cry of many atheist works I've read. "Those who need to rely on a religion, on something outside themselves for strength, are inherently weak, lacking in some way." That never quite rang true with me, as I always felt admitting my weakness made me stronger than one who refused to admit it. It is the braver choice after all. To show ones scars rather than cover them up. The people we meet could be repulsed by our weakness. It's the brave ones who show it.

In all honesty, I can now understand that point of view. Much of protestant worship is filled with what we want God to do for us, "Fill me up, God," "Give me strength, Lord," "Hold my hand" and "What a Friend...." That last one chokes me up as my Grandmother often sang that old hymn to me. I'll never forget her voice, strong and off key echoing from the kitchen of her home in Birmingham, AL. My Grandmother did love Jesus more than just about anyone I know. Yes, I can see how an atheist would say that we need to rely on religion because we are weak. We are weak. We do need God. But worship isn't supposed to be about our weakness. It's supposed to be about God's strength.

D'oh....Pretty much the expression I had on my face when I came to that stunning realization. Bart Simpson slapping his hand on his forehead...what an idiot. God's bigger than me. That should be obvious. It's not about me.

Last night, in our Intro to Orthodoxy class I learned that the word worship means, "to throw oneself down in recognition of who God is," in addition to, "the work of the people" as I learned last week. So, in our worship, our work, we are to recognize God's place in our lives...He's bigger than me...it's about Him. I write that over and over to get it into my head...and maybe yours...who knows.

When the Orthodox pray, "Lord have mercy," they are asking for God to "pour out from heaven whatever is needed here." In some cases this could even mean to mete out proper judgment. There is just this attitude that God really is in control which I somehow never understood in all my years walking with God as an Evangelical Protestant. I don't know how I missed that part. All Orthodox prayers end with a conscription of Glory. All of them...because it's not about me and what I need or want. It's about Him and what he wants to work out for me in my life. And so, when I pray, "Lord have mercy," I'm giving God the power to work out my life. There is a freedom in that idea. A reckless abandon it provides...paradoxical and mysterious and just really, really big. When you allow someone else to be in control, there is no need to worry....freedom....under submission. Who knew?

The Divine Liturgy, although I have yet to understand all of it, is full of that prayer, "Lord have mercy." It's repeated over and over to allow the soul time to calm down. I think the repetition may also be there to remind us...it's not about me. It's about Him.

That's what it does for this long lonely pilgrim. I'm not attending worship/Divine Liturgy for me. It's for Him. Because it's not about me. It's about God. It's about time I figured that out!

**Editor's Note~ I have it from a reliable source (AKA my husband) that it's actually "Liturgy" which means, "the work of the people." So the work of the people is to worship God. I decided to leave the body of the piece alone as it's spirit is really what's important.**

Ahh...I'm still finding it hard to believe I lost sleep over this...

Yesterday evening, I had an experience which bothered me much more than it should have. Even as it was happening and I was reading someone else's words, I knew it was needling me in a way that I should've been able to look past and let go. At the same time, it felt so very important to me that I couldn't let it go. It had much to do with labels, and respect and how people influence each other. The whole "thing"...it seems silly to even call it a "thing" because there really wasn't that much to it, had me losing sleep. I tried to figure out why.

It started with labels. I don't like labels because they immediately create a line in the sand, a group on the playground, me and you, us and them. Labels by their very nature cause divisiveness to spring up between people. It may not be the root cause of wars, but it certainly does nothing to prevent them and perhaps even exacerbates them. You can change the name of a label from "mentally retarded" to "educationally limited." It's still a label. It continues to carry with it connotations that are not positive.

I think it's very easy for people to hide behind labels. Certainly, I hid behind them for many years. In fact, I tacked so many labels on myself I began to suffocate behind them. No one knew who I really was. It's also easy to change the label to fit the occasion. One can become a chameleon...it's easy to forget one's own identity in the midst of all of those labels.

Labels tell the "what." They are the black and white newspaper headline. They only tell part of the story...and often enough they turn people off to hearing a story that might be a good one. I don't want to know "what" you are, I want to know "who" you are, "why" you are and "how" you came to be wearing your current pair of shoes...if any. "Who," "why" and "how," weave a beautiful tapestry, a magic carpet we can ride together. "What" falls flat in the weakest of winds.

OK, so the label thing bothered me. But that wasn't the thing that was really getting to me. I moved on to influence. Words in a public forum do have the power to influence people. They do, like it or not. As such, some responsibility is placed in on the word bearer. A forum such as an online journal may not be the Wall Street Journal, or the LA Times or the New York Post, but it is a forum, read by strangers who take the thoughts, ideas and opinions of others and sometimes make them their own. Sometimes they pass those thoughts, ideas and opinions on to their friends, co-workers, perhaps even their children. Unbeknownst to the word bearer, it's possible to influence thousands...maybe more. Like the trite cliche of the tiny pebble causing endless ripples in a roiling ocean...it makes a difference. One word could be the last bean that causes the pot to spill over.

I'll be the first to say that more often than not the words with the loudest impact on my soul are most often intoned in a whisper. However, shout loud enough and people will listen. They'll either hear what you have to say, or be offended by the loudness and walk away. That's the way it works. You've influenced both the hearer and the one who walks away. Sadly, the one who walks away will likely never listen to anyone else with the same message ever again. Influence...you can't get away from the influence you carry with your words...a word bearer.

Yup, the idea of a fellow word bearer being someone who doesn't influence others bothered me. But that wasn't what had me losing sleep last night. It wasn't until I woke up at about 4:30 this morning that I drew a conclusion. Perhaps a ridiculous one, but this is my forum and I'm allowed to be ridiculous.

When I was in the eighth grade, my family moved from Maine back to southern Virginia. The middle of the school year. It was absolutely awful. Even more awful was that just how "different" I was from everyone else was magnified by the fact that I showed up at school in my turtleneck, chamois shirt and jeans...with loafers and no make-up in a world of cropped pants, sweaters and "precious" little sandals. My fashion weirdness matched my emotional and intellectual weirdness. I never quite fit in with any group. I'm weird, I know that now. I've dealt with it. I'm OK with it...I tried not to be weird for a long time. It didn't work for me...I felt weird not being my weird self. Follow me?

Sometime during the summer following that eighth grade year, a label was attached to me. I didn't fit in with the pretty southern girls with their make up and talk of cute boys, etc, etc, etc. They needed to define me as I was not worthy of them. They called me, "vermin." Cheerleaders would scream it as I walked down the halls in the 9th grade (still junior high then), "VERMIN!" I ignored them. I didn't know what else to do. I felt if I showed some emotion they would win. I simply dropped my eyes and moved on. I knew what they were saying was the equivalent of telling me I had cooties when we were in the fourth grade. It was childish and stupid, but it hurt. I was fourteen years old and I was the cootie girl.

So, when someone decides that because I won't be defined by a particular label, my worthiness diminished because of it, even though I may espouse most, if not all, of the particular ideals supposedly attached to said label, I become a little upset. I don't fit someone else's ideal of "good enough." Once again, I'm the "cootie girl."

Nope, not this time. I won't ever be place in that position again. I will not be the cootie girl, hiding, trying to figure out what I said that was not perfectly in line with what another believed. I won't carry a label or shout needlessly to be accepted. I just won't.

There's a book out there, it's a best seller. In it are the words, "Love thy neighbor as yourself." Beyond, "as yourself" there is no other qualifier. Love the neighbor who calls herself, "pro-choice," or "pro-life," or "protestant," or "jewish" or "pretty" or any manner of other nomenclature just isn't in there, simply, "neighbor." It's a nice broad label. It applies to everyone. It's one I can live with. That simple commandment is one half of the foundation for my life. I won't be made to take on a label that will divide me from others. "Neighbor" will I accept. "Neighbor" will I be. I will not allow my worthiness as a fellow human being to be qualified by any other label.

I'm not the cootie girl.

Another dream I actually remembered...

I had almost forgotten about this. I knew there was something I wanted to write about this morning...and it was a dream I had. As I was reading someone else's journal and I remembered...the dream. I decided to fall asleep on the couch last night. I had been reading more of Facing East and was getting sleepy...getting...I'd been exhausted pretty much the whole day. I took an hour and a half nap while the kids slept. Anyway, I decided to close my eyes and fall asleep there on the couch as I was cozy and Jim was tapping away at the computer. It was comforting to have him there while I fell asleep. Our two natures are so different that doesn't often happen...he being nocturnal and me being an early riser.

I don't know what brought the dream on...it wasn't a life changing one by any stretch of the imagination. But it was interesting. I was at church, Holy Cross, and was being introduced to someone. This person wasn't familiar to me but he/she (I don't recall the sex of the individual) had a child, a little boy with gorgeous red hair, perfectly straight demanding to be mussed. He was about 5 or 6. I don't remember his name but he just came over and stood right in front of me and then leaned into me as if he had known me forever. I rested my hand on his head in a very tender fashion. His parent said to me, "He seems to really like you."

"I just really love kids," I said. "All kids, any kind of kid. I love them and sometimes they sense it and act on it... like this."

I think they also sense a kindred spirit...maybe. I don't know. It certainly wasn't a life shattering, point me in a new direction kind of dream. I mention it mainly because I rarely remember my dreams. The background in this one was rather murky really, the conversation and the touch of my hand to the boy's head seemed to be the most important factors.

I do really love kids and I miss working with them to a degree. I'm not sure I'm ready yet to jump back into any sort of official youth ministry. But perhaps this dream was just telling me to be on the lookout for upcoming opportunities. My parents and also actually Jim's parents have said on several occasions recently, "I remember you talking about writing children's books. Are you still thinking of that?"

Well...maybe. As I look back over these journal entries I think the best ones are the stories I tell. I'm not very good with presenting facts in an interesting way, or book reviews unless I can work a story into it. So, perhaps I am meant to tell stories, perhaps to children. Who knows. I don't like to say..."It was just a dream," as I really don't remember my dreams often. When visions meet me in my sleep I tend to pay attention to them. So I just thought I'd share...

Oh...and someday if I can convince Jim we are capable I want to adopt a child from the foster care system. We agreed to place the idea on hold as our house is rather small and we are not in the financial position to take on another child just yet. But that kind of lingers on the edge of my consciousness quite a bit as well. Who knows...dream interpreters go crazy!

It was better this time...no cookie crumbs on the floor!

So we went to church with the kids again. This time with only the youngest, Ana and David, as Mikey was with his Mom this weekend. I followed the advice of many kind souls offered to us in emails and in the comments section of this blog. Don't be afraid to leave comments. Halo-scan won't bite...I promise.

Armed with the kids blankies, some crayons, leggos, David's monkey and bear, a few books and some juice cups...off we went to church. Jim and I decided outright that he would handle David and I would handle Ana, David being more laid back about which parent to whom he needs to be attached. I also decided that I would head right up front with Ana this time. That's where she wanted to be last time and frankly I wanted to be there too. I really wanted to know what was going on up there while the rest of us are singing.

Today actually went much better than last week. More time was spent in the actual service. Ana and David both took turns walking around us...in circles just walking around and around and around. I couldn't really walk around and show the kids many icons as there are chairs lined up in front of most of them with people sitting in them. Being up front was helpful as it offered Ana something else to focus on...especially when the Father was doing a lot with the censer. I think we both enjoyed that part!

We did have to exit the service a few times for potty breaks and once when David lost it trying to play with my necklace. It was a noveau faux pearl necklace with about a centimeter's space of wire between each "pearl." David was determined they were balls and that he was going to play with them! Of course, he started screaming, "BALL" at which point we left the sanctuary whereupon I removed the offending necklace and placed it in Jim's pocket. We looked at books during the homily. I wasn't really able to focus on Father Gregory's message very much, but the kids were relatively quiet.

During the preparation for the Eucharist, David spent quite a bit of time walking around with his dollar store monkey doing his own version of censing...it was rather amusing. During the actual communion part we stayed in the Narthex and let the kids wander a bit. We won't be taking communion for quite some time so we felt we might as well be out of the way. We returned once the eucharist had been served. All in all it was pretty ok. I tried to prevent Ana from laying on the floor and kicking so much as I want her to have some idea of having reverence. I did allow her to sit on the floor. Ana wanted to go right up front to the iconostasis...but I couldn't let her do that...she'd likely break every rule of Orthodoxy and end up right under the altar where she's definitely not allowed to be!

I was able to sing along a bit today...mostly with the "Lord Have Mercy...." parts. The rest of it is still too much. I'll get there...

I'm sure I didn't clear up much with this...but here's hoping!

I think I may have confused people with the "What is the Truth?" post. I know that at the very least I confused my husband as he actually asked me about it. It may be difficult for people to understand how I can be this Mom who stays home and bakes cookies, seems to be fairly centered spiritually talk about driving forever and looking for little pieces of "light" (truth) all over the place. Which one is she?

Both...

Most of my life I hid the wanderer side of my personality. But truth be told, I've always wondered what was over the next hill, that dip in the road, that curve in the path...if I make it to the top of the mountain, what will I see, who will I meet, what can they teach me? Time on earth is so short, it seems to me we should experience as much of who and what inhabits this space with us. And so yes, I do very much have some sort of adventurous spirit peeking behind the stay at home mom who takes the kids to the library and bakes up oatmeal cookies at least once a week. I love being at home with the kids. I would also love to show them the world. I can't do that in a physical sense...it's why we go to the library to check out books. If I can't take them there physically, I can show them how to visit in a more metaphysical sense.

Spiritually speaking, I think being rooted in a rock solid faith allows some room for exploration. Knowing where your boundaries are allows a freedom to explore all the hidden beauty to be found within such a rich faith as Christianity. I know the ultimate truth, that I have freedom from death because Jesus died and ended it's hold on me. That is the unchanging truth...but there is so much to explore within that...so much truth to learn about God and his great love for us. I don't want to stop with there and just take it at face value...I don't want to be a "church lady." I want to Christ's lady.

And truth be told, we are faced every second, with choosing between light and darkness, truth and lies. It doesn't end the moment we accept the truth of Christ...it continues because we now know the truth...and just because we know it doesn't mean we live it. Therein lies the rub...the struggle...the endless search for what is real and what isn't that constitutes the life of a saint. In my humble opinion...

My kids are growing and changing...and so am I suppose...

Yesterday evening after supper I decided to take the kids to the library. I wanted to return the current DVD's and see if there was another movie which Jim and I would like to watch together. I also was just feeling restless and wanted to get out of the house. Ana absolutely loves the library. When I tell he we're going she starts talking about the books and then says to David, "Babid, you wanna go to 'da libery? Ok, we goin'." I'm afraid she's going to be a little bookworm like her momma!

So off we went, kid tucked safely in their car seats to the library. Alas, once we arrived, the library was dark. I checked the hours on the sign in front of the building: "Friday 9AM to 5PM." Ooops, I hadn't even considered that it would be closed. I turn around and say to Ana, "The library is closed. We can't get inside. We'll have to come back tomorrow." For once she wasn't upset! I was expecting a Lita Ford wail but was just met with Ana grinning at me!

So I turned the car around and proceeded back home. It was a beautiful night, clear with just a hint of crispness in the air. The Indian Summer of the past few days seems to have dissipated. It's fall again. I changed the CD from Creed as after having listening to it constantly for the last 4 days it was time for something different. I moved over to U2...another band who's lyrics contain spiritual overtones which cause me to go into ponder mode. "You're dangerous...because your honest..." Hmmm....

Nearing home, Ana calls out from the back seat, "I no wanna go home."

"You don't," I said. "What do you want to do? Drive around and listen to music?"

"Yes." Ana replied with all the resolute-ness her 2 year old heart could muster.

"OK," I answered. Secretly, that was just exactly what I wanted as well. I used to drive around listening to music on Sunday afternoons all by myself. Me, the car, the music and the road. The scenery would change from the Shennendoah Valley when I was in college, to a craggy Appalachian mountain top in grad school to the Baltimore Beltway once I was a "real" adult. I had many fine conversations with myself in those trips...and many fine car concerts! I now wondered if someday my daughter would do the same...

Ana again calls out from the back seat, "Yook Mom, a moon!"

"Yes sweetie, that is a moon. God made the moon so we would be able to see at nighttime."

We turn a corner, "Yook Mom, anudder moon. Oooh, we ride horsies?" She says this as we pass the horse farm where many after supper walks were taken over the summer. I am amazed that she recognizes the scenery even in the dark, and that she comments.

"No darling, it's dark. We can't go see the horsies." I again wait for the scream of disappointment. None comes. I glance back at my children. Ana looks at me, stretches out her full length in the seat, raises her shoulders to her chin, tips he head to one side and grins. I am overcome with mushy mommy love. Ana's name means, "God is gracious." Indeed.

I glance over to David, who has his thumb in his mouth and a baby wipe cuddled up to his right cheek. If he is without blanky he'll settle for a wipe. David is definitely my more laid back child. I smile at him and he smiles back and again my heart dissipates. It's almost as if it takes wing and flies from me. That's as close as I can come to describing the feeling.

I am amazed at how Ana has grown. Just a year ago she was like David...walking and saying a few words. Now it's possible to have a pseudo conversation with her. Earlier today, we drove to the harbor to take a walk. I grabbed some stale cheerios from the cereal cabinet in case we were lucky enough to meet some ducks. We were lucky and so, I let both kids out of the stroller so we could feed them. Ana, was content to stand still and feed the ducks. David, however, was determined to catch a seagull. "Birdie," he'd say and then go chasing after, blonde hair flashing in the crisp fall sun. I of course was determined that he wouldn't fall in the water!

David is a studious young child already. The other evening we were having pasta for dinner. Before his first few bites, he studied each piece of pasta, carefully turning it over trying to decipher the meaning of each ridge, bump and glob of sauce. Sometimes, he'd look at me and make some sort of babbling comment and then her would pop that bite into his mouth and move on. When David plays, he will often bring toys to me and verbalize his observations. He will have a very serious look on his face, eyebrows coming together in a point on his little forehead, "A zhee, shou sha!" David will then turn resolutely like a little soldier and march back to what he was doing. It's very endearing, his quest to discover the world and interpret it for others. David's name means, "Beloved." Indeed.

Have a wonderful Saturday!

What I remember of chapter 2 of Facing East

I continued reading in Frederica Mathewes-Green's, Facing East yesterday evening. Jim and I are also reading it together. Eager beaver that I am, I have jumped forward somewhat in our "together reading" by about 40 pages or so. Honey, you may not want to read this because there may be spoilers. I would also suggest that if you are reading my blog and are truly interested in Orthodoxy that you also read my husband's blog, Life's Cocktails . You'll get a more detailed picture that way. My husband and I are each other's "missing piece" personality wise. We are both "IN" on the Myers Brigg's personality type indicator although he is likely more "I" than I am and he, I would say is less "N" than I am. but the real difference is in those last two letters...I am an "FP" whereas Jim is a "TJ." I am a "high F" whereas Jim is a "High T." You'll get many emotional entries from me as I always react emotionally first to new knowledge, especially of a spiritual nature as it is so close to my heart. Jim thinks and thinks and processes. So if you were to read both of our blogs, you'd get a better picture of the concepts...not just the mushiness from me. Just a suggestion!

So anyway...in the 2nd chapter which deals with lent, Frederica begins (it's easier to write Frederica than Mrs. Matthewe's Green BTW...I am not on a first name basis with her...just lazy...and arthritic!) by talking about Icons and the difficulty she once had with them. Frankly, I'm having some issues with them as well. I'm not to keen on the whole veneration idea, at least not as yet. I never was one to kiss pictures as I know some people do. I knew folk in Appalachia who photographically recorded funerals and had the photo albums filled with pictures of dead relatives to prove it. They sometimes even go so far as to hang these pictures on the wall. All I can think is "EWWW." I don't feel "EWWW" about Icons (I almost wrote "idol"...that may be part of my problem). I just don't completely understand. Intellectually, I hear the words, "Windows to heaven" and I think "neat." I like the idea that they are to remind us of the Great Cloud of Witnesses which surround us in worship...but the kissing thing may take me a while. The praying in front of them thing may take a while. I think the idols are beautiful, works of art in themselves...but I don't feel, yet, an emotional attachment to any of them. So anyway, it was a bit of a relief to read that the author was herself at first somewhat stumped...she does come around though and I guess perhaps I will too. We've only been doing this for a couple of months anyway!

The author (perhaps I'll just say that, "the author"...it feels less presumptuous) also describes how Icons are created. It is not an easy process at all! It's full of prayer and fasting and more prayer and more fasting. There is a particular method to the painting...darker colors are laid down first with the brighter colors coming last. I like that symbolism as we are all being led from darkness to light...She also describes one woman's reconciliation of the whole Icon idea with her family by describing a phone conversation between her granddaughter and daughter. The little one kissed the phone at the end of the convo in order to kiss her mother good bye...somehow to her that didn't seem any different from showing an icon respect by kissing it. I can sort of reconcile the two actions as being similar in nature and motivation. I guess I'll just have to walk this a little more in order to completely understand. I certainly hope no one expects me to take on the whole kit-n-caboodle of Orthodoxy at once. It took 2,000 years for them to arrive here...give me more than 5 minutes please! I also have issues with the Icon vs. Idol idea. Every time I write "Icon," I first start to write, "Idol." So obviously, I have some deep seated issue with the idea of Icons actually being Idols...So, I'll have to dig deeper myself into the difference between veneration and worship.

The author, also goes into a discussion on St. Mary of Egypt when describing the events of St. Mary of Egypt Sunday. This was a little odd to me as the topic of St. Mary of Egypt continually comes up often for me. I first read about her on theooze.com quite a while ago before I was even considering Orthodoxy. This woman wandered in the desert for pretty much her entire adult life...the first 17 years being the most difficult. I'm not sure she's an example of a "typical" saint, as she started her life as a prostitute, but then I'm not sure of what a "typical saint" is. I think I'm attracted to Mary as I often feel myself wandering alone in my own desert, trying to separate the light from the dark, the wheat from the chaff. It often isn't easy and sometimes I just want to escape. Just the other day as I was traveling to the library with my children it actually flashed into my mind to just keep right on driving...to who knows where...just keep going. Obviously, I didn't, I'm here writing this drivel...At any rate, ever since I read that first account of Mary on theooze, she pops up into my consciousness every now and then. I thought of her on another discussion board when someone spoke of "abiding alone" in a post. I thought of her in yesterday's entry and even linked her information. I thought about her last night as my daughter woke up screaming from a nightmare...I'm not sure why she popped up then...but she did. Fr. Gregory spoke of St. Nina last week in church and how she had "chosen" the sisterhood of the parish. The whole thing was a bit "spooky." I suppose I'm getting my wish! I wonder if St. Mary of Egypt is choosing me...and I was hoping for a Saint with a "cool" name for that whole..."taking a saint's name" when one is Chrismated...oh well!

And so I want to end with this thought, which does kind of tie in to the whole Icons, Saints, Christ conquered death once and for all sort of idea. Orthodox believe death really isn't death...it's "falling asleep in Christ" with the death of the body perhaps freeing up the soul to enter it's next phase of eternity. I'm not sure I have the theology on that one perfectly so don't go quoting me. The author describes an announcement made by one of the parishioners after the second week in lent. This woman has become pregnant after suffering a miscarriage...I know that feeling...the "I'msothankfulI'mpregnantpleaseGoddon'tletithappenagain" breathless prayer uttered over and over in those first few scary weeks. There is another woman in the parish who has lost two children and the author remarks that she often feels she should see this woman with children following her around...as if she should ask where the children are. Upon asking the childless woman (who has also endured fertility treatments to no avail) how she feels upon hearing "the news," the woman responds with:

"I often think, Margo said, "about how you wanted to say to me, 'Where are your children?' Now there's an answer that comes to me right away. When I think of that question I want to say, 'Why, they're upstairs. Sleeping." (pg 45)

I always imagined that first baby I lost so early on in pregnancy being held in the arms of my grandmothers' awaiting my passage to heaven. Many people kind of looked at me slightly askance when I would say such things and I doubted my own beliefs. I don't quite feel that way anymore.

The kids are awake and this is running long. Have a great day!