Holy Friday and Saturday boxes

Holy Friday afternoon (unnailing) and evening (lamentations): stories in the Children's Bible Reader and Tomie de Paola's Book of Bible Stories, as well as (in the box on the right) an epitaphion icon, a crucifixion icon, and an icon of the Theotokos with two angels who are holding a cross and, I think, a spear, as a foretaste of what is to come.  In the little bag in the middle is a wooden peg doll, frankincense and myrrh (from a Christmas present from my mother with the gifts of the Magi), holy oil, and a linen cloth.  Lucia's box (on the left) has icons of the Theotokos, St. Basil, and the three hierarchs with their mothers.

Holy Saturday: books for Holy Friday (forgot) and Holy Saturday, and whatever else was left over.  This is one of the reasons why I was trying to put things for the next service in the box as soon as we got home from the previous service... I just can't keep up.  I had an icon of Jonah earlier in the week and the stories of Jonah in several books, and the story of the Three Holy Children in the Children's Bible Reader... but didn't remember, as my detailed list of what the themes were for each service only went as far as Holy Thursday.  I am hoping that these pictures and descriptions will help jog my memory for next year!

Holy Thursday evening box

Books: Children's Bible Reader and Tomie de Paola's Book of Bible Stories
For the evening service: Mystical Supper, the Washing of the Feet, the Prayer in the Garden, and the Betrayal.

Mystical Supper: I cut out some grapes from the grocery store ads, and just now realized that I could include a small plate and cup from my childhood kitchen things.

Washing of the Feet: icon.

Prayer in the Garden: a prayer card with a picture of praying hands and a komboskini.

Betrayal: the "thirty pieces of silver" for Judas' betrayal, and the finger-puppet rooster from my Nouna for Peter's betrayal.

I added the icon of the epitaphion as a foreshadowing, even though that will be tomorrow afternoon.

Holy Thursday morning box and a honey of a birthday cake

Ready to commemorate the Mystical Supper and the Washing of the Feet on Holy Thursday morning, with Jane G. Meyer's books, The Man and the Vine and The Woman and the Wheat, as well as a box with the icon of the Mystical Supper.  There's a little icon for the Washing of the Feet, too.  We reviewed the story of the Supper in the Children's Bible Reader as well as Tomie de Paola's Book of Bible Stories, but there's only so much I can carry into the church.  We didn't read through the Meyer books properly, but looked at all the pictures and read a few pages from each.  I think these two books will be definitely something for both children to grow into.  I just have to remind myself to be patient.

Lucia's box just has a new laminated icon and two of the ones she likes best.

The High Priestly Prayer (in the garden of Gethsemane) and the Betrayal would be on Holy Thursday, too, according to the Synaxarion, but I am putting those things in the box for the evening service, which is quite long.

Also, tomorrow will be Lucia's first birthday, so Fr. Peter and I made a cake (we are soo tired, and kinda leaned on each other for help in doubling the recipe).  According to prevailing wisdom, a baby should not have honey before her first birthday.  So she gets a lemon honey cake* shaped like a honeycomb.

*We attempted to lentenize it, using water for milk, 3/4 applesauce and 1/4 Crisco for butter, and the usual egg substitute from the monastery cookbook.  Haven't tasted it yet, but the whole house smells lovely.  I'm so glad I picked up a lemon and a lime on a whim!  (We're not doing the glaze, just the cake, and the shaved lemon and lime look a little embarrassed being bald on the counter.)

Holy Week box: Holy Tuesday evening

Book: Children's Bible Reader
Ephemera: Icon of Christ the Bridegroom; holy oil to represent the oil with which the sinful woman anointed Christ; and three dimes to represent the thirty pieces of silver Judas received.

I gave Lucia different icons and a komboskini.  She's really getting into kissing icons, especially those of Jesus.  She also enjoyed playing with the box itself.  Now I just need to figure out how to make it close quietly...

Holy Week boxes

Yes!  I finally got started on these today!  (After two years, so I'm excited, even if I forget to bring them the rest of the week.)

First, I read the delightful "Tips for Surviving Evening Services with Little Ones."  Then I revisited the Holy Week boxes series: 2010, 2011, and 2012.  Then I went shopping and didn't remember to take a list with me.

The kids and I went to Joann's.  Teddy was wet, so we had to take care of that.  Lucia freaked out and threw up because she couldn't get to me (in the cart, right next to me, evidently was Not Good Enough).  Then we wandered around and looked at things (while I cringed at the noises we were making, sure that everyone knew how mean and horrible I really am).  I found plastic grapes which were quite large and some wooden "doll pegs," but not much else.  I had come in thinking that I would just get some felt scraps or sheets and muster up some figures to illustrate the stories of Holy Week, but I couldn't think of any (except "We should have a sheep"), and kept wandering the aisles.

So we picked up a package of felt sheets with a diverse color scheme, and some pipe cleaners with same (enough of the right colors for sheep and people), and snagged the wooden doll pegs, and put the giant bunch of grapes back.  I remembered seeing some wooden boxes, so we went and got two of the treasure-chest type.  I found a small lion at the front and got that, too.  (Lion of Judah, lion lying down with the lamb ... it would fit somehow, and Lucia specifically likes the lion in the library puzzle and in our own Noah's ark, so that would be something quiet for her.)

Then we went home and I studied up on the themes for each service in Holy Week, quickly getting overwhelmed.*  I reviewed the list of items for the Holy Week boxes.  I really liked the site for "Great Lent, Holy Week & Pascha" and supplemented that with the paperback The Year of Grace of the Lord.**  Then I went to the bookshelves and pulled relevant books, and went to the icon bookshelf ... and stashes of icons that have either been put out of the way or are still unpacked and pulled relevant icons and some laminated ones that aren't necessarily relevant but are safe for Lucia.  I thought I had at least something for the Three Holy Youths for Holy Saturday (no), as well as something for the Parable of the Talents (no).  I kicked myself for not doing anything yesterday, because I do have a lovely book on Joseph, who was one of the themes from yesterday's Bridegroom service.  Then I scrounged around all the junk drawers and boxes of hastily cleaned up toys and shelves and places for oddments and found enough things to satisfy me for now.

Books: Tomie de Paola's The Parables of Jesus (library discard, forgot how I got it) and Helen Caswell's Parable of the Bridesmaids (found last year at Goodwill).
For the Bridegroom, I was thrilled to find a bookmark (I'd forgotten about these!) that I'd gotten at our previous parish's festival from the monastery booth.  (Laminated icons, hooray!)
For the parable of the wise and foolish virgins, I used two of those little battery-operated tea-lights that I'd gotten around Christmastime for Teddy's play-censer.  I kept the plastic insert in one (so it wouldn't work), for the foolish virgins, and took the other out (so it would work) for the wise virgins.
For the parable of the talents, I took three of the wooden doll pegs (debated dressing them up and having another one in fancier dress for the master, but decided that I should just go simply at the beginning), two dimes, two nickles, and one penny.

We got to church early enough for us to read both stories and have me explain most of the items to Teddy.  I don't know if he was particularly interested in any of them (but he did like taking them out and scattering them all over the pew before continuing to ignore them), as I was walking up and and down and in and out with Lucia.  I was able to lean over to him a couple of times and point out, "This is about the Bridegroom.  Where is your icon of the Bridegroom?" or "Do you hear them singing about the wise and foolish virgins?  Which lamp is for the wise virgins?"  Teddy asked many questions like, "Why did they not bring enough oil? Why did they bring enough oil?  Why is the Bridegroom coming?" which I hope to answer, but didn't even attempt to this evening.

I found that reading the stories of the themes for the service put me into a more restful state of mind: I was able to pick up on the themes of the hymns, and listen better to the parts of the Gospel I was able to hear, much better than if I had done no preparation.  This reminded me of my father's habit of reading the epistle and Gospel reading for Mass the night before as well as right before the service, and his explanation that it helped him pay attention better.

This is my first Holy Week with two kids, and it is Tough.  I'm glad I read through those "tips," as Teddy was mostly content to snuggle in the pew with his blanket and pillow while Lucia and I walked and walked and walked.  Lucia had a box, too, with three laminated icons, a peg doll, and the little plush lion.  She was interested in his things and had no interest in the lion.  He wanted the lion.  *sigh*  I so called that while they were asleep at naptime this afternoon, but there was less throwing than I had worried about.

I have plenty of things ready for the rest of the week, manipulatives/ephemera and books.  There are only two boxes, so I'm just throwing everything else into a bag and pulling the things I need for the next service as soon as I get a break after we get home from the previous service.  (I at least know I am liable to forget.)  I am hoping to find an icon catalogue that I'd given to my husband and persuade him to make use of our laminator.  (I forgot he'd already bought one, and found one and was so thrilled with myself for remembering to buy it... it was very disappointing to realize that I hadn't saved us from not having a laminator, but instead had purchased a second one.)

*First of all, this collection of icons is awesomesauce, and I'm so glad I bookmarked it when I found it.  I had no idea there were icons of parables and Old Testament stories, etc., before I saw these.  I liked the one with the parable of the ten virgins, and found a better picture of the one of the last judgment (sheep and goats).  I also loved finding this icon of the last judgment ("Inasmuch as you have done it to the least of these...").  That said, I was sad that this was the only icon I could find with the parable of the talents.  I want a big colorful one!

Another thing I found in my internet hunt was this moving story about a college professor, doughnuts, push-ups, and explaining the Gospel of Christ in a meaningful way.

**I thought it was an exciting and noteworthy connection from this book, that I'd never thought of before: St. John was the only one of the Twelve who stayed with Jesus through His passion ... and the only one of the Twelve who was not martyred.  p. 179: "All except one had abandoned [H]im during the harrowing hours of Golgotha...  Peter and the other apostles will share, through their own martyrdom, in the Passion of their Master..."

This is how we do it

This has been a rough week, with Issues from one person with both my husband and myself.  (Prayers definitely requested.)  And a parish council member's mother died.  Her funeral was this morning.  I tried to get the kids ready to go to Orthros which was before the funeral, but my husband started Orthros early and we came late, so we didn't get any of it.

The kids and I went home to have lunch and nap afterwards while my husband went to the cemetery and meal afterwards, and I looked into jumping through some medical hoops.  The online registration system wouldn't accept my birthdate, today was the last day to register, but I found someone on the phone who made arrangements.  Then we go to get our blood drawn, but somehow there's no appointment for either of us, and they're not taking walk-ins as their A/C is out, but we can go to another place and have our blood drawn ... if we hurry, since they close in an hour and it takes half an hour to get there and the average wait time is 20 minutes.

So we go to the second place and I'm still not in the system and the lady at the front desk doesn't have me in the computer at all, so I called the same phone number and "Scott" put me in the system from there.  (I still can't register, so I don't know whether I can get my results and/or qualify for the survey and following steps, etc.)  Then, after our blood was drawn, the phlebotomist said he thought we were done, and there wasn't anyone at the front desk, so we load the kids and the double stroller into the car and drive off ... until there's a guy who races up beside us and says that the lady had run out the door to flag us back for something, so we went back and signed paperwork.  Whew.

At least we could now go home and relax.  My husband hadn't scheduled anything for this evening, making the service for the day an Orthros so he'd have some time to relax before Holy Week.  Except that the priest for the next-nearest church had told his parishioners that we'd be having an Akathist again tonight.  No worries, he said later this week: he'd tell everyone and nobody from his church would come.  We got home and there was an email from another priest attached to that church whom my husband confesses to which said that they could set up a time when he came to the Akathist service tonight.  And he didn't get any of my husband's (three) phone calls.

So my husband slips into his cassock and drives over to church... where there are three or four next-nearest parishioners and one of ours (who had to work for all the previous Fridays and whose daughter is on the way) ... so my husband calls me and says they'll do some sort of service, Vespers or Compline, so, without thinking, I have Teddy put on his shoes and snatch Lucia up, and we go to church.  A little while into the service, the other priest comes with his wife, too.

Honestly, this was not how I planned the day at all.  I imagined being this tired next Friday.  Our house is a wreck, we have almost nothing planned for Easter baskets (his is ordered, saying "Radio Flyer" on the side), I have a birthday something to plan (with the cutest little honeycomb baking pan that just arrived today), and there's a horrible, niggling thing in my head that I've forgotten something but I can't think what.

Holy Friday

I had written this out at some point during a previous Holy Week, but have no idea what year. Since I am within my 40 days, I thought I would share one of my first impressions of Holy Week as an Orthodox Christian.

This is the evening of Good Friday. We have been at church almost the entire day. After the morning service, we had a children's retreat while the older people decorated the kouvouklion with an overabundance of flowers: red roses, white carnations, sprays of baby's breath, and small purple flowers. It startded as a simple and beautiful carved wooden tomb, and literally blossomed over the day into a bower, calling to mind Christ the Bridegroom.

The first service (in the afternoon) after the kouvouklion was decorated ended with Father's invitation to worship at the soleas. The children crawled happily and humbly underneath to make the path of a cross. At tonight's service, people lit candles, light flooding into all the corners of the church from the altar trickling back to the nave in a slow joyous growing. The chanters sung the doxology, and then the entire congregation sang the song of the angels: "Holy, Holy, Holy!"

We slowly processed on the outside of the church: the cross, the altar boys, the tiny myrrh-bearers all dressed in white like the servant girls carrying the lamps and awaiting the Bridegroom, the kouvouklion, the priest, the chanters, the choir, and the entire congregation. We carried candles, weighed down with overwhelming joy and humility of knowing that we cannot move ourselves to God, so he came to fetch us to Him. The myrrh-bearers scattered rose petals which seemed to have been blood spilling from the tomb and transformed into joyous, velvet, sweet-smelling reminders of God's Love.

On Waiting and Worth

So this weekend (and today, as it turns out) we've been waiting for important news. We're not allowed to say quite a bit at this point (see: tearing hair out), but we're expecting to hear either that we're ready to move ahead on a whole bunch of work, or we're still going to do some work before we're even at that stage of the game.

Fortunately, this weekend our parish hosted the Metropolis of Atlanta St. John Chrysostom oratorical festival. I got to see Presvytera Christine Salzman, who is wonderful, and I met Presvytera Georgia Metropulos, who is also wonderful. (Ahh, basking in unexpected presvyteres memories.) On Saturday, I attempted to have Teddy take a nap (mostly failed) so we could go with the group on an hour-and-a-half dolphin-sighting boat tour (completely awesome, especially for Teddy). We also got to hang out with some very tall priests (Frs. Grigorios Tatsis and James Berends) on the beach. Teddy threw sand, covered himself in sand, lay down and immersed himself in sand, was slightly buried in sand, ran in the sand, and came home with lots of sand and a beach ball. I love being prepared with changes of clothes. On Sunday it rained, and Teddy went out in it to the point where I just took off most of his clothes and let him go for it. (Did I mention loving having changes of clothes?)

However, with the Very Important Call not going to come on the weekend, I still had plenty of nervous energy. So I worked on my to-do list. I have a love-hate relationship with my to-do list. I really love having things written down, as I have a terrible memory, and things niggle at the back of my head (I've got something Important to do ... what is it?). On the other hand, when I *don't* get things done (hello, the internet), I get depressed and pessimistic and feel worthless in general.

But. With the Very Important Call looming, we decided to pray more. So I had my husband pull out a paraklesis booklet from the heap by the icon corner (yes, "tidy and dust the icon corner" has been a repeat entry on the to-do list for a few months now, and is becoming more important as Teddy's reach and curiosity expand exponentially || I have also added "find *small* paraklesis book" to the to-do list as all we could find is the great paraklesis book), and we started using it. Then I realized that, although I drag my feet when it comes to morning prayers, adding a reader's service of the great paraklesis makes me like doing the morning prayers *and* gets my day off to a better start (oh, hush. days can start at noon, right?); I never thought that adding prayers would make me like praying more. Maybe singing them has something to do with it.

Getting things done on my to-do list has really helped my sense of self, most especially my nightly routine. I've had "put away dishes, clean Teddy's chair, wipe counters, and tidy for 15 minutes" on the daily list literally for months without doing them systematically. I did all of those things last night and it was like a drug. I FELT LIKE A WORTHWHILE HUMAN BEING AGAIN. No more moping, feeling oppressed from all the things I have to do (okay, packing boxes and ahaha planning a neighborhood yard sale impinge on that a bit), and no more feeling like I never get anything done: if I can just trust the self who writes out the list, stop thinking, and just follow what I wrote, I might actually be able to be a grown up (eventually). Just don't ask me to eat the shrimp. That's grown-up food.

Reading Method Journalism; or, Mindfulness

I have recently read Colin Beavan's No Impact Man and watched the movie, and this afternoon just finished reading Gretchen Rubin's The Happiness Project. The first was an attempt to reflect values in actions and daily life, and the second was an attempt to improve one's happiness (and overall life) by analysis and experimentation.

Starting with Teddy's pregnancy (I think; maybe I'm just not able to remember further back), I started enjoying something I never thought I would: reading non-fiction books. I especially like reading books which either tell me how to do something (like John Rosemond's books on disciplining children, where "discipline" means "make a disciple of") or relate the author's struggle to improve himself in a way which makes me think on how I could improve both myself and my life.

One of the things which impressed me about Ms. Rubin's book was the preparation time she spent in plotting out what she wanted to accomplish, the steps she needed to take, and the order in which to take them. She thought of this in April, and researched and read and took notes, and only started her year-long project in January. I also like that each month had a different emphasis, so there would be a refreshment of purpose throughout the year.

I'd like to try doing a Happiness Project myself, but I am afraid of failure. In Molly Sabourin's Close to Home (an awesome early birthday present from my husband, and my absolutely most favorite book right now—I've never had the urge to take notes inside a book before, usually being horrified by the idea of writing in books), she relates the story of a young monk who asks Abba Sisoes what to do when he falls. "Get up!" "I got up, and I fell again!" "Get up again!" "For how long should I get up when I fall?" "Until your death." I'm afraid of the failure of not getting up again, of not continuing to try, of despairing and turning away from God.

So, instead, I'm going to try, and I'm going to trust God.
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I was frustrated with my tendency to want to buy all the Orthodox children's books I could find, and then not to read them, or to find them only after the saint's day had passed. I've started putting together a personal synaxarion (or whatever book it should be) spreadsheet to list the icons, books (and board books), icon bookmarks (and pins and pendants), and podcasts for spiritual relevance for Teddy. A spreadsheet lets me sort by each category, although the most useful is "date."

Today's items are for the Third Thursday of Lent and for St. Gerasimos of the Jordan:

• Children's Bible Reader, p. 139: Wise Words of Solomon (Proverbs 10-16)
• Povestiri Pentru Copii, v. 5, p. 72: St. Gerasimos of the Jordan (Sfântul Gherasim și Leul)

I've also been having some success with keeping a menu plan, even though it's still not very good, it at least provides a back-up plan for what to eat, and helps me make the shopping list to make sure that we have everything that we need. I don't include breakfast, because we don't seem to eat that as a family, and I usually have cookies and cocoa and then wait to eat lunch. (We usually eat two dinners, though, before and after we go to the pool in the evening.)

Today's lunch was intended to be the soup made on Tuesday (tomato-rice soup from the Romanian cookbook), but yesterday it reminded me of worms/shrimp, so I went with toasted bagels and bruschetta, with potato chips on the side for extra crunch. The plan for dinner is mashed potatoes, but I might be able to scrounge up a salad, too, if my husband didn't use up all the tomatoes on his soup.
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On Saturday, Teddy and I returned from MN, where we were visiting my sister and her family (oh, the joy of cousins!) for ten days. The Sunday before this was our parish Greek festival, and the day when Teddy decided to go from four naps a day to one. ONE. We also got sick at my sister's house, and I am still a bit under the weather. However, I did take the plunge and went to a Zumba class on Tuesday evening, and thoroughly enjoyed it. I haven't sweat (sweated?) that much since giving birth to Teddy, and, of course, the one-hour class was much more enjoyable than that. It reminded me a bit of doing Mousercize in elementary P.E. class: everyone was excited to get to do fun exercising. The rhythms made it easy and enjoyable, and there were breaks just often enough. My only problem was a rhythm-challenged boy who gangled obtrusively right in front of me, so I'll see about getting into the room a little earlier for a better place. Another husband-assisted early birthday present was the Zumba DVD set, which looks fun and arrived yesterday. (Teddy already likes the rhythm sticks.)
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Reading Molly Sabourin's book and blog posts make me worry about my spiritual side. I struggle to pay attention and to be mindful, but I'm not sure I succeed very often if at all. Last night's Presanctified Liturgy was more of an exercise in keeping Teddy quiet and silently apologizing to the few parishioners who were probably all watching Teddy's antics than of any spiritual growth.

As always, please keep me in your prayers.

The Parenting Paradigm

After conversation with my husband about where to put posts on parenting (which question he said I answered myself), it has been decided that parenting rambling will go here rather than there.

Mostly, I'd like to have a place where I feel comfortable talking about our and my parenting choices, and being excited about learning new things about the developing little person we have in our family.

Today is the first time I have felt like a competent mommy. The past several days have been hectic (something outside the home in the morning, afternoon, and evening, almost every day since Friday), and today I didn't have to leave home at all. (I love staying at home, in my box of a house. I do have to make an effort to take walks outside, and be in sunshine, etc. For the record, Teddy and I took two little front-yard-only walks today.)

I do not know how related it is, but today was also the first day I tried to cut down on the pacifier use. I was confident in my decisions to put him down for his naps. I set the timer for five minutes and let him wail (taking notes on changes in tone to help me not go in to him). After the timer went off, I tried caressing his forehead to soothe him, but he kept fussing, so in went the paci, after which he was asleep if not right away then by the time the timer marked another five minutes. (I have a really bad sense of time.) Throughout the day, he didn't really cry at the changing table, and seemed to cry less at on my lap as I prepared to feed him.

I have been reading and listening to plenty of advice over the past three months. Reading includes several Montessori things (in books and online) and lots of parenting blogs. Advice has included my family (mother: he's too cold; sister: he's too hot; conclusion: he's just fine), parishioners of our home parish as well as other parishes (including one Greek lady who assured me that my next* will be a girl), and random people (what a sweet little girl!). And then there are all the people who give me advice, and, either just before or just afterwards, tell me I should go with my gut. Well, my gut is now educated, advised, driven by hormones, and has made compromises with my husband on how to deal with child-based challenges. So it's a very confused gut indeed, and I don't always know even what I want to do.

*We have postponed the actual discussion of having another child until all three of us have made it to September 2009.

We went to confession on Monday, and I raised the difficulty I had been having with receiving advice. I do know people mean well, but it's awfully hard to hear the same criticisms over and over without feeling rather resentful. For instance, having my baby in a sling: "He's always in there." "Isn't that bad for his spine?" "Isn't that bad for your back?" "He'll be growing out of that soon." And the first coffee hour, people kept putting cash right next to his face and hands. I'm a new mommy and I reserve the right to be germophobic. I put him in the sling because he likes it, I like it, and I remembered the Greek custom of "spitting"* to "keep away the evil eye"** and figured that if I kept him close to me, people would keep their distance a bit more than if he were in the stroller. (Ha! to the last part. Some do, but they don't cancel out the ones who don't.)

*One, in the service of baptism, you spit on the devil, not on the baby, and I really don't care for the association. Two, just because you mean to fake spit doesn't mean you are not actually spitting, and that's just gross. (I was "spat" on during pregnancy, and that's okay, but not on my baby with the immune system still being worked on, thankyouverymuch.)

**Once he's baptized, as pointed out by the abbess of the Annunciation Monastery, the evil eye can't hurt him. Also, I think the idea of the evil eye isn't worth bothering about.

So anyway, in confession Fr. Petros helped me focus on the fact that a priest's child is a child of the community, and everyone wants to have a share in loving him. (Selfish grumble: mine! mine!) So I will do my best to keep smiling and "thanking them for their contribution" as Fr. Petros put it. Also, I have the satisfaction of taking him home with me and doing mostly as I please with the boy.

For whatever reason, praise and questions are almost as annoying as criticism. Although I do like the praise much better, I am a little tired of being asked whether I am breastfeeding (yes) and told that I made the right choice (or: "Good for you!"). Perhaps it is the quantity, or the fact that breastfeeding seems more like a non-choice to me: I decided on it, my husband supports me, and by now it is working.

This post is already long, but I will try to keep posting as my brain and baby allow. I hope to answer the thought my husband had when he (a "veteran dad" of two months) brought our son to the Boot Camp for New Dads, "When did we turn into the hippie parents?"

Duped by the whole parish!

About two months ago, I received an invitation to "The Presvytera's Luncheon." I assumed that this was a typo, and it was supposed to be "The Presvyteres' Luncheon." I emailed the church secretary to ask what this was about, and she said that Presvytera Vasso was in charge, and that she herself did not have any other information to give me. What with everything else going on, I kept forgetting to ask Presvytera Vasso about it.

Presvytera Vasso had told me way back that there would probably be a shower for me, and that the whole parish would be so excited about this baby, that I should not buy anything, but should register: I could always buy things later. So one thought was that this luncheon would be some presvyteres get-together, but another thought was that maybe it was the baby shower. I told my husband about this, and he basically shrugged and went back to researching for the best stroller (or whatever) to add to the registry. Obviously not something he was terribly curious about—he hadn't gotten an invitation.

The Thursday before the Sunday luncheon, I called Presvytera Vasso and asked her what this was all about. She said it was to honor the presvyteres of the area. I knew that she had been made the representative for the Tampa Bay area. I planned to take notes and pictures and maybe submit something for the Metropolis presvyteres' newsletter, and made a note to make sure I brought my camera to church on Sunday.

Sunday morning, I dropped Fr. Peter off for his usual hour before Orthros starts, and went back home to wake up a little more and have some quiet time in my glider in front of our icons to say the pre-Communion prayers. (There are often cheerful, exuberant morning people in church before Orthros starts, and my more curmudgeonly attitude doesn't quite mesh with the humility I'm aiming for in preparing to receive Christ.)

During the announcements, Fr. James reminded people that the coffee hour would be in the gym today, as there was a special function for the presvyteres in the hall. I was glad I had brought the camera. I was a little tired, so I did my usual thing and sat back down in my pew after getting the antidoron (blessed bread). When things had settled down a bit (and my feet condescended to let me use them without complaining), I went to go read the post-Communion prayers aloud for Fr. Peter. (We have a somewhat open altar on the sides, so I can be just outside while he finishes the Gifts.)

Then he did three things which were odd. He asked me to wait for him (he was going to go to the luncheon, invitation or not—as priest, one is usually just expected). I was happy enough to sit down. When he came out from having put his vestments away, he indicated that he would be willing to go through the pews and pick up the bulletins which had been left behind. (I always get in trouble for doing this, with a shocked, "Presvytera! We have a janitor for that!" ... but I always figure it's my church, my earth ... I'm the kind of person who likes to pick things up and keep them tidy ... as long as it's not actually my job or my house, that is.) So that was weird, but I was a little tired, and didn't know what to expect in terms of tiringness of the luncheon, so I said we should just go over there. There is a little walkway from the church to the hall, connecting two side doors of each, and usually we go through the sides. (It's nice to hang out with the man who has keys to just about everything, especially when your feet are tired.) But then he said, "I'm too lazy to use my keys. Let's go around to the front." I shrugged mentally, thinking that it was odd that he referred to himself as "lazy," since he is anything but.

I am not quick on the uptake.

When the church secretary opened the door from the foyer to the hall and said, "Surprise!" and a whole crowd of people in a pastel-bedecked hall were grinning madly at me, my first thought was, "What does she mean, 'Surprise'? and where are all the presvyteres?"

As I found out, in my complete and utter stupor, the entire parish, including my husband, had been in on this baby shower for a two months. People were worried that Fr. James had given away the secret they'd been trying so hard to keep with his coffee hour announcement. In a parish of more than 700 families, they couldn't believe that I really was surprised. I still am, in fact.

I am completely humbled that they went out of their ways to arrange such a lovely time to celebrate the birth of this little one who is patently so dear to us all. Whereas before the shower we had clothing for the baby consisting of a onesie and a sample newborn diaper, we are now completely equipped to clothe and diaper Bunny for months and months.

Just for the gifts and cards received at the shower, I wrote 88 thank-you notes. Usually writing thank-you notes is an onerous task, but this time I was truly overwhelmed and humbled in gratitude, and finished them in just about a 24-hour period. (This did not include the three hours of listing the presents and going through the church directory (and whitepages.com) to get addresses.) The church secretary had been kind enough to provide stationery and to ask the guests to address their own envelopes for the thank-you notes (although the latter was rather embarrassing to me, and several people didn't quite understand that they weren't supposed to enclose a gift inside or leave room for other information (like a stamp) on the envelope—but I wasn't the hostess of the party).

While I was writing the thank-you notes, I found myself being grateful to the people who had written checks, not so much for the money, but for the fact that I could read the full name and address. A few other cards have come in the mail, and another was delivered by someone who couldn't attend the luncheon on Sunday.

Today's mail has brought another card, and, what I have been waiting for all week, the "cute" stamps my mother mailed on Monday so that I could use them with the thank-you notes. Guess I'll go find out how long it takes to write another thank-you note and stamp, seal, and mail 92 of them.

I thank God for such a community to welcome our baby.

Later: I had forgotten that we'd already handed out three thank-yous (via the church office). While I was writing the first dose of thank-you notes, my lovely husband was sorting through the gifts, like arranging the clothing into different sizes. He was the one in charge of sealing, and thoroughly trounced me as I tried to catch up with the stamps. Now we have three inches' worth of notes to mail (the post office closed an hour ago, dashing my hopes of getting them out before the long weekend). It was much more fun having him to help with things than to do it all myself; that always seems to be the case.

My first Greek Monastery

(Yes! It's more catching up, for your condimentary delight! ... Get it? Ketchup? Condiments? Har. Okay, enough corny parenthesis.)

Until July 29 of this year, I had only been to Romanian monasteries, including the beautiful women's monastery in Rives Junction, Michigan, and the ones we visited in Romania, of course.

So after quite a few attempts at putting it on the calendar and then having to postpone, we called ahead and were encouraged to drive up to the Annunciation of the Theotokos Greek Orthodox Monastery near Ocala, Florida.

The grounds were quite spacious, resting comfortably in the middle of horse country. (Seriously, there are nothing but horse ranches and farms as you get closer to the monastery.) Since there are only three monastics (women) living there, Orthodox parishioners who live nearby come to help out with the grounds. When we were there, a lady and her two sons and a little girl were also there. The boys were out attacking the tall grass on riding lawn mowers, and the lady and her friend's little girl helped prepare some of the iconographic materials (by doing things like shellacking).

We didn't see anyone besides the two boys who were mowing when we first arrived, so we made our way to the bookstore on our search to find people. Since we had been spotted walking (or waddling) across the courtyard, we were greeted by the abbess (as I later found out) in the bookstore. She seemed to glow and was full of life, helping us look at things in the bookstore, and pulling out icons of St. Anna from the back when I indicated I was interested, even talking avidly about the state of the Church today.

We had lunch with the lady and little girl (one of the boys coming in later) in the guests' dining room. The nuns ate separately, but one kept coming in to make sure we had all we wanted. Boy, did we! There was fish, the most bestest pasta I've ever had, salad, bread, and feta ... and then brownies. Poor Fr. Peter suffered through his favorite summer treat: watermelon. We helped clear and clean, then went back to the bookstore to purchase things before vespers. We bought an icon of St. Anna, some charcoal, a box of wicks with wickholders (the lamp on the altar at Holy Trinity wasn't staying lit), and the book From I-ville to You-ville. We also bought a little pin of the Panagia, like the little pins which Orthodox parents affix to the clothing of their little babies so that they can have something like a cross, but without the danger of having something around the neck. I pinned it over my belly and the abbess laughed. Evidently this was new to her, but I couldn't wait to have something from the Church just for Bunny.

We had a nice little vespers, all in Greek, with quite a bit of consternation: Fr. Peter hadn't done weekday vespers with certain rubrics since seminary (where they evidently did things differently), and the sisters were used to doing readers' services (omitting the petitions and other parts which a priest does), but it all was smoothed out. After that, we left a donation in the box outside and drove home (about a two-hour drive) while I read the book. I am looking forward to taking Bunny when he can see and be seen, but I wanted to have a connection with monastic life sooner rather than later.

Maybe Bunny likes me writing about this, as I'm getting pushed around in various different ways as I write this. Sheesh! What's he up to, anyhow?

Clergy Family Retreat 2008

(Another catch-up post.)

During the third week of June, we participated in the second annual Clergy Family Retreat of the Metropolis of Atlanta, held at the beautiful Diakonia Center in South Carolina.

We were so blessed to partake of the calming atmosphere and the indescribably wonderful company. I enjoyed meeting new clergy families and seeing friends once again. We were also blessed to have avoided several episodes which befell others: a broken leg, a bitten hand, and drastic sunburn.

I still can't believe I made it all the way on the three-mile hike to (and back from) the falls, as pregnant as I was and with all those fallen trees on the path (to climb under and over!). I loved going all together for ice cream (though I didn't care for the miniature golf). I liked going in the canoe, especially since I didn't fall out, and the little snake head was a comfortable distance away, and I missed seeing the turtle. I liked swimming in the lake, too, and I still don't know which of us was more startled: me, or the water spider who crawled over my arm and then took of, Jesus-walking on top of the water. (Hey, it's an Orthodox retreat center.)

I liked sitting and talking (and especially listening) as we waited, watching the lake and the children playing nearby, smelling the delicious smells from the kitchen. I liked the lazy afternoons with arts and crafts, listening to my husband and another priest talk about people and parishes, passing along ways to serve the Church and the people of Christ with love.

I loved seeing little Theodosios, the youngest visible participant (almost a year old) and looking forward to next year with our own little Bunny.

The fancy dinner wasn't quite my cup of tea, but I had a marvellous PK assistant who made a pizza just for me as well as making me hot chocolate (properly, with milk), just out of his own goodness. I had fun singing with my husband and Presvytera Mari some of the songs from our "Deacon's Singers" days. Hopefully, we'll be more organized next year and get Fr. Grigorios involved as a bass to have all four parts.

One of my favorite parts was having daily services in the tiny little chapel with its icons inside and open windows to the outside, all shining forth and visibly singing God's beauty in His creation.

I think it's funny that I keep looking forward to next year's Clergy Family Retreat almost more than giving birth to the baby at this point.

VBS 2008

(Trying to get caught up on some blogging about summer events...)

Holy Trinity had its Vacation Bible School in the second week of June, and I volunteered and was drafted to be in charge of the music and dance segments. I hadn't realized what earworms those songs could be. (We used one of those VBS kits, so it came with cds and a dvd for the dance moves.) I learned that some of the bigger kids like to do their own dance routines (and the GOYA helpers helped them with some choreography), that John Rosemond's philosophy actually works, and that pre-K has not caught onto the "Duck, Duck, Goose" idea just yet. I mean, they get the whole walking around and patting heads while saying, "Duck, duck ..." but when they're selected, most of them just sit there. Or when they are motivated into actually running, they just keep going, or if they are encouraged to sit down, they go right back to "their" spot instead of the spot of whoever picked them. Very amusing for the coordinator people. I didn't feel like I did very much (being in charge of the remote and mustering a cheerful aspect for reviewing the "dance moves"), but most everyone seemed to have a good time.

Prayer request and miscellany

Please pray for the repose of my cousin David, who passed away yesterday.

It seems strange to write about completely unrelated things after that. My sister called me about David while I was getting ready to go to volunteer at a food pantry with the GOYA. At the food pantry, I was separated from the youth and put to "work" giving out baby food. (In two hours, only three people came by, and one lady and her baby were there the whole time, so I talked to her and played with the baby for two hours. Not really what I'd call "work.")

On Wednesday night, the gym was in use for something else, so basketball was canceled. Fr. Peter was able to move his marriage preparation class to the afternoon, so we had the whole evening free. I made a list of activities for him to consider for the evening, from "yard work" to "eat out" to "go buy a surprise." He rated them in the order of interest, and we had a really neat evening, getting him the DVD of The Aristocats (one of his absolutely favorite movies; unfortunately, he's an excellent guesser/mind-reader, so it wasn't really a surprise), going out to eat at Olive Garden (gift cards are pretty nice!), and going for another swim at the Long Center.*

*We've brokered a deal: he helps out in the yard on Tuesday (his day off), and I go to the gym and pool with him twice a week. So far, it's been okay, although I am biased against the pool because I'm really bad at swimming and because it's hard to read in the pool (especially compared to the treadmill). Since I've had ear problems all my life (and now have a very slightly perforated eardrum) and hate ear plugs, I have been opting to keep my head out of the water. So, feeling like a (very round) idiot, my options are walking in the pool, dog-paddling, and using a kick-board (and a combination of the first two). I further feel idiotic by being happy that I can almost dog-paddle the whole way across the pool and I am no longer taking 5-minute breaks between each leg. Meanwhile, a few lanes over, my husband is working on his strokes, currently trying to improve his (lamentable, according to him) twice-as-slow-as-the-world-record time, and being recruited for the adults' competition team by the lifeguards. I hope Bunny** enjoys my efforts, anyhow.

**"Bunny" for "bun in the oven." It's nicer to have a pet name than just continually saying "the baby," and I'm not ready to do as some friends who went with alternating names from the characters of The Cosby Show each month.

My husband is pretty much done with the new version of the website for the Metropolis of Atlanta, so it should be transferred to that link soon. I've been having fun (and not, depending) helping him fix things and transfer things from the old site.

Next week, our church will have the ominous (is that just to me?) "Vacation Bible School." I had originally said I'd do arts and crafts, but I was somehow moved to music, so I'm half-heartedly trying to learn the songs and *cough* choreography of these generic Christian things so I can teach them. Right now I am taking a break with Veruca Salt and Björk. I kinda wish I could teach the kids Orthodox hymns, or even things from a modern Orthodox tradition, like the music from the Panagia With Us All cd we have. Prayers requested.

Oh, yeah ... minions

So I can't blog any more, because pregnancy hormones, old age, aliens stealing my brain, and metal fatigue have caused me to completely not remember any reason for blogging when I sit down to do it. And then I'm hungry. And then I have to go to the bathroom. And then I have to go lie down and rest.

So I asked my husband what I was going to blog about. (I don't know why, but he's good at that sort of thing quite often.) His response: "Minions!"

Which reminded me that I get "youth minions" to help me out when I'm doing the music and dance portion of Vacation Bible School. I am hoping to replace some of the cheesier songs with a few from Fr. Christodoulos' cd (they're niftier and they're specifically Orthodox, and much less "Jesus is my boyfriend" vibe-y).

In other news, I cleaned the whole bathroom in one go after feebly attempting this feat for over a month. Go me! (Unfortunately we have two bathrooms, and the other one is simply withering the buildup of dust!)

Holy Friday 2008

On Holy Friday, Dr. Tim and I helped with the teenagers' retreat. (Fr. Peter was at the retreat for the younger children.) I managed to get through my presentation of St. Kassiane pretty well, even including the difficult three-page hymn (that's a short version—long ones can run to 14 pages). My favorite presentation of all the "Personalities of Holy Week" was Dr. Tim's penultimate, personable portrayal of Jesus. (Sorry for the unintended alliteration.)

"Jesus" started by thanking all his friends and saying it was great that they said so many nice things about him. Then he asked people to stand up (meaning the youth, but all the adults participated, too), pair up, and ask one another's forgiveness, the response to which was "May God forgive us both." After this exercise, he started talking about himself, how he was there with God the Father at the beginning of the world, being present at Creation. He spoke fondly of being friends with Adam, and how they would talk together in the evenings—because he, God, had to work during the day. He talked about how he created Eve from Adam's rib—then switched immediately to his earthly ministry as Jesus Christ. He said he kept asking where his friend Adam was, and was horrified to hear that he had died. "Death? What is that?" He explained death as the spirit, the breath God had put into Adam, leaving the body. "The breath that I put there!? I did not create death. I created life!" Then he asked the people where Adam's body was, and heard them say it was under the ground. He paced agitatedly across the floor. "My friend Adam—dead. His body under the earth—I've got to go get him!" He called out the Pharisees and Scribes, excoriating them for using their authority and knowledge of the Law to separate God from His people instead of working to draw them together. Then he enacted his crucifixion, asking God the Father to forgive the people, and calling out to Adam that he was coming.

I'm afraid I don't do Dr. Tim's presentation justice—I was moved to tears, because this is so truly what the Orthodox Church teaches about the Resurrection, which one can see on the festal icon: Christ, like a super hero, his garments flowing and white, stands above the broken bonds of Hell—its gates, keys, and locks—His hands grasp the wrists of Adam and Even who are being pulled from their tombs as the crowds look on: haloed Old Testament Patriarchs on Christ's right and those not marked by haloes on His left.

Sermon Reaction

In the chapel, the second graders sit in the front pew near the chant stand, so I usually sit there during the sermon. When Fr. Peter gave his sermon this past Sunday, he commented on how we struggle through Great Lent. He asked, "You know how slowly Great Lent goes by?" and I was able to clearly hear the heart-felt, half-sighed "Yeah!" from the front row.

Happy New Year!; or: Bishops and Bishops and Bishops, oh my!

Well, they sure weren't kidding when they said that this was the busiest time of the year.

Almost all the Greek Orthodox parishes in the Tampa Bay area had feast days. Let's see...
St. Sophia - Winter Haven, September 16 for vespers;
St. Michael - Tarpon Springs (shrine/chapel), November 7 for vespers, November 8 for Liturgy;
Thanksgiving trips to visit mothers;
JOY Advent sleepover, November 30 and December 1;
Preparing (on Sundays, Mondays, and Thursdays) for Christmas program held on December 16;
St. Barbara - Sarasota (Fr. Peter went to these alone), December 3 for vespers, December 4 for Liturgy;
St. Nicholas - Tarpon Springs, December 5 for vespers, December 6 for Liturgy;
Started to go to doctors (back pain, dentist, regular kinds of things we'd been putting off - this is what I'd asked for for Christmas);
December 23, 24, 25 - 3 Liturgies in a row;
St. Stefanos - St. Petersburg, December 26 for vespers, December 27 for Liturgy;
Christmas parties (don't even remember how many) and New Year's Dinner Dance;
Archbishop Luncheon, January 5;
Theophany - early Liturgy at Holy Trinity, then up to Tarpon for hierarchness, January 6 (pictures here);
St. John the Baptist - Tampa, January 6 for vespers, January 7 for Liturgy.

Meanwhile, I've managed to get four boxes out of the house: a microwave and two boxes of clothing to the Salvation Army, and a box of ugly china to replacements.com which may or may not give me some money to cover the shipping but hopefully won't send anything back. I was pleased to get two outfits at the Salvation Army, one of which I made use of at the Archbishop Luncheon the next day.

Today in Tampa was long, but nice. In the luncheon after Liturgy, Archbishop Demetrios thanked the chanters and then went and singled me out as the singing presvytera. Afterwards he said he'd asked who I was and didn't believe people when they said "a presvytera"; he thought I must be the daughter of a presvytera, I looked so young. Maybe if I get some grease paint for wrinkles, I won't be mistaken for a GOYAN* as often. Yes, I know, if that's the worst I have to complain about ...

*GOYA stands for Greek Orthodox Youth Association, whose members are often referred to as "GOYANs." Thanks to Lissa for letting me know I was using terms she wasn't familiar with. (It all makes more sense in my head, I promise!)

Oh. And those newsletters that go out with the Christmas cards? We finished the newsletters but haven't actually sent them out yet. I am surprised at the amount of things I managed to accomplish, like typing up and submitting the presvyteres meeting notes to our Metropolis president (who's such a darling!), getting those boxes out of the house, clearing up the guest room for Niko (he's really funny: part 1 and part 2) for his visit next weekend to help with the GOYA retreat, and learn more about the squiggles Byzantine notation. I didn't spend as much time on the wiki as I would have liked, but I did manage to put up some brief articles and a picture of some of the bishops I came across over the past weekend.

As His Eminence Demetrios said at the end of his speech this morning (to the best of my and my husband's combined memory), "I didn't mean to say all these things, but with such good listeners, you're almost dangerous."

JOY at Vespers and Orthros

Somewhat recently, Fr. Peter and I were fortunate to participate in a Friday night JOY lock-in. Except I made us go home and sleep in a real bed, as this was soon after the GOYA retreat and trips to Romania and Texas.* We did come back early enough on Saturday morning to make (on his part) and eat (on our parts) chocolate-chip pancakes, which were a pretty big hit. I know that I'm used to my personal priest-cum-chef making me pancakes upon request, but I don't think the small fry had glimpsed such wonders, so I volunteered him. (And then volunteered him to make me my own batch the next day. He's really good with the Bisquick, yo.)

As part of the retreat, we had Vespers on Friday night, a rather informal affair as far as I was concerned. (Not counting us, two adults versus twenty-some kids equals "informal.") Our parish doesn't have Vespers as a matter of course, so while they were leaping along the hallways to the chapel, they were telling me how strange it was for them to be going to church "at night" and "in the dark." In the chapel, when it was time for the reading of the psalm, I invited to the chant stand "anyone who wanted to help read." I saw lots of hands up (they're pretty well trained with that), so I—rashly, as it turned out—said that whoever was interested should come up. I quickly noticed that I was up against the wall in a waist-high sea of children. I looked up and saw that only the two adults were still in the pews. I started one little girl reading, then stopped her after she'd read a good bit, and put another child up. I had faces turned to me like sunflowers, hungry, begging to participate, and it was difficult not to cry with the beauty of it. When we only had a little bit of the psalm to go, I had everyone read with me all together.

Except for the longer pieces, like the psalms, we had typed out the Vespers and Orthros services so that the children could follow along. They had to be coached through some of the parts, with big prompts of, "All together now," and I have the feeling that this was an introduction to things like the Trisagion prayers, although we did get a big boost at the familiar Our Father.

For the Saturday Orthros, we decided that of the six psalms read at the beginning, we'd do three instead of the one we had originally planned for. Most of the children had gone home the night before, but I still was scrambling: "You can read the epistle." "You can read the synaxarion." "You can read this psalm which comes later." Everyone wanted to read.

I don't know how to communicate this hunger. I do know that once they get to junior or senior high, they might not be as interested in participating. They don't know that there are so many interesting questions and answers, such beauty, such peace, such strength to draw on when the mean kids pick on you, or you drop your science project in mud, or you're just not understood by the rest of the world in your prickly adolescence. Fr. James was a bit skeptical about children this age (8 to 12, I think) being involved in Vespers and Orthros, saying that it would be too long for them. Well, if I'm not involved in a service, it gets boring quickly for me, too, especially in a language I don't understand.

Do their parents know how hungry their children are? I remember the shock on the children's faces: "We can read?" Yes, loves, you are forever and always welcome to the chant stand so long as I am there. I will always make room, I will always hold the book so you can see, I will always help you pronounce the tricky words. I want to relearn from you that hunger, I want to learn from you to keep going through a psalm with stumbling-blocks like "iniquity" and "leviathan," I want to learn from you that sense of fellow-ship and of going forward together with my brothers and sisters in Christ.

*Please keep mothers in your prayers: my nouna's mother recently passed away; my mother recently had surgery to remove a melanoma and a sentinel lymph node (she's up-and-at-'em again, but will have two cataract surgeries within the next two months); Fr. Peter's mother is struggling against metastasized cancer.