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.
Friday, September 23, 2011
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!
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