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.

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.

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!

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."

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

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.

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.