On Marriage

Yesterday on F*cebook, many of my friends posted some variation of an equals sign on a red background as their profile picture, in support of gay marriage.

As I understand it, the Supreme Court is supposed to be considering the Defense of Marriage Act. This reminds me of the legislature in Indiana entertaining a bill which would define π as 3.2. Or the quotation attributed to Abraham Lincoln: "How many legs does a dog have if you call the tail a leg? Four. Calling a tail a leg doesn't make it a leg."

I do think unmarried persons should be allowed to designate someone as a certain next-of-kin who would be allowed to care for them in place of a spouse in terms of hospitals (scary places, especially alone) and inheritance. But that has little to do with marriage or sexuality and much to do with laws and how people should be considered persons.

I hadn't considered posting anything until my husband read to me this beautiful (in my humble opinion) message from a young man whom we had hosted in our home in Florida.

Dear Friends,
I don't usually mention my sexual orientation, because I have no wish to be defined by it; I am a person, not a label.
Today, though, I want to say openly and truthfully that I am gay, and that I hope and pray that the Supreme Court does the right thing and upholds Prop 8 and DOMA.
I unequivocally affirm marriage, the free, total, faithful, and fruitful union of man and woman, the building block of human society, and I deplore and renounce the attempt to redefine it to suit the self-esteem of people like me.
To all of you posting "equals" signs: I respect your decision to do so. Maybe you have a genuine concern for what you believe is a violation of human rights; maybe you want to make a gesture to show that you love the people in your life who have same-sex attraction; or maybe you did it to spite people you don't like. You may have posted that symbol lightly or after much consideration. I don't know.
I tell you with great regard, you do not speak for me. I admire your intentions; I regret your action.
I'm well aware of the silliness of reducing arguments to bumper stickers. However, I respond today with a plus sign, symbolizing the union of man + woman, and the new life that comes from that union.
This symbol also has another significance, one especially meaningful this week: of suffering borne patiently that yields to immense joy and peace. This is the source of my hope.

When I had accepted my first date, but before the day of it, my father surprised me with a question: "What is the purpose of dating?" I had no answer, because I had never considered it. It was just something that everyone else did, and it seemed to be just to hang out and have fun, not something with a Purpose. So he explained his thinking to me, that the purpose of dating was to find someone you wanted to marry.

When I was dating my husband, therefore, we mentioned marriage early. How would that work, since I was Catholic and he was Orthodox? If we had children in the future, what would happen to them? We decided that we would have to be the same, whichever way that happened to be. After being confronted with Truth and Beauty in the Orthodox Church, it was a no-brainer which, nonetheless, took me some time to accept.

So then I wrestled with the question: would I still remain Orthodox if we broke up? I could not, in conscience, as someone called it, make a "cute boy conversion." Since my then-boyfriend kept mentioning how he had considered being a monk (and not entirely in past tense) and how one of his favorite saints, John of Kronstadt, was married but lived celibately, I had definite reasons to pursue this more logically than I was used to making life decisions.

Once I was relatively convinced that I should be an Orthodox Christian regardless of whether or not we stayed together, I asked to be received into the Orthodox Church. Then the question changed: how should I best be an Orthodox Christian? Unsurprisingly, the best answer seemed to me to follow the one who introduced me to the Church in the first place, someone who prayed daily on his own, prayed daily an akathist as his mother had asked, who rearranged his schedule to participate in the services of the Church, and who diligently researched any theological questions I asked him, as well as living what he believed, fasting in the dining hall and treating everyone with respect and consideration.

I considered it "hitching my wagon to a star," but I got married for my salvation.

I still had a somewhat worldly view about marriage, created in part by fairy tales (not all of them Disney, but, looking back, that was quite an influence). I have to laugh, because soon after we were married, he told me about marital fasting. (To be fair, he may have mentioned it beforehand, but in my memory it came after. In any case, I hadn't thought of it applying to me any more than the practice of praying half an hour a day, regularly, on one's own.)

Later, I came across the word "matrimony" with its etymology, and realized that it means "mother-making." This also brought to mind "women will be saved through childbearing" (2 Timothy 15). With several other things about the Orthodox Church which (still) confuse me, those ideas were mulled around and popped up now and again over several years.

Then I became a mother, and everything changed. During labor, there was no giving up. (I know; I asked.) It —labor, and then life—was not about me any more.

Although I still fight it, I am supposed to be an adult. I am supposed to be mature. My mother used to have me copy out a definition of maturity (which I can't remember now, but am sure she has the original on her fridge) which talked about how it was other-focused. In addition to being "supposed" to be mature, I am "purposed" to be mature, that is, that is my purpose. I am made to be other-focused. Even if I'm still not really good at it at all.

But what about this so-called "gay marriage"? The arguments here seem focused on rights and wants, not responsibilities or duties, and on passions rather than salvation. Maybe it's my experience as a Latin major and recently reading the writings of some of the Church Fathers, but American culture seems stranger and stranger to me.

I used to hang out with a group in college called "The Family," most of whom were struggling with gender identity or sexual orientation; even if they had figured it out for themselves, it was still a struggle. I certainly do not condemn them for their sexuality, but I cannot agree with them that falling prey to the passions is something which should be welcomed rather than struggled against.

Others have better-expressed thoughts on this matter, some of which have formed mine, specifically Fr. Johannes Jacobse and Dr. Philip Mamalakis, two men whom I respect and whose theology I trust.

[Updated to add: Fr. Panayiotis Papageorgiou]

What is the purpose of marriage? Salvation. And no one is saved alone.

Pray for me, a sinner.

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..."

Re-solving

I'm sure you've heard of the little story about "getting up again," and this is what makes me excited about preparing for the new year.

Changing the calendar.
Filling out the stewardship form for our parish.
Deciding our twelve favorite charities for our monthly tithing, and when each should receive the donation.
Coming up with family goals, and trying to figure out concrete ways of effecting (and remembering) them.

I have tried several times to read the Bible all the way through, so I'm especially happy that my husband has agreed to a goal of each of us reading through it in 2012.

It's wonderful to think of the spiritual benefits of all of these things, but secretly, maybe it's just that I'm devoted to spreadsheets.

Another challenge I've set for myself is not buying any books this coming year.  I went to visit my mother for a week, and a main goal of that trip was to sort through childhood books and toys.  I was so thrilled about the books that I rashly gushed to my husband, "I won't need to buy books for a whole year!"  And the rascal took me up on it.  (I didn't say that he couldn't buy any books for me, and I did make sure that I could buy until the end of December.  What?  Light-and-Life had a sale for 20% off children's books, and All Saints' Monastery (Calverton, NY) came out with a darling little book.)

Things which are not official resolutions, but I am attempting anyhow:

I am walking more (to and from the produce stand, once from the oil-change-place to the library and back, and once from church) these past two weeks, and I seem to have escaped the most recent weight plateau (the same weight for about three months).

I am trying to keep my temper.  Please pray for me, as it is a constant struggle.

I want to put my house in order, physically, bodily, and spiritually, and actually post about it to my project blog rather than just putting it off and saying, "Oh, I should get to that..."  The benefits of accomplishments are so marvelous!  Why is it, then, that it is so difficult to get started?

Bedtime stories

I'm still struggling along, trying to deal with philosophical questions like death, why bad things happen to good people, how to love others (especially when they drive me/my husband crazy), and bringing up children (in the way they should go, especially considering that I'm not all that great at staying headed in the right direction).

Reading to Teddy at bedtime seems to have helped more than anything else in terms of my having patience with him.  We are in the middle of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, and he is pretty good about asking for it.  We read one, one-and-a-half, or two chapters each night, and only skip if either of us is not feeling up to it or it's much too late for reading.  I think he is getting more comfortable using his words to tell me when he's had enough, and (I hope) I am getting better at talking to him and drawing out answers without jumping all over him and expecting too much (which just frustrates both of us).

I've found that I'm calmer through the day, with Teddy, Lucia, and VP.  Our home seems more peaceful (although this has not seemed to affect the dreadfully neglected laundry or dishes).

It seems like it's been so long since I've actually been able to enjoy being with my little boy.  He really is wonderful.  I'm more than a little bit afraid that this is just a fluke, that something will come up to upset the balance and I'll turn into horrible screaming mommy again.  Please keep praying for me.

Thoughts on Medicine and Health

Yesterday I went to the ER for chest pain. After the initial rush (shortness of breath, chest pain, and being six months pregnant moves you to the front of the line, evidently), I was stuck in a room without even a call button. I had an X-ray, an EKG, and a CT scan to see whether there were any problems with my heart or lungs or whether I had any blood clots. I seem to have disappointed the doctor with my normal readings, and he sent me home with a stern injunction to see a real doctor—not just a midwife. His diagnosis? Chest pain.

Last night was excruciatingly painful, as I could not find a comfortable position for sleep. I caught a little in Teddy's rocking chair, a few minutes on the couch, another while leaning/lying on the bed until my knees gave out, then sitting up with my legs crossed until my legs fell asleep. I finally got a lovely hour and a half lying on my belly (so you know it wasn't the usual kind of comfortable already) with pillows all under my front, terrified to move and exacerbate the pain ... which makes it a little difficult to relax enough to sleep.

This afternoon I was able to sleep for a glorious two hours. (Interrupted twenty minutes in by Teddy, who then napped next to me.) I was on my back, with the chest pain not gone, but not as terrifyingly *present* as it has been these past two nights. (The first night I made it through by being propped up on the sofa.)

Tomorrow afternoon I'll find out what a chiropractor can do for me. (I've never been to a chiropractor, and had some muddled mental image of an acupuncturist.) What with all the contortions last night, I'm sore all over. The midwives had originally suggested I see a chiropractor for an alignment before labor because I had such a tough time with Teddy, possibly due to the rods in my back. Then I was referred to her because the baby likes to be head-up rather than the preferred head-down position*; a chiropractor would be able to make sure the ligaments and what-not are nimble enough so that the baby can be turned before and during labor. Then all this chest pain crud, which my midwife thinks is either gas (gasx doesn't seem to help), or something stretched due to the bout with food poisoning last week.**

*A breech birth, with the baby remaining head-up would necessitate not only a hospital birth but surgery, due to Florida state law. An alternative is living out-of-state, but with a due date of "the week before Holy Week," that's not appealing either.

**2011 is a bit more exciting than we'd expected. I won't be eating hot dogs any time soon. Also, my first first-hand experience with food poisoning ... at six months pregnant ... and my husband feeling miserable, too (he got better quickly) ... and Teddy, poor love, only throwing up while he was asleep ... I thought things would get slower after the Theophany craziness, which this year included the funerary viewing of a priest the day before (and an extra four hours' drive).

In any case, I meant to write about medicine and health. When we went to see the midwife after the ER doctor had released me, I felt safe. These were people who knew and cared about me. One of the aides asked whether they'd felt my gallbladder, and my midwife quickly jumped in: "They don't like to touch people." I realized that that was quite true. I'd had all these people coming in, giving me a sheet of paper or asking for my credit card, asking me my name and date of birth, not introducing themselves for the most part, whisking me hither and yon—I literally had to ask directions for the exit because nobody told me how to leave—and not telling me how to contact a nurse if I needed one. (The one lab technician who left me with a call button didn't bother to see that it wasn't actually plugged in; fortunately he was kind enough to give my nurse the message that I'd like to see her.)

I don't like hospitals because you cease to be a person. You put your own health and, necessarily, your trust in people who view you as an object of tests and procedures, who are only interested in making sure *you* fit *their* perspective.*** I sent Teddy and Fr. Peter home for lunch, which was scary for me, as I like to have another adult present at all times when I'm in the hospital. (I'm sick and scared, especially without a diagnosis, and I want someone whom I *do* trust to look out for my best interests.) I'm six months pregnant and had only had toast for breakfast (there was Orthros and Divine Liturgy and not much time for more), and was admitted around lunchtime. I was fed because I'd asked for a drink of water; I couldn't get that myself because I was all tied up to the bed with wires and had no idea how to put the bedrails down.

***I wonder whether people have this view of the Church, and how we can work to change that.

I'm still angry at the doctor who released my father from the hospital when his numbers looked fine. (The nurses were horrified to learn he'd been discharged; they knew my father wasn't well enough to leave just by looking at him ... he was readmitted two days later via the emergency room and died in the hospital.) I'm afraid of hospital errors like what happened after my back surgery: I took morphine orally, the nurse wrote it on the chart, I threw up everything, and the shift changed. I didn't have morphine for two hours despite my mother and father's begging, because "it's in the chart" ... fortunately, I only have a nightmare remembrance of that, but that's a "10" on the pain scale for me. There was the hospital nurse who came to take the stitches out of my hand. For stitches, there's a knot, the thread goes through the flesh, and comes out in a knot on the other side. She was supposed to cut one knot, then pull the thread out. She cut *both* knots off, and then had no way to get the thread out. I had my dad resterilize the tweezers and keep her off of me and I took out my own stitches. (And this was when I was still recuperating from back surgery.)

So that's some of the history of why I never want to be in labor or give birth in a hospital. I will drink crazy drinks, I will take weird vitamins and minerals, I will try papaya enzyme (tastes pretty good, actually). I will turn to my midwives and listen to their referrals to chiropractors. We can talk about God and about my husband's being a priest without being awkward. They are not afraid to share their faith with me. That's how I know they see me as a person.

**Disclaimer: There *are* wonderful people who work in hospitals, and I am grateful for their care and their help. I just can't automatically rely on everyone in a hospital setting to see *me* the way I can at the birthing center.

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.

Falling and Getting Up

It's almost 2 p.m. I haven't even gotten dressed or brushed my hair yet. I ought to eat lunch. I'm continuing to write my to-do list while Teddy is napping. (A scheduled naptime when Mommy is tiredest in the day is a beautiful thing.)

The house is a mess. I feel wretched and achy, and am wondering whether this is a new cold or just a resurgence of the one I brought back from MN.

Aqua Zumba did not go well last night, since Teddy could see me but couldn't get to me which resulted in both of us being miserable until I went over to the little pool, Fr. Peter didn't get his full swim in (Presanctified Liturgy was in the morning, so he didn't get his morning swim), and ... okay, it was just a lot harder than regular Zumba without the water resistance. So I'm probably not going to go to another Aqua Zumba for a while. I'm undecided on tonight's Zumba class.

I've been enjoying rereading favorite books (Harper Hall trilogy by Anne McCaffrey, and will start some Robin McKinley today) while I've been feeling low, and might have to be more conscious about how what I read affects my mood.

Yesterday was one sister's birthday, and I'm still working on getting her what she asked for for Christmas (a family portrait).

I will rest, but I will not give up. My house will be messy, my baby will be cranky, and I will be exhausted ... and that's okay. I will continue to write out my to-do list, and I will continue to keep going. By the grace of God, I will get up when I fall. Sometimes it takes me a little longer than others.

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.

Update; or, I don't want to go on the cart!

Not dead yet.

I've been struggling with negative thoughts recently, adding to apathy and laziness.

Please pray that I get it together.

Sixtieth lunacy

Five years ago, we got married. The invitations said, "Vespers and reception to follow."

I'll never forget our wedding night: I had an ear infection, and my new husband sang and sang to me for hours. And we watched Brit Sits, as it was a Saturday.

It seems strange to have lost two parents and gained a son in that time. I've never known how to answer the question, "Where do you see yourself in five years?" I don't look back very well, either. But this does make me curious to see what will happen in the next five. Will I be able to weather storms more gracefully? Will I be able to give strength to my family?

Promises, Promises

Okay, folks, I got myself in trouble this time. I commented on Mimi's blog and (somewhat inadvertently) committed myself to participating. I have an entire year to forget and procrastinate! Yet, I live in hope.

I agreed to participate in the following “crazy train” so now I must post the following:—"Crazy Chain of Making" (from ramsey to Jocelyn to Laura to Mimi to me)

The first five people to respond to this post will get something made by me. It will be about or tailored to those five people.

This offer does have some restrictions and limitations:
- I make no guarantees that you will like what I make!
- What I create will be just for you.
- It'll be completed this year.
- You have no clue what it's going to be or when its going to be. It may be fiction. It may be poetry. I may draw or paint something. I may bake you something and mail it to you. Who knows? Not you, that's for sure!
- I reserve the right to do something extremely strange.

The catch? Oh, the catch is that you have to put this in your journal as well, if you expect me to do something for you!

*Please put your postal address & email address in your comment or email it to me!—In other news, I am sick. I have committed to taking Teddy to a Tampa Bay area clergy vasilopita cutting—very confusing; what's wrong with January 1?—tomorrow night. Fr. Peter will be starting his lifeguarding training, so he won't be going.

I also want to say that I have a total crush on this blog (this post in particular, and the blog in general). The pictures and writings are reflections of true beauty which I believe is only found in a life lived in pursuit of Truth (Himself). I understand that when one has time to blog, things often look nicer than the everyday messes of life, but I'm the kind of person who goes to museums and says, "I need this for my house." (Rather a problem when the original items included a large assembly of household and grounds staff ...) But I do need this for my life: a commitment to strive for the good things, to make my family into saints, to make our house into a home (somehow this involves vacuuming more often, I think), and to participate more fully in creation (gardening and volunteering). I am so frustrated that I am, and will always be, miles away from all of my goals, and that it's so difficult to just keep up with just the very basics (forget dishes and cleaning the bathroom, I'm talking remembering to get dressed and eat meals, nevermind trying to get back to meal planning).

I want to be the kind of person who has a calm center based on prayer and service to Christ. I want to be well-educated, aware of the issues in the world and local community—not just someone with an expensive piece of paper. I want to be able to invite people over to our house for dinner more often than twice a year. I want to not have to remember where I've stuffed the papers I hid (to be filed) when cleaning up for houseguests. I'll be 29 in March, and I don't feel even slightly grown up, except that I can make myself eat vegetables sometimes. It's hard to fight off the feeling that since I want something that's really hard to get, that it's not even worth trying—I think that has always been my hardest obstacle.

I finished reading a Montessori book today, and while I don't agree with several of the authors' ideas ("doctrine and dogma" seem just as bad to them as "Naziism and socialism"—what?!), I do like the idea of giving the child tools which will be useful to him as a man. I have to work to acquire the tools of self-discipline, cleanliness, and order before I can help my son.

I think I will start by taking my vitamin for the day and drinking another large glass of orange juice.

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.

Not blogging

I used to blog a whole lot (before this blog, even). However, once I became the wife of a clergyman, I felt rather ... exposed. Even if nobody else expected "more" of me, I expected more of me as a presvytera. So I ended up thinking more and blogging less. On the one hand, I miss blogging about every silly thing, but on the other hand, I realized today that I was following the "speak less" idea of the Fathers. Or, in terms of Fr. Thomas Hopko's "Forty Maxims," I'd tried the following:

5. Practice silence, inner and outer.
At least a sort of blogging silence.
17. Never bring unnecessary attention to yourself.
I feel so conspicuous when I blog as a presvytera, which I do whenever I blog. And that's not necessarily a bad thing, since it calls to mind my responsibility to provide a Christian example at all times (still working on that). However, I worry that people will take me too seriously as a presvytera, and not realize that I'm just a normal messed-up person, struggling just the same as they are. (And giving up, and feeling awful about it, and hating to go to confession, too.)
24. Don't complain, grumble, murmur or whine.
I'm still working on this in real life (my poor husband), but I can't complain about anything that happens at church, or anyone I know from there. (Not that there's much in the first place, but that feeling of restraint is definitely there.) Again, I have to think about what kind of example I set, not only for people who read my blog, but what precedent do I set for myself?
25. Don't seek or expect pity or praise.
29. Don't defend or justify yourself.
Oh, the main reason I blog. Attention! So other people will think I'm clever. (I'm usually only funny when I don't mean to be, or if you haven't heard me tell the same dumb joke over a million times.) So people will like me. Any other reasons for wanting attention, even though I'm not worthy of it. Maybe so that I will like me better, even though the only way for people to like me (including myself liking me) is to become a better person.

So I've been trying to change the way I blog. Without getting too high-theology religious (no offense to the seminarian bloggers out there...), and without losing the funny parts of my life, I want to blog about things which happen in such a way that I learn from them, that I become better because of them.

Especially now that I'm getting another kind of hat to wear, with its awesome responsibilities. I am terrified that I will not live up to the expectations I have of motherhood. (It doesn't really help that my mother has four college degrees, and had two jobs when I was growing up, and is more like the Energizer Bunny than a human being (at least, like lazy ol' me) when it comes to getting housework done—or work of any kind, really.)

Pray for me, a sinner.

Saturday, October 6

Catching up at last on the Smart Habits Saturday.

*Wake up 7:30 - Averaged 8:29 (7:14 to 9:43)
The usual, continuing to weigh in the morning.
*Shower under 5 min - Averaged 4 and a half minutes again.
*Computer off 8:30 - Averaged 9:14 (with two days of not turning it on at all, averaged in at zero)
*Bed 9:30 - Averaged 10:30 (9:37 to 11:12)
*Lights out 10 - Averaged 10:52 (10:13 to 11:21)
121/145=83%; times: two hours, 51 minutes late (excluding the computer)

No movement on the weight-loss front, but the ancient exercise bike may arrive as early as this week, which should speed things along a little better.

I am really enjoying starting my day with the 2007 Daily Lives, Miracles, and Wisdom of the Saints and Fasting Calendar. I have that and my Bible (the beaten-up one from high school) in the bathroom, so as I'm dredging myself out of sleep, I can read about the saints of the day, a quotation from a Church father, and read the Scripture for the day. After that, throughout the day I read a little at a time in the Old Testament, in my goal of reading the Bible through for the first time. I have about a dozen bookmarks in this Bible from previous attempts and haven't caught up to the first bookmark yet.

I realized as I was reading through the description of the Ark of the Covenant in Exodus that it reminds me of the kouvouklion—rats. No orthodoxwiki article yet. Ah, well, I did my best in my Lego rendition, so that'll have to suffice for the nonce. Exodus 25:26-27: "You shall also make four rings of gold for it and fasten them at the four corners, one at each leg, on two opposite sides of the frame as holders for the poles to carry the table."

I think also that the daily reading and prayer is helping me notice other things. For instance, in the prayers of preparation for Holy Communion, it says, "As Thou didst deign to lie in a cavern, in a manger of dumb beasts, so now deign to enter in to the manger of my beastly soul, and into my soiled body." I try to say the prayers each Sunday, and to partake each Sunday, and it's really a struggle to pay attention to the prayers, but I was focused on this segment especially this past Sunday, and realized that this prayer (by St. John Chrysostom) wasn't focusing on the stable or the cave, but on the manger: the place where the animals ate. And this image was in the prayers to prepare me to consume Him, Who from the very first (okay, not the very first, although He was there, but the very first incarnately) was representing Himself as food. And there were shepherds there, suggesting sheep. Peter, feed My sheep. It really doesn't seem at first that this little part of the prayer talks about Christ as food, but it somehow struck me that that's what it refers to. (Not that that might be all it refers to, but still.)

Oh! I had forgotten my other interesting thing. I'm used to hearing Jesus described as "the Paschal Lamb" that I hadn't really thought about it. Okay, so He's the "sacrificial lamb" at "Pascha" which comes from "Passover," but I hadn't thought about the actual sacrificial lamb at the Passover, nor the tradition of roasting a whole lamb at Pascha. From Exodus 12:1 "Tell the whole community of Israel: On the tenth of this month every one of your families must procure for itself a lamb, one apiece for each household. ... The lamb must be a year-old male and without blemish. ... You shall keep it until the fourteenth day of this month, and then, with the whole assembly of Israel present, it shall be slaughtered during the evening twilight. They shall take some of its blood and apply it to the two doorposts and the lintel of every house in which they partake of the lamb. That same night they shall eat its roasted flesh with unleavened bread and bitter herbs. It shall not be eaten raw or boiled, but roasted whole..." When Fr. J.J. came to St. Bernadette's Catholic Church, he gave a memorable sermon, illustrating how Christ was the gate for the sheep by actually lying down to show that's how the shepherds guarded the sheep: they were sleeping on the ground as part of the fence so that the sheep would be safe. In reading the passage from Exodus, I kept thinking about how Christ was the gate: "take some of its blood and apply it to the two doorposts and the lintel of every house."

As I'm writing this, I am recalled to the pre-communion prayers again, to earlier in the same prayer: "I know that I am not worthy nor sufficiently pleasing that Thou shouldst come under the roof of the house of my soul for it is entirely desolate and fallen in ruin..." Again, we are the house and He marks us as the Lamb with His Blood so that we may be spared. I think I will stop now, as I am getting goosebumps.

Expecting news, but not what we were expecting

No, we still don't have a parish assignment.

Friday was my last day at work, and T gave me four tickets to the Red Sox. We went with Thomas and Jenny and had a great time. I am also happy about my now-empty change purse, the contents of which went to a rather surprised man who was begging. Dn. Virgil asked me whether I had given him just the change, or the purse as well. I was rather surprised that I had not told him about this particular purse. My mother had let me take it to school one day, and I bought my lunch and had the purse on the tray ... as I emptied it out into the trash. Miss Perkins went through the Dumpster to get the little purse back. So, no, I didn't give the purse away.

Last week, we found out some news which was confirmed at a doctor's visit yesterday afternoon. We started a new blog to share the news, but you'll have to be clever and find it yourself.

This morning, my husband received the news that he will be Holy Cross' valedictorian this year.

So, with my new-blog news and my husband's valedictory news, when someone comes up to us and says, "Congratulations!" I wonder what in particular we're being congratulated on.

Also recently enjoyed: not working, a two-hour nap after Liturgy this morning, and eating ice cream with my husband.

Parish Assignment

No, we don't have one yet. We've cycled from the-bishops-don't-know-yet to maybe-city-A to maybe-city-B to the current state of the-bishops-definitely-don't-know.

Dna. Vassi has been very good at helping me remember: "God will provide." She gave me her hairband to snap on my wrist when I give into the worries and actually try to answer the solicitous "Where are you going?" I receive from my co-workers and family—from at least one person every day. I was explaining this to a fellow worrier: "I snap it against my wrist, hurting myself when I don't trust in God." (Oh. This little diakonissa finally got it.)

On the other hand, it's much easier to offer another answer, especially to those who ask me daily whether I've heard anything yet.

I've decided to say we're moving to Laputa.