I had an opportunity to be a missionary for Santa recently. well, the real Santa, St. Nicholas, that is. it happened that on december 8, a christmas party was scheduled for the children's school, where we had to share a family christmas tradition. since we just celebrated st. nicholas day on december 6th, it seemed perfect for the children to share about our unique (to the west) tradition. it really is amazing how few know about good ole st. nic. so i thought i'd do some enlightening here, too! of course it goes without saying that this is a little late coming. nothing in my life happens on time at the moment, please forgive!
A brief history:
Nicholas was born in Turkey in the 3rd century to wealthy parents who died in an epidemic when he was still young. Nicholas used his whole inheritance to help the poor, taking Jesus words seriously to "go sell all you have." He became a bishop of the Church (pre-denominational), and was one of the bishops disputing the Arian heresy at the first Council of Nicea in 325 (where Nicean Creed was developed). He was imprisoned and persecuted for his faith, and died on December 6.
How we celebrate:
To practice the spirit of St. Nicholas' giving in secret, on the evening of December 5th, the children helped me assemble stockings filled with oranges, candy canes, and gold coins, with a handmade card attached wishing Happy St. Nicholas Day in cheesy verse coined by mom. When daddy came home, we all bundled up and went to our neighbor's doors, attached the gift to the door handles, then "rang 'n run" away. (The only time we ever allow them to do that!!)
When we got home, we told stories over dinner about St. Nicholas.
We told the story of the three daughters, whose father was poor, so poor, he could not afford a dowry. And without a dowry, the daughters could not marry, and were therefore destined to be sold into slavery. Bishop Nicholas heard of their struggles, and late one night tossed some bags of gold from his inheritance through the window, landing in their stockings (or shoes) that were hung by the fire to dry. When they awoke in the morning, they discovered the gifts of gold, tucked in their stockings, and given in secret.
(now you know where the tradition of the stocking, the candy cane (bishops staff), and the oranges/gold coins comes from!).
So, before bed, we put our shoes at the door, and filled them with carrots for St. Nicholas' white horse. When we woke up in the morning we found small treats inside. This year, ben got a much longed for pumice stone, and the kids got a small toy and gold coins (thank you Dollar Tree!). Our plan was to go to Liturgy at church, but we didn't make it out the door on time, though a valiant attempt was made! But this would have made our day complete.
New this year, was our attempt to make St. Nicholas Day our primary gift-giving day. We began our gradual transition last year; perhaps by next it will truly be so. By moving our primary gift-giving to this day, we keep Christ as the focus of Christmas, and break up the "long wait" of advent (what we refer to as "the nativity fast") with some excitement. This year, our "big" gift, the backyard playhouse Ben built, was presented to them. The day was rounded off with some dear friends of ours coming over for a celebratory dinner. We played a game with the kids called "pass the money bag". It is played under the same premise as "Pass the Parcel" except when the music stops, instead of getting to pull a gold coin out of the stocking for yourself, you have to give it away to someone else who doesn't have one. In this way, we practiced the spririt of St. Nicholas giving!
Every year, St. Nicholas and his Nameday traditions become more and more dear to my heart. It saddens me that a man who was an example of compassion and generosity - giving in secret, alert to the real needs of others and expecting nothing in return - a man who lived a model Christian life, has been taken out of churches and into consumer "temples"; has been reduced from substance to superficiality, to a mere marketing tool. I am engaged in reclaiming the whole story of this incredible Christian Bishop of the Church. Santa's not bad, but St. Nicholas is so much better!
* aside: Typically during the Nativity season we stay far away from malls, or any of the "holiday hubbub", but if we do stumble across a mall-deity (ie: Santa), i very simply say "that's st. nicholas". i don't bother explaining why or how his Bishop robes got traded out by the Americans for elvish gear, or what he is doing posing in store fronts of the wealthy instead of ministering to the poor in secret. we love the real St. Nicholas, and are not at all intimidated by the watered down sub-par version. infact, we have just as much fun without him!
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Sunday, October 2, 2011
the night shift
I've said it a million times in the past 12 weeks; it's a busy time for us.
Life is a kite in the breeze of autumn, whooshing wildly by, taking unexpected dips and turns,and I'm tethered to it, dragged along by it, hair flailing, barely holding on.
I've felt the need for an anchor deep inside to stop the motion sickness. All the more, I've been drawn to the stabilizing force of prayer. Or perhaps it has been drawing me.
I wake up to nurse the baby, only to find myself awake hours afterward. I used to fight it. Flailing around in bed, huffing and puffing myself into exasperation. If there had been any hope of sleep, it was now lost under the covers somewhere.
It has taken a stuborn soul like me many a sleepless beating to awaken my prayer life.
To not mourn something lost, but give thanks for something gained.
To not fight like a fool, cursing the night, but to smile at the darkness and I get up.
I tiptoe to our alter, and I light a candle. My fingers open a secret treasury. It is work at first; my soul is heavy laden. But then a miracle happens: minutes effortlessly turn to hours. And hundreds of would-be counted sheep have been replaced by a hundred Jesus Prayers.
Lord Jesus Christ, Have mercy on me a sinner.
Stars disolve into day, the house is stirring.
For once, I'm not thinking how empty I am on sleep, but how full I am on prayer.
"How was your night?" asks my husband.
Blessed
Life is a kite in the breeze of autumn, whooshing wildly by, taking unexpected dips and turns,and I'm tethered to it, dragged along by it, hair flailing, barely holding on.
I've felt the need for an anchor deep inside to stop the motion sickness. All the more, I've been drawn to the stabilizing force of prayer. Or perhaps it has been drawing me.
I wake up to nurse the baby, only to find myself awake hours afterward. I used to fight it. Flailing around in bed, huffing and puffing myself into exasperation. If there had been any hope of sleep, it was now lost under the covers somewhere.
It has taken a stuborn soul like me many a sleepless beating to awaken my prayer life.
To not mourn something lost, but give thanks for something gained.
To not fight like a fool, cursing the night, but to smile at the darkness and I get up.
I tiptoe to our alter, and I light a candle. My fingers open a secret treasury. It is work at first; my soul is heavy laden. But then a miracle happens: minutes effortlessly turn to hours. And hundreds of would-be counted sheep have been replaced by a hundred Jesus Prayers.
Lord Jesus Christ, Have mercy on me a sinner.
Stars disolve into day, the house is stirring.
For once, I'm not thinking how empty I am on sleep, but how full I am on prayer.
"How was your night?" asks my husband.
Blessed
outsourcing the home
As you may recall from our Christmas letter 2009, Ben and I have a plan for a book. With lots of action-packed life going on non-stop around us, it's been on the back burner this year. Nonetheless, at this point we have general plans to cover three areas of life: birth, education, and death. Being that it is our first official year of home educating our children, the education section is the one that has the most potential if you will. So as we see it, time elapsed is not time lost, but rather more time to realise exactly what it means to take a front seat in a child's education.
Last night, for the first time in a long time, we revisited our ideas, and pray God will give us an opportunity to join forces soon. Until then, we are just gathering sources, and taking care not to outsource ourselves (it is very easy to do - ie: the T.V. babysitter!).
One book that will definately make the list is a book I took up again recently, "Making God real in the Orthodox Christian Home" by Anthony Coniaris. While there are obviously some faith-specific components, the overarching concern can and should be shared by all Christian families. An exerpt from the introduction follows.
"Where do our children receive their values? How do they learn to evaluate and judge for themselves the things they meet and hear? Many will ask, "Well, what's the Church for? Isn't this the Church's responsibility? How much time do children spend in Sunday School and church? If they come regularly, 36 hours a year! That adds up to about a day and a half a year! In whose hands are they supposed to be the remainder of the time? The parents! And those parents who drop their children off for church school and Church should not be surprised when the children follow in their footsteps and become what their parents are - drop outs.
Who is raising the children?
We hear much today about the subject of women priests. Why don't we ordain women as priests? Why should we? God has already ordained them into the sacred priesthood of motherhood. Who can ever be a more effective priest to her children than a dedicated Christian mother? We talk about the inequality of the sexes. It is not a matter of difference in equality of nature. It is a matter of difference in function. No one can ever take a mother's place in the home. No one is endowed by God as she is for the raising of children. We need to emphasise this point. For we are trying to do everything we can today to take mothers out of homes, to destroy their sacred priesthood, to leave the home front unattended. This, in itself, is producing so many problems that it could very well lead to the downfall of our nation.
[ . . .] The Church can do nothing without the home. The most influential school in the world is not Oxford, or Harvard, or the Sorbonne or Yale or Cambridge. It is the home.
The question is not, "Is there a school under your roof?" The real question is, "How good is the school under your roof?"
[...] "Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God is one Lord: and you shall love the Lord your God will all your heart and with all your soul, and with all your might. And these words which I command you this day shall be upon your heart; and you shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, and when you walk by the way, and when you lie down, and when you rise." (Deut. 6:3-7)
Last night, for the first time in a long time, we revisited our ideas, and pray God will give us an opportunity to join forces soon. Until then, we are just gathering sources, and taking care not to outsource ourselves (it is very easy to do - ie: the T.V. babysitter!).
One book that will definately make the list is a book I took up again recently, "Making God real in the Orthodox Christian Home" by Anthony Coniaris. While there are obviously some faith-specific components, the overarching concern can and should be shared by all Christian families. An exerpt from the introduction follows.
"Where do our children receive their values? How do they learn to evaluate and judge for themselves the things they meet and hear? Many will ask, "Well, what's the Church for? Isn't this the Church's responsibility? How much time do children spend in Sunday School and church? If they come regularly, 36 hours a year! That adds up to about a day and a half a year! In whose hands are they supposed to be the remainder of the time? The parents! And those parents who drop their children off for church school and Church should not be surprised when the children follow in their footsteps and become what their parents are - drop outs.
Who is raising the children?
We hear much today about the subject of women priests. Why don't we ordain women as priests? Why should we? God has already ordained them into the sacred priesthood of motherhood. Who can ever be a more effective priest to her children than a dedicated Christian mother? We talk about the inequality of the sexes. It is not a matter of difference in equality of nature. It is a matter of difference in function. No one can ever take a mother's place in the home. No one is endowed by God as she is for the raising of children. We need to emphasise this point. For we are trying to do everything we can today to take mothers out of homes, to destroy their sacred priesthood, to leave the home front unattended. This, in itself, is producing so many problems that it could very well lead to the downfall of our nation.
[ . . .] The Church can do nothing without the home. The most influential school in the world is not Oxford, or Harvard, or the Sorbonne or Yale or Cambridge. It is the home.
The question is not, "Is there a school under your roof?" The real question is, "How good is the school under your roof?"
[...] "Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God is one Lord: and you shall love the Lord your God will all your heart and with all your soul, and with all your might. And these words which I command you this day shall be upon your heart; and you shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, and when you walk by the way, and when you lie down, and when you rise." (Deut. 6:3-7)
Friday, September 23, 2011
up from the grave
it should be no surprise to a capitalistic nation such as ours that corporate america has taken over every square inch of human life; even the grave has become an industry. death has become a lucrative opportunity for business. grief has been outsourced from a pastor to a sales rep. little thought is given to the reality of life after death. but sooner or later, when we meet her face to face, one way or another we are confronted by this problem.
photos are circulating of beloved Archbishop Dmitri+ after his repose, during those
intimate moments of spiritual and practical preparation of washing and dressing and prayer. its probably strange to most; only beautiful to the one who has loved both body and soul. what a depth of spiritual vision there is for the one who is able to experience this. at that moment, the theology that "it's only a body" just doesn't hold water.
i cared for my father at the time of his falling asleep. those hands that held me as a baby, i clasped in mine, though cold now, soft as ever. His lips that spoke words of widsom into my life i now blessed and kissed; body and soul, i loved him. Metropolitan Hierotheos says, "Through Christ's resurrection[Christ, who assumed a mortal body like ours], the whole man, even the body, aquires the possibility of resurrection." Therefore, we care for the whole man, God's finest creation, unto the grave.
The 21st would have been Dad's 65th birthday. i drove to Restland to visit both Dmitri+ and my father's graveside. on this glorious autumn day, the cemetery was empty. Emmanuel and Eden sat under a towering Oak, quietly cleaning off some of the ledgers covered with mud, exposing their bronze anew. They drew hearts in the dirt "for granddad," as a fitting marker for someone who's costly ledger has still not been placed.
the Church made a huge mistake when she oursourced death to big business. demonstrated by the sales reps who speak in terms of real estate and not in terms of souls, businesses don't care for the dead; they manage them. it's one thing for a corporation to enhance their marketing campaign by calling a cemetery "garden of prayer", and another thing for it to actually be one.
so here we are, small in the scope of this sprawling garden; so many to pray for.
the mystery of death is in the life it brings. for it hides eternity in our hearts.
we load back into the minivan as a small voice utters "mommy, i want to be in heaven with granddad." granddad's death has given us a rich inheritance: longing for the Kingdom.
photos are circulating of beloved Archbishop Dmitri+ after his repose, during those
intimate moments of spiritual and practical preparation of washing and dressing and prayer. its probably strange to most; only beautiful to the one who has loved both body and soul. what a depth of spiritual vision there is for the one who is able to experience this. at that moment, the theology that "it's only a body" just doesn't hold water.
i cared for my father at the time of his falling asleep. those hands that held me as a baby, i clasped in mine, though cold now, soft as ever. His lips that spoke words of widsom into my life i now blessed and kissed; body and soul, i loved him. Metropolitan Hierotheos says, "Through Christ's resurrection[Christ, who assumed a mortal body like ours], the whole man, even the body, aquires the possibility of resurrection." Therefore, we care for the whole man, God's finest creation, unto the grave.
The 21st would have been Dad's 65th birthday. i drove to Restland to visit both Dmitri+ and my father's graveside. on this glorious autumn day, the cemetery was empty. Emmanuel and Eden sat under a towering Oak, quietly cleaning off some of the ledgers covered with mud, exposing their bronze anew. They drew hearts in the dirt "for granddad," as a fitting marker for someone who's costly ledger has still not been placed.
the Church made a huge mistake when she oursourced death to big business. demonstrated by the sales reps who speak in terms of real estate and not in terms of souls, businesses don't care for the dead; they manage them. it's one thing for a corporation to enhance their marketing campaign by calling a cemetery "garden of prayer", and another thing for it to actually be one.
so here we are, small in the scope of this sprawling garden; so many to pray for.
the mystery of death is in the life it brings. for it hides eternity in our hearts.
we load back into the minivan as a small voice utters "mommy, i want to be in heaven with granddad." granddad's death has given us a rich inheritance: longing for the Kingdom.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
the model-E
From the time I declared three weeks ago "I'm never leaving the house again," I've been puting in lots of stay-at-home miles. Considering my exhaustion at the close of every day, it really is surprising that it has only been human energy we've been burning around here. We've got our own version of the model T assembly line at the changing table; mom changes E4 while E1 takes the goods to the depository; mom changes E3, while E2 takes the goods to the depository. (I've really got to stop with the flax in the breakfast cereal. It's just so good for keeping things running smoothly.) Hair and teeth are not brushed, but clothes and shoes are on, so we are good to go for a neighborhood playdate in the park, I've got E3 in the stroller, E4 in the sling, and E1 and 2 at my sides helping to "push" the stroller. So far so good. I get to the park and haphazardly lather on sunscreen (spf block 50 for my very arian children - hitler would be proud). I reluctantly let E3 loose, and she's toddling off toward the parking lot in the blink of an eye while E3 is yelling "help help!" as she's dangling 5 feet off the ground from the top of the fireman's pole I never saw her climb. Thankfully, I don't have to choose who to save since E4 drop catches his sister. All in all, Im thinking it was a four-star trip to the park, until I realize I forgot to put sunscreen on the baby, and I overhear a mother-of-one say "I can't stand those moms with a bunch of kids who aren't paying attention to their own kids." Hmmmm. . . . time to depart back to the safety of our home. But then again, it hasn't actually proved to be that safe! I find E3 on the top of the table at least once an hour. This particular day she manages to break in to the "junk" drawer and is chewing on a AA battery and a candle as if it were a hotdog and a pixie stick. Somehow in the midst of all this "zoom", E1 has sounded out his first sentence, E3 has completed her first 36 piece puzzle unassisted, E3 has learned to put away her own laundry and E4 has found her smile.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
baby blues
According to my husband, it's the fourth time this has happened. Right around three to five months,when the congratulatory gifts and new baby meal offers have ended,the baby blues begin. It's subtle, so subtle. Tiny disappointments. Feelings of insufficiency that pile one on top of the other to an insurmountable heap that only a fresh batch of tears can relieve.
Today, teaching my almost 6-year old to read his first sentence is overshaddowed by the one who's 2 1/2 year old is already readying BOB books on her own. What was such a mighty accomplishment yesterday, today suddenly seems so small. Then on Facebook there's the mother who can do it all, and do it all so well. Not only is she feeding her family, she's harvesting a herb garden and canning 10 pounds of organic peaches; not only is she homeschooling half a dozen children, she's writing her own curriculum while pregnant with #7.
And here am I not even able to pass basic home-making 101. Barely a day after I redeemed my husband's baby gift to me - a house cleaning - a relative came over, took one look in my kids' room and said with great consternation, "Oh my, What happened?" I had no answer, except to say either "Atomic bomb" or "Life." But with all the perfection around me, "atomic bomb" seemed like the safer answer. Afterall, Life doesn't look so messy, so disheveled, so chaotic in other homes. How I long to be that mother with the placid demeanor oozing with talent and abounding in energy. Giving her children the best of all she is. Instead my children have me. A very ordinary mother with a very dirty kitchen floor.
I'm thinking all these thoughts, wondering why some are gifted with so much while others with not very much at all, and I'm feeling not so much "poor me" but "poor them" for having only me, and not a better version of myself. And yet all the same, I am required to use what little I have for good, for them, for Him. And then I read a wonderful quote from Elder Ephraim, reminding me of the goal of the Christian life which (thankfully for me) has nothing very much to do with talent at all, but humility, "true and genuine humble-mindedness," as he calls it.
"Satan tries to make those who struggle forget their goal. . . In this way, the labor remains without a reward - a struggle without hope, work without pay."
In a tangle of sorrowful thoughts, I do not despair, for He whispers to me Without me you can do nothing, and Unless the Lord builds the house its builders labor in vain. Suddenly I am thankful. Oh so thankful for being a very ordinary mother with a very dirty kitchen floor. If it were any other way, I just might forget that I needed any help at all.
Today, teaching my almost 6-year old to read his first sentence is overshaddowed by the one who's 2 1/2 year old is already readying BOB books on her own. What was such a mighty accomplishment yesterday, today suddenly seems so small. Then on Facebook there's the mother who can do it all, and do it all so well. Not only is she feeding her family, she's harvesting a herb garden and canning 10 pounds of organic peaches; not only is she homeschooling half a dozen children, she's writing her own curriculum while pregnant with #7.
And here am I not even able to pass basic home-making 101. Barely a day after I redeemed my husband's baby gift to me - a house cleaning - a relative came over, took one look in my kids' room and said with great consternation, "Oh my, What happened?" I had no answer, except to say either "Atomic bomb" or "Life." But with all the perfection around me, "atomic bomb" seemed like the safer answer. Afterall, Life doesn't look so messy, so disheveled, so chaotic in other homes. How I long to be that mother with the placid demeanor oozing with talent and abounding in energy. Giving her children the best of all she is. Instead my children have me. A very ordinary mother with a very dirty kitchen floor.
I'm thinking all these thoughts, wondering why some are gifted with so much while others with not very much at all, and I'm feeling not so much "poor me" but "poor them" for having only me, and not a better version of myself. And yet all the same, I am required to use what little I have for good, for them, for Him. And then I read a wonderful quote from Elder Ephraim, reminding me of the goal of the Christian life which (thankfully for me) has nothing very much to do with talent at all, but humility, "true and genuine humble-mindedness," as he calls it.
"Satan tries to make those who struggle forget their goal. . . In this way, the labor remains without a reward - a struggle without hope, work without pay."
In a tangle of sorrowful thoughts, I do not despair, for He whispers to me Without me you can do nothing, and Unless the Lord builds the house its builders labor in vain. Suddenly I am thankful. Oh so thankful for being a very ordinary mother with a very dirty kitchen floor. If it were any other way, I just might forget that I needed any help at all.
Monday, September 5, 2011
movie night
We've taken to the custom of having Sunday night as family movie night. If there's a good one worth watching that is. (Or if we parents need an excuse to cuddle on the couch without being wrestled or attacked by a little person.) Outside the neighborhood Walgreens, the convenient RedBox stands chock full of crap. For the sheer void of movie goodness, we haven't had a movie night in a while. Occasionally, though, a good one squeezes in.
We ended up with with two movies last night(a rare occurance but what happens when we've been movie deprived for so long, and the husband goes alone and can't decide): Rio and Legend of the Guardians.
Initially it was an obvious choice for me to choose Rio; rated G and colorful from my superficial "screening". As it turns out it was colorful, colorful language that is. All the rated-G curses like "looser," "shut-up," "idiot" and "what the . . " And while 101 Dalmations Cruella DeVil takes the G-cursing cake, this has the good guys digging in to bad language soufle.
The premise was all about hooking up. For the depraved among us, the best lesson we could draw from it is "at least get to know someone before you hook up". In every other respect, it is pretty much void of value. "Spread your wings" is as far as the message goes, oh, and party, party, party. Yo, G, diggy-dig.
Moving on to movie night #2: Legend of the Guardians. I was hesitant to let my kids see it, since it is rated PG for some scary parts. So Benjamin previewed it, and gave it the green light (which means it was worth another dollar to keep another day). So tonight we watched it, and despite night Owls being the characters, it out-shone Rio by a mile. And this is why: It is about family (and by family i mean a mom and a dad who have children together - not a ragtag bunch of friends). Few kids movies of the modern era ever feature the parents being right. Usually the typical child hero exhausts an incredible amount of energy to prove his parents wrong. It's about setting yourself a part, standing out - going outside of your parents parameters - in order to "find yourself". In contrast, Soren attests again and again, "Da's stories were true." He "finds himself" through his submission to his parents teachings, the traditions they pass down to him. And another great lesson from the film . . ."it's about doing the right thing again and again and again." How does a child learn to make tough choices? He makes himself a willing student and submits himself to a teacher. And that teacher reinforces the values of the community which are "to strengthen the weak, mend the broken, and vanquish evil." The message isn't washed out on the rio, even for owls, it's as clear as day.
And the final reason I love the movie so much; the kids have chores. . . but don't get me started on that one!
The bottom line is it's hard to shovel through the filth to find quality movies (especially at RedBox). So we are starting a little list of quality movies we think worthwhile to own - one day when we save up, that is. (I'm thinking "modern era" films from the "new millenium" on). So far we've got:
Charlotte's Web (the newest one)
Waterhorse
UP
Wall-E
Narnia films
Tangled (?)
Nanny McPhee films
Legend of the Guardians . . .
Suggestions welcome!
We ended up with with two movies last night(a rare occurance but what happens when we've been movie deprived for so long, and the husband goes alone and can't decide): Rio and Legend of the Guardians.
Initially it was an obvious choice for me to choose Rio; rated G and colorful from my superficial "screening". As it turns out it was colorful, colorful language that is. All the rated-G curses like "looser," "shut-up," "idiot" and "what the . . " And while 101 Dalmations Cruella DeVil takes the G-cursing cake, this has the good guys digging in to bad language soufle.
The premise was all about hooking up. For the depraved among us, the best lesson we could draw from it is "at least get to know someone before you hook up". In every other respect, it is pretty much void of value. "Spread your wings" is as far as the message goes, oh, and party, party, party. Yo, G, diggy-dig.
Moving on to movie night #2: Legend of the Guardians. I was hesitant to let my kids see it, since it is rated PG for some scary parts. So Benjamin previewed it, and gave it the green light (which means it was worth another dollar to keep another day). So tonight we watched it, and despite night Owls being the characters, it out-shone Rio by a mile. And this is why: It is about family (and by family i mean a mom and a dad who have children together - not a ragtag bunch of friends). Few kids movies of the modern era ever feature the parents being right. Usually the typical child hero exhausts an incredible amount of energy to prove his parents wrong. It's about setting yourself a part, standing out - going outside of your parents parameters - in order to "find yourself". In contrast, Soren attests again and again, "Da's stories were true." He "finds himself" through his submission to his parents teachings, the traditions they pass down to him. And another great lesson from the film . . ."it's about doing the right thing again and again and again." How does a child learn to make tough choices? He makes himself a willing student and submits himself to a teacher. And that teacher reinforces the values of the community which are "to strengthen the weak, mend the broken, and vanquish evil." The message isn't washed out on the rio, even for owls, it's as clear as day.
And the final reason I love the movie so much; the kids have chores. . . but don't get me started on that one!
The bottom line is it's hard to shovel through the filth to find quality movies (especially at RedBox). So we are starting a little list of quality movies we think worthwhile to own - one day when we save up, that is. (I'm thinking "modern era" films from the "new millenium" on). So far we've got:
Charlotte's Web (the newest one)
Waterhorse
UP
Wall-E
Narnia films
Tangled (?)
Nanny McPhee films
Legend of the Guardians . . .
Suggestions welcome!
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Coming Back
Much has happened since April. I won't attempt to fill you in. Better to pick up where I am now. . .
"How will you do it with a newborn?" "You know, it would make your life a whole lot easier if you just sent Emmanuel to school." Despite the seeming difficulty of having four children age five and under; despite having just had a baby; despite the timing being in every way terrible, last week I began homeschooling.
It's one thing for family and friends to be surprised; surprising yourself is even better! A deep breath and a pious prayer, I entered into the first day with a "Here goes something." But the day flew by, and I actually enjoyed myself. Really and truly, it was joy. Was I anticipating torture? (Dutiful self-sacrifice perhaps.) At any rate, the joy is what most surprised me. Joy of learning myself (it's about time I started learning all the states and capitols). Joy of putting years of education to practical use. Joy of seeing faces light up and "lightbulbs" turn on.
Perhaps I was aiming too low when I set my first homeschooling goal: to rear respectful, civilized humans! This goal even now seems superfluous: since embarking on this new role of teacher-mommy, my 5-year old has gone from answering "yes, Ma'am" to "yes, Queen Mommy" to "yes, Your Excellency," all of his own accord. Now for goal two: learn to read.
"How will you do it with a newborn?" "You know, it would make your life a whole lot easier if you just sent Emmanuel to school." Despite the seeming difficulty of having four children age five and under; despite having just had a baby; despite the timing being in every way terrible, last week I began homeschooling.
It's one thing for family and friends to be surprised; surprising yourself is even better! A deep breath and a pious prayer, I entered into the first day with a "Here goes something." But the day flew by, and I actually enjoyed myself. Really and truly, it was joy. Was I anticipating torture? (Dutiful self-sacrifice perhaps.) At any rate, the joy is what most surprised me. Joy of learning myself (it's about time I started learning all the states and capitols). Joy of putting years of education to practical use. Joy of seeing faces light up and "lightbulbs" turn on.
Perhaps I was aiming too low when I set my first homeschooling goal: to rear respectful, civilized humans! This goal even now seems superfluous: since embarking on this new role of teacher-mommy, my 5-year old has gone from answering "yes, Ma'am" to "yes, Queen Mommy" to "yes, Your Excellency," all of his own accord. Now for goal two: learn to read.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
here and everywhere
Today marks six months since my dad was promoted from this life to the life to come.
I originally intended to do something sacramental. Alas, the day came and went, without much rememberance at all. I didn't even have time to visit the graveside, as I rushed through traffic to my class tonight.
But on my way, I remembered that earlier today, after the singing of our usual lunchtime grace "Be present at our table Lord, Be here and everywhere adored, These mercies bless and grant that we, May feast in paradise with Thee," my daughter unknowingly asked, "Is granddad singing, too?"
"Well, yes I believe he is." I answered, somewhat uncertainly at the time. But the more I thought about it, the more convinced I was.
Of course he is! Here we are on earth, "mystically representing," as we say in church, the celestial beings in their worship of God. We adore and bless God as do the angels and saints above us. And when we do, time and space no longer separate us from Love. Indeed, despite physical separation, there is communion between us when our souls sing praises to God. As Metropolitan of Nafpaktos Hierotheos says,
"The souls of those who have fallen asleep remember the people with whom they were connected in life, they are concerned about them, but they are in a different dimension of space and time. Through God, the souls of the saints are aware of our condition, because they have love and are in communion with God. They hear us, they receive our prayers and pray to God for us. This is by grace, because of their unity with God."
What a joy to believe this. I no longer have to feel guilty for "talking" to my dead dad. He isn't, afterall, "lost" or "gone" but dwelling with God in the great cloud of witnesses, which is substantially closer than I am.
People who knew dad joked that he was up there conducting the heavenly chorale. While I'm not sure who's holding the baton, I do trust that my dad is participating in the paradisical feast as his illumined soul sings the thrice holy hymn. And if he has any connection to us in the here and now, why wouldn't it be at our own table, the very place where we break bread and give thanks in song?
"Did your dad teach you that song?" Emmanuel was prompted to ask after Eden.
"Why, yes, he did." He taught me at table to give thanks to the one who gave His own body up as food, that we might never die, but live to "feast in paradise with Thee."
For this I am eternally grateful.
I originally intended to do something sacramental. Alas, the day came and went, without much rememberance at all. I didn't even have time to visit the graveside, as I rushed through traffic to my class tonight.
But on my way, I remembered that earlier today, after the singing of our usual lunchtime grace "Be present at our table Lord, Be here and everywhere adored, These mercies bless and grant that we, May feast in paradise with Thee," my daughter unknowingly asked, "Is granddad singing, too?"
"Well, yes I believe he is." I answered, somewhat uncertainly at the time. But the more I thought about it, the more convinced I was.
Of course he is! Here we are on earth, "mystically representing," as we say in church, the celestial beings in their worship of God. We adore and bless God as do the angels and saints above us. And when we do, time and space no longer separate us from Love. Indeed, despite physical separation, there is communion between us when our souls sing praises to God. As Metropolitan of Nafpaktos Hierotheos says,
"The souls of those who have fallen asleep remember the people with whom they were connected in life, they are concerned about them, but they are in a different dimension of space and time. Through God, the souls of the saints are aware of our condition, because they have love and are in communion with God. They hear us, they receive our prayers and pray to God for us. This is by grace, because of their unity with God."
What a joy to believe this. I no longer have to feel guilty for "talking" to my dead dad. He isn't, afterall, "lost" or "gone" but dwelling with God in the great cloud of witnesses, which is substantially closer than I am.
People who knew dad joked that he was up there conducting the heavenly chorale. While I'm not sure who's holding the baton, I do trust that my dad is participating in the paradisical feast as his illumined soul sings the thrice holy hymn. And if he has any connection to us in the here and now, why wouldn't it be at our own table, the very place where we break bread and give thanks in song?
"Did your dad teach you that song?" Emmanuel was prompted to ask after Eden.
"Why, yes, he did." He taught me at table to give thanks to the one who gave His own body up as food, that we might never die, but live to "feast in paradise with Thee."
For this I am eternally grateful.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Earth Angel
We celebrated the first birthday of our little Angel, Evangeline, with a celestial tea party. Can't believe we've had our precious gift from heaven in our lives for a year already. And so thankful that we are blessed to be surrounded by a playful family who don't claim "too old" for dress up parties - way to go uncle andrew and uncle tim for sporting your wings n' things!
Saturday, March 26, 2011
you can't call it "it"
I've been silent on here for quite sometime. With the advent of Lent, it seems appropriate to keep it so, except that I am driving myself (husband, sister, friends and anyone else who I can get to listen to me) crazy with my fretting over the naming of our child. So I thought I should break the silence, and blog a bit to quench the crazy in me!
When we found out a few weeks back that we are expecting a girl, I was completely and utterly shocked. "Exactly how sure is 'pretty sure'?" I asked Ben upon departing from the sonographer. "Sure enough to type 'It's a girl!' onto the sonograph paper" said Ben, crushing my tiny little glimmer of hope that sheer maternal will could defy anatomical science; I was sure it was a boy.
To clarify, I'm not disappointed, just freaked out. I mean, I always pictured myself raising a herd of boys. When Eden was born, I thought she was going to be my token girl. But to my surprise, in our gene pool, the females just keep coming! I'm genuinely concerned about what I am going to do with all that estrogen and drama from here on out.
Boys are simple souls with simple needs; they love their mama and like to shoot bad guys. Girls on the other hand, are fragile and complicated. Don't get me wrong, I love my girls. I'm just intimidated about rearing three of them. It's not disappointment, it's plain fear.
Earlier in the pregnancy (when I was carrying our pre-named boy, Ezra Benjamin), I was drawn to an early 12th century icon of the Annunciation, a depiction of Mary's exchange with Gabriel. I have been comforted by this image since then, the icon seemingly bearing this pregnancy along with me as it rests at our prayer corner.
Yesterday was the Feast of the Annunciation, so I was able to hear the story afresh, read aloud from the book of Luke last night at liturgy:
26Now in the sixth month, the archangel Gabriel was sent from God to a city of Galilee, named Nazareth, 27to a virgin pledged to be married to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin's name was Mary. 28Having come in, the angel said to her, "Rejoice, you highly favored one! The Lord is with you. Blessed are you among women!" 29But when she saw him, she was greatly troubled at the saying, and considered what kind of salutation this might be. 30The angel said to her, "Don’t be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. 31Behold, you will conceive in your womb, and bring forth a son, and will call his name ‘Jesus.’ 32He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father, David, 33and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever. There will be no end to his Kingdom." 34Mary said to the angel, "How can this be, seeing I am a virgin?" 35The angel answered her, "The Holy Spirit will come on you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. Therefore also the holy one who is born from you will be called the Son of God. 36Behold, Elizabeth, your relative, also has conceived a son in her old age; and this is the sixth month with her who was called barren. 37For everything spoken by God is possible." 38Mary said, "Behold, the handmaid of the Lord; be it to me according to your word." The angel departed from her.
While we may not have been granted the gender we desired, who am I to claim I know what's best for my life, for my family? Oh to have the faith of Mary to say let it be as You have said
. . .and Oh to have a word from an angel of the Lord about a name!
Which leads me to the true predicament I am in right now. Okay, so I still have some time, but nonetheless I feel pressed to establish and then settle into a name for this child. Anyone who knows me well knows I love names. One of my favorite blogs is www.youcantcallitit.com because I love to have an excuse to think about names, even when I'm not personally responsible for naming someone. It's fun.
Or at least it was until now.
We didn't set out with the grand plan of having alliterative names (Emmanuel, Eden, & Evangeline). We certainly didn't set out with the intention of naming all our children within a Christian theme, or giving all of them middle names that signify both a saint and a family member (James, Elisabeth & Ruth, respectively). It all evolved very organically, until we are now surprised to be sricken with these specific naming parameters, which are majorly hindering our ability to pick a name.
Out of sheer exhaustion, my husband waved the white flag yesterday, saying "Name the child whatever you want!" My open-endedness is driving his hyper-closed-endedness into insanity. So a decision simply must be made. I can't keep floating names forever, or else my ever-anchored hubby is going to sign-off on a name like Holy Lunatic with great elation and relief just to end the revolving conversation and save me from floating off into the vast naming ocean alone.
Thanks be to God, last night at liturgy a name came to me. (This may be as close as I am going to get to angelic proclamation). Perhaps it had been there all along without me even knowing it: Gabriella.
And what do you know, we could call her Ella (or Ellie) for short, so she'd be sure to fit in with all those E's! Although it isn't a name that initially caught my eye, what makes it beautiful to me is that it was the name my father wanted to name me. He loved this name. Additionally, naming my daughter after an archangel gives me comfort - narrowing the seeming divide between the here and now and the there and then. As St. Seraphim of Sarov explains, "The goal of our life is to return to the bosom of our Heavenly Father, in order that we, the men of this earth, may become as the angels, who are guided by the Holy Spirit." But regardless of who we end up with come June (after all, the sonographer was only "pretty sure"!), may we be ever thankful for the life He miraculously conceives, and ever ready to accept God's will and let Him have His way in us.
"May it be to me according to Your Word."
When we found out a few weeks back that we are expecting a girl, I was completely and utterly shocked. "Exactly how sure is 'pretty sure'?" I asked Ben upon departing from the sonographer. "Sure enough to type 'It's a girl!' onto the sonograph paper" said Ben, crushing my tiny little glimmer of hope that sheer maternal will could defy anatomical science; I was sure it was a boy.
To clarify, I'm not disappointed, just freaked out. I mean, I always pictured myself raising a herd of boys. When Eden was born, I thought she was going to be my token girl. But to my surprise, in our gene pool, the females just keep coming! I'm genuinely concerned about what I am going to do with all that estrogen and drama from here on out.
Boys are simple souls with simple needs; they love their mama and like to shoot bad guys. Girls on the other hand, are fragile and complicated. Don't get me wrong, I love my girls. I'm just intimidated about rearing three of them. It's not disappointment, it's plain fear.
Earlier in the pregnancy (when I was carrying our pre-named boy, Ezra Benjamin), I was drawn to an early 12th century icon of the Annunciation, a depiction of Mary's exchange with Gabriel. I have been comforted by this image since then, the icon seemingly bearing this pregnancy along with me as it rests at our prayer corner.
Yesterday was the Feast of the Annunciation, so I was able to hear the story afresh, read aloud from the book of Luke last night at liturgy:
26Now in the sixth month, the archangel Gabriel was sent from God to a city of Galilee, named Nazareth, 27to a virgin pledged to be married to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin's name was Mary. 28Having come in, the angel said to her, "Rejoice, you highly favored one! The Lord is with you. Blessed are you among women!" 29But when she saw him, she was greatly troubled at the saying, and considered what kind of salutation this might be. 30The angel said to her, "Don’t be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. 31Behold, you will conceive in your womb, and bring forth a son, and will call his name ‘Jesus.’ 32He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father, David, 33and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever. There will be no end to his Kingdom." 34Mary said to the angel, "How can this be, seeing I am a virgin?" 35The angel answered her, "The Holy Spirit will come on you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. Therefore also the holy one who is born from you will be called the Son of God. 36Behold, Elizabeth, your relative, also has conceived a son in her old age; and this is the sixth month with her who was called barren. 37For everything spoken by God is possible." 38Mary said, "Behold, the handmaid of the Lord; be it to me according to your word." The angel departed from her.
While we may not have been granted the gender we desired, who am I to claim I know what's best for my life, for my family? Oh to have the faith of Mary to say let it be as You have said
. . .and Oh to have a word from an angel of the Lord about a name!
Which leads me to the true predicament I am in right now. Okay, so I still have some time, but nonetheless I feel pressed to establish and then settle into a name for this child. Anyone who knows me well knows I love names. One of my favorite blogs is www.youcantcallitit.com because I love to have an excuse to think about names, even when I'm not personally responsible for naming someone. It's fun.
Or at least it was until now.
We didn't set out with the grand plan of having alliterative names (Emmanuel, Eden, & Evangeline). We certainly didn't set out with the intention of naming all our children within a Christian theme, or giving all of them middle names that signify both a saint and a family member (James, Elisabeth & Ruth, respectively). It all evolved very organically, until we are now surprised to be sricken with these specific naming parameters, which are majorly hindering our ability to pick a name.
Out of sheer exhaustion, my husband waved the white flag yesterday, saying "Name the child whatever you want!" My open-endedness is driving his hyper-closed-endedness into insanity. So a decision simply must be made. I can't keep floating names forever, or else my ever-anchored hubby is going to sign-off on a name like Holy Lunatic with great elation and relief just to end the revolving conversation and save me from floating off into the vast naming ocean alone.
Thanks be to God, last night at liturgy a name came to me. (This may be as close as I am going to get to angelic proclamation). Perhaps it had been there all along without me even knowing it: Gabriella.
And what do you know, we could call her Ella (or Ellie) for short, so she'd be sure to fit in with all those E's! Although it isn't a name that initially caught my eye, what makes it beautiful to me is that it was the name my father wanted to name me. He loved this name. Additionally, naming my daughter after an archangel gives me comfort - narrowing the seeming divide between the here and now and the there and then. As St. Seraphim of Sarov explains, "The goal of our life is to return to the bosom of our Heavenly Father, in order that we, the men of this earth, may become as the angels, who are guided by the Holy Spirit." But regardless of who we end up with come June (after all, the sonographer was only "pretty sure"!), may we be ever thankful for the life He miraculously conceives, and ever ready to accept God's will and let Him have His way in us.
"May it be to me according to Your Word."
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Last Breath
Tonight, a long time friend of 17 years died. She was only 30, my exact age. She died of the same rare and agressive cancer that killed my father. The notification went out via Facebook, so details are slim. I wonder how her last few days, hours, breaths on earth were. I wonder what her parting words were, or if she was able to speak at all.
I have an all too real remembrance of what dying and death look like. Amidst the great final struggle for breath, the last gesture my father pursued was to raise up a hand-carved wooden cross toward heaven. The last thing my dad said to me, the very last time he spoke, he said "You are so beautiful." I cherish those words like precious myrrh soothing the sorrow of my soul.
It pains me to think that, 90 days later, while I was watching PBS movie theatre classic, while my biggest concern was making the perfect batch of stove-top popcorn, while prayer was far from my lips, Shohrae was dying. It is jarring to be so absorbed in the shallowness of one's own surreal existence, and then be flung back into the one all defining reality; that ready or not, death comes to us all. I know this truth, I know it well, and yet how quickly I forget. It is no discriminator of persons. It does not come at a convenient time. Young, old, all die.
What will i be caught doing or saying when that great and sacred hour visits me?
There is a prayer that I pray almost every day. Today, it couldn't be prayed with more fervor:
. . .O God, my God, I plead with You for many and great things; do not disregard me. Do not cast me away from Your presence because of my presumption and boldness, but by the power of Your love lead me in the path of Your will. Grant me to love You as You have commanded, with all my heart, with all my soul, with all my mind, and with all my strength; with my whole being. For You alone are the holy protection and all powerful defender of my life, and to You I ascribe glory and offer this prayer. Grant me to know Your truth before I depart this life. Maintain my life in this world until I may offer You true repentance. Do not take me away in the midst of my days, but when You are pleased to bring my life to an end, forewarn me of my death so that I may prepare my soul to come before You. Be with me then, O Lord, on my great and sacred day, and grant me the joy of Your salvation. Cleanse me from manifest and secret sins, from all iniquity hidden in me, and give me a right answer before Your judgement seat. Amen.
-- Prayer at Daybreak of Elder Sophrony
I have an all too real remembrance of what dying and death look like. Amidst the great final struggle for breath, the last gesture my father pursued was to raise up a hand-carved wooden cross toward heaven. The last thing my dad said to me, the very last time he spoke, he said "You are so beautiful." I cherish those words like precious myrrh soothing the sorrow of my soul.
It pains me to think that, 90 days later, while I was watching PBS movie theatre classic, while my biggest concern was making the perfect batch of stove-top popcorn, while prayer was far from my lips, Shohrae was dying. It is jarring to be so absorbed in the shallowness of one's own surreal existence, and then be flung back into the one all defining reality; that ready or not, death comes to us all. I know this truth, I know it well, and yet how quickly I forget. It is no discriminator of persons. It does not come at a convenient time. Young, old, all die.
What will i be caught doing or saying when that great and sacred hour visits me?
There is a prayer that I pray almost every day. Today, it couldn't be prayed with more fervor:
. . .O God, my God, I plead with You for many and great things; do not disregard me. Do not cast me away from Your presence because of my presumption and boldness, but by the power of Your love lead me in the path of Your will. Grant me to love You as You have commanded, with all my heart, with all my soul, with all my mind, and with all my strength; with my whole being. For You alone are the holy protection and all powerful defender of my life, and to You I ascribe glory and offer this prayer. Grant me to know Your truth before I depart this life. Maintain my life in this world until I may offer You true repentance. Do not take me away in the midst of my days, but when You are pleased to bring my life to an end, forewarn me of my death so that I may prepare my soul to come before You. Be with me then, O Lord, on my great and sacred day, and grant me the joy of Your salvation. Cleanse me from manifest and secret sins, from all iniquity hidden in me, and give me a right answer before Your judgement seat. Amen.
-- Prayer at Daybreak of Elder Sophrony
books for boys
I have two recommendations I must share. The first is a collection of "world folktales for strong boys." It is an essential collection for every son, father, teacher, and lover of stories. We just can't get enough of
"Mightier than the Sword" told by Jane Yolen.
The second is for the parents of such strong boys, called "The Purpose of Boys" by Michael Gurian. This book is a fabulous read for anyone struggling to raise boys in this generation.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
finances for a five year old
If only we taught our children finances so suscinctly. Even Dave Ramsey can't top this type of teaching. At Emmanuel's prompting, I'll be starting my potato garden soon!
Excerpt from Farmer Boy , third book of the Little House series by Laura Ingalls Wilder:
"Father," Almanzo said, "would you - would you give me - a nickel?"
"What for?"
Almanzo looked down at his moccasins and muttered:
"Frank had a nickel. He bought pink lemonade."
. . .
Father looked at him a long time. Then he took out his wallet and opened it, and slowly he took out a round, big silver half-dollar. He asked:
"Almanzo, do you know what this is?"
"Half a dollar," Almanzo answered
"Yes. But do you know what half a dollar is?"
Almanzo didn't know it was anything but half a dollar.
"It's work, son," Father said. "That's what money is; it's hard work."
Mr. Paddock chuckled. "The boy's too young, Wilder," he said, "you can't make a youngster understand that."
"Almanzo's smarter than you think," said Father.
. . .
"You know how to raise potatoes, Almanzo?"
"Yes." Almanzo said
"Say you have a seed potato in the spring, what do you do with it?"
"You cut it up," Almanzo said.
"Go on, son."
"Then you harrow - first you manure the field, and plow it. Then you harrow, and mark the ground. And plant the potatoes, and plow them, and hoe them. You plow and hoe them twice . . .Then you dig them and put them down cellar."
"Yes. Then you pick them over all winter; you throw out all the little ones and the rotten ones. Come spring, you load them up and haul them here to Malone, and you sell them. And if you get a good price son, how much do you get to show for all that work? How much do you get for half a bushel of potatoes?"
"Half a dollar," Almanzo said.
"Yes," said Father. "That's what's in the half-dollar, Almanzo. The work that raised half a bushel of potatoes is in it."
Almanzo looked at the round piece of money that Father held up. It looked small, compared with all that work.
"You can have it, Almanzo," Father said. Almanzo could hardly believe his ears. Father gave him the heavy half-dollar.
"I'ts yours," said Father. "You could buy a sucking pig with it, if you want to. You could raise it, and it would raise a litter of pigs, worth four or five dollars a piece. Or you can trade that half-dollar for lemonade, and drink it up. You do as you want. It's your money."
Almanzo forgot to say thank you. He held the half-dollar a minute, then he put his hand in his pocket and went back to the boys by the lemonade stand.
. . .
The boys wouldn't believe it till he showed them. Then they crowded around, waiting for him to spend it. He showed it to them all, and put it back in his pocket.
"I'm going to look around," he said, "and buy me a good little sucking pig."
I finish reading this chapter aloud to the family on the couch tonight. Ben turns to me and says, "Lois, I think we are buying too much pink lemonade. We need more sucking pigs."
Delayed gratification.
It's a good lesson for all of us, not just the young'ns.
Excerpt from Farmer Boy , third book of the Little House series by Laura Ingalls Wilder:
"Father," Almanzo said, "would you - would you give me - a nickel?"
"What for?"
Almanzo looked down at his moccasins and muttered:
"Frank had a nickel. He bought pink lemonade."
. . .
Father looked at him a long time. Then he took out his wallet and opened it, and slowly he took out a round, big silver half-dollar. He asked:
"Almanzo, do you know what this is?"
"Half a dollar," Almanzo answered
"Yes. But do you know what half a dollar is?"
Almanzo didn't know it was anything but half a dollar.
"It's work, son," Father said. "That's what money is; it's hard work."
Mr. Paddock chuckled. "The boy's too young, Wilder," he said, "you can't make a youngster understand that."
"Almanzo's smarter than you think," said Father.
. . .
"You know how to raise potatoes, Almanzo?"
"Yes." Almanzo said
"Say you have a seed potato in the spring, what do you do with it?"
"You cut it up," Almanzo said.
"Go on, son."
"Then you harrow - first you manure the field, and plow it. Then you harrow, and mark the ground. And plant the potatoes, and plow them, and hoe them. You plow and hoe them twice . . .Then you dig them and put them down cellar."
"Yes. Then you pick them over all winter; you throw out all the little ones and the rotten ones. Come spring, you load them up and haul them here to Malone, and you sell them. And if you get a good price son, how much do you get to show for all that work? How much do you get for half a bushel of potatoes?"
"Half a dollar," Almanzo said.
"Yes," said Father. "That's what's in the half-dollar, Almanzo. The work that raised half a bushel of potatoes is in it."
Almanzo looked at the round piece of money that Father held up. It looked small, compared with all that work.
"You can have it, Almanzo," Father said. Almanzo could hardly believe his ears. Father gave him the heavy half-dollar.
"I'ts yours," said Father. "You could buy a sucking pig with it, if you want to. You could raise it, and it would raise a litter of pigs, worth four or five dollars a piece. Or you can trade that half-dollar for lemonade, and drink it up. You do as you want. It's your money."
Almanzo forgot to say thank you. He held the half-dollar a minute, then he put his hand in his pocket and went back to the boys by the lemonade stand.
. . .
The boys wouldn't believe it till he showed them. Then they crowded around, waiting for him to spend it. He showed it to them all, and put it back in his pocket.
"I'm going to look around," he said, "and buy me a good little sucking pig."
I finish reading this chapter aloud to the family on the couch tonight. Ben turns to me and says, "Lois, I think we are buying too much pink lemonade. We need more sucking pigs."
Delayed gratification.
It's a good lesson for all of us, not just the young'ns.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
funny things are everywhere
I entered the kitchen last night to find Emmanuel's toothbrush curiously suctioned to the microwave. What could they be plotting? I love my freespirited, whimsicle children!
Thursday, January 13, 2011
river of life
Last Thursday(Jan. 6)I took the children to the Great Blessing of the Waters, and afterwards bottled some holy water for home use. When I feel weak, or sick, or in need of strength, I will sip some, and remember...
Theophany is better known as Epiphany in the West. The Orthodox feast is called Theophany because at the baptism of Christ the Holy Trinity appeared clearly to mankind for the first time -- the Father's voice is heard from Heaven, the Son of God is incarnate and standing physically in the Jordan, and the Holy Spirit descends on Him in the form of a dove.
This feast was particularly significant to me this year. I have been rather silent on this space about the most significant loss in my life thus far - the falling asleep of my father. It is hard to package a whole life influence into one or two blog entries. I haven't known what to say or even what to feel. Public life has seemingly gone on as normal. But secretly, I have read the prayers for the dead for him. I have commemorated him at church. And I have visited dad's graveside every month since he was promoted to glory.
There is still no permanent marker there. The mulch and tossed earth hem in the place we lowered the coffin into the earth; his grave is humbly crowned by a patchwork of grassy squares. It is a strange thought to think part of him's just right there under the surface, not far below my feet, and yet his soul is worlds away, high above me.
My dad once wrote a choral piece called "River of Life," which has often been requested to be sung at funerals, though we did not sing it at his. The words to the chorus are the ones my mother wants etched in his gravestone.
There is a river of life
Flowing from God's own throne
Crystal and clear and pure
From God and God alone
I thought of this, as I stood witness to the blessing of these sacred waters, mystically feeling a sense of communion with my father, as he also partakes of the living waters, and I hear this passage read aloud:
Isaiah 35
The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them; and the desert shall rejoice and blossom as the lily. It shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice even with joy and singing. The glory of Lebanon shall be given unto it, the excellency of Carmel and Sharon; they shall see the glory of the LORD, and the excellency of our God. Strengthen ye the weak hands, and confirm the feeble knees. Say to them that are of a fearful heart, "Be strong, fear not. Behold, your God will come with vengeance, even God with a recompense; He will come and save you." Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf shall be unstopped. Then shall the lame man leap as a hart, and the tongue of the dumb sing; for in the wilderness shall waters break out, and streams in the desert. And the parched ground shall become a pool, and the thirsty land springs of water; in the habitation of dragons, where each lay, shall be grass with reeds and rushes. And a highway shall be there, and a way, and it shall be called the Way of Holiness. The unclean shall not pass over it, but it shall be for those; the wayfaring men, though fools, shall not err therein. No lion shall be there, nor any ravenous beast shall go up thereon; it shall not be found there, but the redeemed shall walk there. And the ransomed of the LORD shall return, and come to Zion with songs and everlasting joy upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.
The last few days of my dad's life, I remember reading aloud this very passage. How he groaned in longing. During this time, I had a burning desire to ask if he wished to be baptised (as Salvationists do not practice this sacriment). It was an intense time, and so I never had the opportunity. Occasionally I think back with regret and wish I had just asked. But then I remember all the tears shed, poured out in prayer over his bedside.
And I realize. We did baptise him.
Theophany is better known as Epiphany in the West. The Orthodox feast is called Theophany because at the baptism of Christ the Holy Trinity appeared clearly to mankind for the first time -- the Father's voice is heard from Heaven, the Son of God is incarnate and standing physically in the Jordan, and the Holy Spirit descends on Him in the form of a dove.
This feast was particularly significant to me this year. I have been rather silent on this space about the most significant loss in my life thus far - the falling asleep of my father. It is hard to package a whole life influence into one or two blog entries. I haven't known what to say or even what to feel. Public life has seemingly gone on as normal. But secretly, I have read the prayers for the dead for him. I have commemorated him at church. And I have visited dad's graveside every month since he was promoted to glory.
There is still no permanent marker there. The mulch and tossed earth hem in the place we lowered the coffin into the earth; his grave is humbly crowned by a patchwork of grassy squares. It is a strange thought to think part of him's just right there under the surface, not far below my feet, and yet his soul is worlds away, high above me.
My dad once wrote a choral piece called "River of Life," which has often been requested to be sung at funerals, though we did not sing it at his. The words to the chorus are the ones my mother wants etched in his gravestone.
There is a river of life
Flowing from God's own throne
Crystal and clear and pure
From God and God alone
I thought of this, as I stood witness to the blessing of these sacred waters, mystically feeling a sense of communion with my father, as he also partakes of the living waters, and I hear this passage read aloud:
Isaiah 35
The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them; and the desert shall rejoice and blossom as the lily. It shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice even with joy and singing. The glory of Lebanon shall be given unto it, the excellency of Carmel and Sharon; they shall see the glory of the LORD, and the excellency of our God. Strengthen ye the weak hands, and confirm the feeble knees. Say to them that are of a fearful heart, "Be strong, fear not. Behold, your God will come with vengeance, even God with a recompense; He will come and save you." Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf shall be unstopped. Then shall the lame man leap as a hart, and the tongue of the dumb sing; for in the wilderness shall waters break out, and streams in the desert. And the parched ground shall become a pool, and the thirsty land springs of water; in the habitation of dragons, where each lay, shall be grass with reeds and rushes. And a highway shall be there, and a way, and it shall be called the Way of Holiness. The unclean shall not pass over it, but it shall be for those; the wayfaring men, though fools, shall not err therein. No lion shall be there, nor any ravenous beast shall go up thereon; it shall not be found there, but the redeemed shall walk there. And the ransomed of the LORD shall return, and come to Zion with songs and everlasting joy upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.
The last few days of my dad's life, I remember reading aloud this very passage. How he groaned in longing. During this time, I had a burning desire to ask if he wished to be baptised (as Salvationists do not practice this sacriment). It was an intense time, and so I never had the opportunity. Occasionally I think back with regret and wish I had just asked. But then I remember all the tears shed, poured out in prayer over his bedside.
And I realize. We did baptise him.
Monday, January 10, 2011
home-centered education
I'm still tottering on the fence of this great divide between institution- and family-centered education. Truthfully, I have more accurately fallen over the family- side of the fence, and am clawing at the wood to see if there is a safe and reasonable way back over to the other side. Surprisingly enough, after a year of standing on the fence convincing my husband how much greener the grass is, we're now both over here, and have discovered that, though lush, it's also very muddy, and the upkeep is much more frequent. I'm not naturally good at tending things. I mean, I don't have plants or pets for a reason. But for whatever reason, it seems God has given me and hubby these ideas with roots that just keep growing.
I think the difference between me and the ideal home-schooling mother is that I don't feel naturally gifted in the home, nor do I feel well-suited to this life. I do, however, have a compelling desire to do the right thing by my children. I wont do it begrudgingly, but it might not be pretty and it wont be perfect. I'm okay with this . . .most days.
Today, was a good day in the mothering realm. It wasn't spectacular, but it gave me hope enough to grace my fall into the garden of home-education.
I awoke to my son gently kissing my cheek, saying "mommy, wake up, I have some holy water for you and our baby." My grown-up five year old had gotten a plastic cup, tiptoed to our prayer corner, and poured me (and in-utero Lyda) some blessed Theophany water we took home from church the other day. By lunchtime we'd said our morning family prayers; made our beds (something the kids are totally showing me up at doing!); I read aloud exerpts from Beowulf, Odysseus, and King Arthur; Eden vaccuumed the kitchen and hallway with her new vaccuum; Emmanuel made PBJ sandwiches for us; we ate together. After lunch, they had quiet time while Evangeline napped, and I read a few pages of "Way of a Pilgrim" in the quietness of my cozy bed. Meanwhile, E-man played with his marble ball track, and Edie put her dollies to bed. Next, they created snakes with playdough, and then we painted attentively in the kitchen together. Afterward, they cleaned the kitchen floor (with vinegar and baking soda)by "skiing" on sponges - they are very thorough, and love this job! After a bath, we then sat down together to watch a library movie Crocodile Hunter, while I preped for dinner, and tended to EvaRuth. When Ben came home, he lit a fire, and we had a picnic dinner in the livingroom, enjoying the warmth of the house.
The day was significant to me because, being productivity-driven, I can sometimes get overwhelmed with what's not done, instead of being present in the reality I have been given. Today, I was able to finish some necessary tasks while also teaching my children how to do it, or rather utilizing their proficient assistance. I was also able to slow down and enjoy them, taking the day as it came, without too much of a list getting in the way. Anyway, it was a good day at home.
It is strangely wonderful when my eyes let me see the most ordinary things as extraordinary. And even better when I begin to feel at home in the ordinary practice of being a mother. Maybe I'm not a natural, but I know I was born for this.
I think the difference between me and the ideal home-schooling mother is that I don't feel naturally gifted in the home, nor do I feel well-suited to this life. I do, however, have a compelling desire to do the right thing by my children. I wont do it begrudgingly, but it might not be pretty and it wont be perfect. I'm okay with this . . .most days.
Today, was a good day in the mothering realm. It wasn't spectacular, but it gave me hope enough to grace my fall into the garden of home-education.
I awoke to my son gently kissing my cheek, saying "mommy, wake up, I have some holy water for you and our baby." My grown-up five year old had gotten a plastic cup, tiptoed to our prayer corner, and poured me (and in-utero Lyda) some blessed Theophany water we took home from church the other day. By lunchtime we'd said our morning family prayers; made our beds (something the kids are totally showing me up at doing!); I read aloud exerpts from Beowulf, Odysseus, and King Arthur; Eden vaccuumed the kitchen and hallway with her new vaccuum; Emmanuel made PBJ sandwiches for us; we ate together. After lunch, they had quiet time while Evangeline napped, and I read a few pages of "Way of a Pilgrim" in the quietness of my cozy bed. Meanwhile, E-man played with his marble ball track, and Edie put her dollies to bed. Next, they created snakes with playdough, and then we painted attentively in the kitchen together. Afterward, they cleaned the kitchen floor (with vinegar and baking soda)by "skiing" on sponges - they are very thorough, and love this job! After a bath, we then sat down together to watch a library movie Crocodile Hunter, while I preped for dinner, and tended to EvaRuth. When Ben came home, he lit a fire, and we had a picnic dinner in the livingroom, enjoying the warmth of the house.
The day was significant to me because, being productivity-driven, I can sometimes get overwhelmed with what's not done, instead of being present in the reality I have been given. Today, I was able to finish some necessary tasks while also teaching my children how to do it, or rather utilizing their proficient assistance. I was also able to slow down and enjoy them, taking the day as it came, without too much of a list getting in the way. Anyway, it was a good day at home.
It is strangely wonderful when my eyes let me see the most ordinary things as extraordinary. And even better when I begin to feel at home in the ordinary practice of being a mother. Maybe I'm not a natural, but I know I was born for this.
resolved
It has taken me a while to think, really consider, what I might resolve to pursue this year. Today, I stumbled upon Fr. Thomas Hopko's 55 Maxims for Christian Living, which I have come across on many an occassion, but today I thought, "aha! this is it!" While it is a bit loftier than I'd otherwise have come up with on my own for a New Year's Resolution (I was originally thinking one or two resolutions for a year to be perfectly sufficient), it is exactly what I should be pursuing.
And I can already predict, the most difficult one, come December 2011: #44!
But come January 1st, 2012, I'll be piously practicing the 54th Maxim!!
55 Maxims for Christian Living
by Fr. Thomas Hopko
1. Be always with Christ.
2. Pray as you can, not as you want.
3. Have a keepable rule of prayer that you do by discipline.
4. Say the Lord’s Prayer several times a day.
5. Have a short prayer that you constantly repeat when your mind is not occupied with other things.
6. Make some prostrations when you pray.
7. Eat good foods in moderation.
8. Keep the Church’s fasting rules.
9. Spend some time in silence every day.
10. Do acts of mercy in secret.
11. Go to liturgical services regularly
12. Go to confession and communion regularly.
13. Do not engage intrusive thoughts and feelings. Cut them off at the start.
14. Reveal all your thoughts and feelings regularly to a trusted person.
15. Read the scriptures regularly.
16. Read good books a little at a time.
17. Cultivate communion with the saints.
18. Be an ordinary person.
19. Be polite with everyone.
20. Maintain cleanliness and order in your home.
21. Have a healthy, wholesome hobby.
22. Exercise regularly.
23. Live a day, and a part of a day, at a time.
24. Be totally honest, first of all, with yourself.
25. Be faithful in little things.
26. Do your work, and then forget it.
27. Do the most difficult and painful things first.
28. Face reality.
29. Be grateful in all things.
30. Be cheerful.
31. Be simple, hidden, quiet and small.
32. Never bring attention to yourself.
33. Listen when people talk to you.
34. Be awake and be attentive.
35. Think and talk about things no more than necessary.
36. When we speak, speak simply, clearly, firmly and directly.
37. Flee imagination, analysis, figuring things out.
38. Flee carnal, sexual things at their first appearance.
39. Don’t complain, mumble, murmur or whine.
40. Don’t compare yourself with anyone.
41. Don’t seek or expect praise or pity from anyone.
42. We don’t judge anyone for anything.
43. Don’t try to convince anyone of anything.
44. Don’t defend or justify yourself.
45. Be defined and bound by God alone.
46. Accept criticism gratefully but test it critically.
47. Give advice to others only when asked or obligated to do so.
48. Do nothing for anyone that they can and should do for themselves.
49. Have a daily schedule of activities, avoiding whim and caprice.
50. Be merciful with yourself and with others.
51. Have no expectations except to be fiercely tempted to your last breath.
52. Focus exclusively on God and light, not on sin and darkness.
53. Endure the trial of yourself and your own faults and sins peacefully, serenely, because you know that God’s mercy is greater than your wretchedness.
54. When we fall, get up immediately and start over.
55. Get help when you need it, without fear and without shame.
And I can already predict, the most difficult one, come December 2011: #44!
But come January 1st, 2012, I'll be piously practicing the 54th Maxim!!
55 Maxims for Christian Living
by Fr. Thomas Hopko
1. Be always with Christ.
2. Pray as you can, not as you want.
3. Have a keepable rule of prayer that you do by discipline.
4. Say the Lord’s Prayer several times a day.
5. Have a short prayer that you constantly repeat when your mind is not occupied with other things.
6. Make some prostrations when you pray.
7. Eat good foods in moderation.
8. Keep the Church’s fasting rules.
9. Spend some time in silence every day.
10. Do acts of mercy in secret.
11. Go to liturgical services regularly
12. Go to confession and communion regularly.
13. Do not engage intrusive thoughts and feelings. Cut them off at the start.
14. Reveal all your thoughts and feelings regularly to a trusted person.
15. Read the scriptures regularly.
16. Read good books a little at a time.
17. Cultivate communion with the saints.
18. Be an ordinary person.
19. Be polite with everyone.
20. Maintain cleanliness and order in your home.
21. Have a healthy, wholesome hobby.
22. Exercise regularly.
23. Live a day, and a part of a day, at a time.
24. Be totally honest, first of all, with yourself.
25. Be faithful in little things.
26. Do your work, and then forget it.
27. Do the most difficult and painful things first.
28. Face reality.
29. Be grateful in all things.
30. Be cheerful.
31. Be simple, hidden, quiet and small.
32. Never bring attention to yourself.
33. Listen when people talk to you.
34. Be awake and be attentive.
35. Think and talk about things no more than necessary.
36. When we speak, speak simply, clearly, firmly and directly.
37. Flee imagination, analysis, figuring things out.
38. Flee carnal, sexual things at their first appearance.
39. Don’t complain, mumble, murmur or whine.
40. Don’t compare yourself with anyone.
41. Don’t seek or expect praise or pity from anyone.
42. We don’t judge anyone for anything.
43. Don’t try to convince anyone of anything.
44. Don’t defend or justify yourself.
45. Be defined and bound by God alone.
46. Accept criticism gratefully but test it critically.
47. Give advice to others only when asked or obligated to do so.
48. Do nothing for anyone that they can and should do for themselves.
49. Have a daily schedule of activities, avoiding whim and caprice.
50. Be merciful with yourself and with others.
51. Have no expectations except to be fiercely tempted to your last breath.
52. Focus exclusively on God and light, not on sin and darkness.
53. Endure the trial of yourself and your own faults and sins peacefully, serenely, because you know that God’s mercy is greater than your wretchedness.
54. When we fall, get up immediately and start over.
55. Get help when you need it, without fear and without shame.
Friday, January 7, 2011
the gift of gifts
I've been noticing that it seems to be a "must" in the blogging/facebook communities to post pictures of "the goods" one gets on Christmas, with a closeup of gleeful grins and the gift that brought all those teeth to the surface.
.
I didn't even think to take pictures of the four presents we opened on Christmas morning (all of which were joint/shared gifts). I was too busy wondering if we should be giving gifts at all on Christmas. You see, I had just finished reading a Christmas book to my children called "Santa's favorite story", where Santa has to explain that Christmas isn't about him. Of course, at the end of the story, he goes ahead and gives out presents to all the animals in the forest anyway . . . can we say mixed message?!
Back on December 5, I was preparing for St. Nicolas Day. (For more information on this wonderful saint, go here www.stnicholascenter.com) For the second year in a row, our kids have delighted in placing their shoes ourside their door, stuffed with carrots for St. Nicholas' white horse. Then hubby and I exchange the carrots for little chocolate coins (also a legend of St. Nicolas) and other small treats. The kids wake up in the morning super excited about a handful of armymen strategically guarding their doorway, and the sweets. They didn't need an atare (or wait, is it gamebox, xbox 360, wii . . .i can't keep up!) They were happy with this modest surprise. And, of course, so were we! We began the day at church. The rest of the day we read stories about the real St. Nicholas and colored pictures of him, while enjoying our chocoate.
Next year, I plan to add the element of baking cookies together for our neighbors enclosing a special message about the real St. Nicholas, and writing a list together with the children of kind things we can do for others (ie: not things we want to get from santa, but things we want to give in honor of St. Nicholas). We will then work on this list leading up to Christmas. I deeply hope the addition of these two elements will guide us deeper into the Nativity season with more awareness of "the reason for the season." Who knows, we may end up changing our official Christmas gift-giving to this day altogether.
You see, St. Nicholas is really from whom the gift-giving was inspired. Over time, and in Puritanical America where saints lost their status, the traditions of St. Nicolas Day were merged into those of Christmas. Alas the wonderfully generous, God-fearing Bishop Nicholas became the jolly secular marketing genius Santa.
Anyway, back to my original post . . . Even though I am not a big fan of the materialized version of Christmas, I don't want to come across as a "Scrooge". I do afterall like to receive gifts as much as the next blogger. So, I thought I'd post a short list in honor of the most thoughtful gifts we received during this season.
1. hand made dolls. Ben's sister Bethany laboured to make these beautiful hand-crafted dolls for my girls. She put so much love and personality into them; may she know they have received just as much love and personality in return.
2. paint. It's been over 6 years, and our bedroom hasn't seen a lick of paint to grace those horribly dingy walls. Thanks to my husband's thoughtfulness, and my brother's skill, we now have delicious buttercream bedroom walls.
3. geo cashing. We love "doing" gifts the whole family can enjoy. Not only did we have to use our GPS to hunt down our gift hidden in the woods, we also got to redeem tickets to the Dallas World Aquarium. This was a special treat and a great learning adventure for all of us. Thanks Tim and Karina!
So, I had no intention of posting pictures of gleeful getters on my blog, but it seems I've been won over by the masses, and just had to take a photo today of my favorite gift Eden received (from grandma); a real vaccuum! I imagine I don't need to explain why I am so excited about it!
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