liturgical time: walking the seasons

Dormition Fast and Homeschool Prep

2025-08-02T14:56:00.000-07:00

The Dormition fast began yesterday. As a daughter, I find this fast to be a somewhat emotional one. The loss of one's mother seems an overwhelming transition. I cannot imagine the depth of the grief of the Apostles and followers of Christ. I find myself overwhelmed by the tenderness of our Lord is His treatment of his beloved mother. There is something deeply extraordinary about the dual expression of Our Lord's divinity and His humanity in the icon of this feast. How awesome is our Lord and God.

We are still schooling since big sister had a break when her baby sister came home. At the same time, grandma is busy getting ready for next school year. In the midst of this, the Feast of the Dormition of the Mother of God is on the horizon. It seems timely to gather a few educational resources for this special day which falls on August 15. All links open in a spearate window.

Resources for the Dormition:
*During the fast, the children can color one flower per day as a countdown to the dormition using the lovely image at Many Mercies.

* A podcast from Fr. Thomas Hopko on the theology of the feast is available at Ancient Faith.

* A discussion of the Dormition icon by Patristix is here.

*There is content related to the Dormition beginning on page 16 of this Christian Education Focus Unit from the Orthodox Church in America (OCA).

*If you are blessed to own a copy, you will find that the book Heaven Meets Earth by John Kosmas Skinas provides a visual feast of information on the Dormition beginning on p. 58. Additional books are listed at the St. Kosmas link in the next entry.

*OCN offers a printable booklet for children with a beautiful icon of the Theotokos for coloring contains a discussion of the concept of intercession.

*An absolute plethera of information and resources including book suggestions, coloring pages, hymnography, audio, and videos is available online from St. Kosmas Christian Education Association.

* A video from Patristic Nectar Kids covers the Dormition:

I pray that this list of resources saves some young parents some keyboard search time and leaves more time for cuddles and catechesis.

God bless your families and your little ones,
Pax Christi,
~Michelle

Fall Returns to the Mountain

2020-10-03T17:51:00.029-07:00

Charles J Sharp / CC BY-SA

(https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)

I've recently spotted a couple of small cadres of enormous turkey vultures soaring over our mountain valley. These sparse numbers are the early birds, signaling the arrival of fall on the mountain. In the coming weeks, approximately 35,000 of them will make their way overhead to their autumnal destination. They are thought of as ugly, but I think they are majestic as they glide low over our home and then ride the thermals impossibly high into the towering depths of the sky. They are familiar, like decades-old friends. Many of them, late evening arrivals, will spend nights in large groups in the trees throughout our small town, waking in the morning to continue on their way. Their autumn migration south to Mexico signals cooling weather like clockwork every year. Turkey vultures mean that it's time to think about planting the garlic. And so, the cycle of the small markers of time continues on, unabated.

LoboStudio Hamburg lobostudiohamburg / CC0

My sweet granddaughter is toddling along, helping grandpa build a new vegetable planter box. She is quite certain that the tiny block of wood she is carrying to the building spot is just as important as the long, heavy board that grandpa is wielding. We all have an essential part to play. As I look on, I wonder what her world be will be like, in the wake of such tumultuous times. I pray she will hold on to faith, to help her meet the challenges her generation will face, and to keep her anchored in the important things.

Occasionally, she pauses to check the tomatoes. She has learned the difference between green and red, and has become expert at determining when they are ready--- excitedly pulling at the ripe ones as she looks over her shoulder for approval. She has no idea yet, in these early weeks past her first birthday, that we will be making tomato sauce with them soon. She simply knows that red is red, and that red is an important marker in the world of tomatoes.

These days, as little one takes on the essential job of monitoring the tomatoes, I find myself stretching toward greater family self-reliance. A brand new pressure canner gleams atop my counter, waiting for a permanent place to reside in our home. I have no idea where I will store it. Nevertheless, I am suddenly less comfortable relying on the freezer to keep our winter stores fresh without fail. I often find myself wishing I could call up my grandmother on the phone, and ask about the way things used to be done--when circumstances did not beguile us into believing that life is perpetually convenient and safe. Why ever did we stop building root cellars? I could use a few of my Mormon foremothers to sit down at my kitchen table and pass along some of the old pioneer skills --and wisdom-- that have been lost to the relentless passage of time. Nevertheless, we find, as did they, our comfort and safety in God. Still, I imagine that he expects us to chart the tides and then row the boat with the paddles that he gives us.

Such uncertain times press us forward to a new appraisal of what really matters, though, do they not? When aspects of life and society that one has taken for granted for a lifetime, suddenly seem less certain to remain, one begins to prioritize more ardently. And so, I take heart in the little patterns of wet, toddler-sized footprints stretching from garden to planter-box-in-the-making, and back. God, family, and learning to love are what matters. Let us never forget what matters.

User:Almonroth / CC BY-SA (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)

Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them: for the Lord thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee. ~Deuteronomy 31:6

May our Lord bless you and keep you in these challenging times,
~Michelle

Reading Glasses and Towering Pines on the Mountain

2018-02-17T11:12:00.001-08:00

I patted the crown of my head this morning, looking for my glasses. Unfortunately, the palm of my hand met only silver streaked hair, and bid me go looking for my glasses elsewhere. I find myself doing this often now. My eyes are firmly aged 50 these days. My grandmother used to do this often - this crown of the head patting. As a child, I found it infinitely amusing. How could one not know whether one has glasses on ones head? Honestly. Time has a way of turning the joke upon the amused, and the clock ticks on.

Yesterday, my three year old went skating across the concrete, pulled via dog leash by a marvelously loyal old dog. Today she left our little mountain cabin with her husband to make the trip into town by car to run some errands. It was just yesterday, wasn't it -- the roller skating? Perhaps not. Time passes so quickly. All I can offer is the time worn phrases: 'It all passes so quickly. Don't miss it. Don't fill it with worry. Enjoy it. Life flies by.' (If you are young, you'll dismiss them. If you are older than young, you will nod in concert.) One day, I will stop flying along with time, leaving it for a timeless place, and time will go on without me --bearing only my fingerprints and whispers.

And yet, the generations will follow. I've been raising them along these five decades. Making my contribution to a long line of generation raising. Each of us contributes to the collective memory and store of wisdom -- our many mistakes and our meager handful of successes tossed into the mix of the multigenerational family story, humbly. Mine more humble than most, I'm certain.

As I look out my window at the tall pines, I realize that it is difficult to see the mountain now. The pines keep reaching higher toward Heaven, and only glimpses of old man mountain, through branches, remain. One day, each stately tree will fall, in its own time, having reached its full cycle of life. It is a wonder-- a mystery-- that it is in the falling to soil that we finally reach Heaven. This life is in the reaching, though. And, there is much living ahead to be done.

And so, things are purring along here, in our little mountain home. The tea pot still rumbles and whistles, the sewing machine still hums along. Laces line their places and needles glint. The bears are finally sleeping their Winter sleep. And, we pray for you, our dear ones. It occurred to me this morning that I ought tell you that. I've been so quiet. Those of you who have been around these many years since the shop began, will remember that the blog used to be updated frequently. Now, as my eyes and fingers age, as a wedding sits in recent memory, and life throws so many responsibilities my way, I've not been so active at the keyboard. Still, you reside in our hearts and minds. We are grateful for you.

With Lent upon us-- Catholic, Orthodox, and Protestant alike-- as we embark upon our journey into the desert of fasting, prayer, and almsgiving-- we wish you godspeed. May God go with you. May He be your travel companion and your destination. May you meet Him in prayer, self-denial, and quietude. May you meet Him in your neighbor. May He fill your heart and soul with Peace.

Pax Christi Dear Ones,
A good and holy Lenten season awaits,
~Michelle

The Veil

2017-05-12T22:51:00.002-07:00

Many veils have been made in our home--veils for weddings and veils for baptisms, veils for prayer and veils for mourning, veils for meeting our Lord in the Chalice. Each is infused by the prayer of our hands, made with love and devotion to our Lord-- English net and Chantilly lace, resting like silken intercession over rituals for transition. Sometimes I imagine them, scattered amongst little villages and large cities, overseas and across countries, on the heads of praying women. Having passed through my hands, run gently through by my needle, they touch my heart. But, this veil, --it is different.

"Keep their wedlock safe against every hostile scheme; give them of the dew from the Heavens above, and of the fatness of the earth. Fill their houses with bountiful food, and with every good thing, that they may have to give to them that are in need..."

This veil will grace the one who has lain in my arms, fed at my breast, played at my feet. This veil will --Lord willing--be touched by my grandchildren and, perhaps, by theirs. This veil is trimmed in lace that will frame the hem of a christening gown on the solea of my own parish. This veil will settle gently upon the fingertips of generations--Lord willing, Lord willing.

She sculpted it, this veil, me looking on. It is her opus. I steadied the trim as she placed it, gingerly, meticulously. I sat, hands quiet, as she began the stitching. She alone is making it--this one, her own bold creation.

"Give to them fruit of the womb, fair children, concord of soul and body. Exalt them as the cedars of Lebanon, and as well‑cultured vine; bestow on them a rich store of sustenance, so that having a sufficiency of all things for themselves, they may abound in every good work that is good and acceptable before You. Let them behold their children's children as newly planted olive trees round about their table; and, being accepted before You, let them shine as stars in the Heavens, in You, our Lord, to Whom are due all Glory, honor, and worship as to Your eternal Father, and Your All‑Holy, Good, and Life‑creating Spirit, both now and ever, and to the ages of ages.

Join them together in oneness of mind; crown them with wedlock into one flesh; grant to them the fruit of the womb, and the gain of well favored children.

O Lord, our God, crown them with glory and honor..."

I watch it take shape as the days pass. It is exquisite. It is hers, and she will form it according to her values, hopes, and dreams. She does not need me to guide her. I have taught her and I have learned from her, already. Years of preparation have passed, now come to promising fruition.

"Declare their marriage honorable. Preserve their bed undefiled. Grant that their life together be without spot of sin. And assure that they may be worthy to attain unto a ripe old age, keeping Your commandments in a pure heart..."

I watch her long awaited, long prayed for future begin to unfold, and I see it-- she is ready. She is ready.

"...bless these Your servants, who, by Your Providence, are joined in the community of marriage. Bless their comings‑in and their goings‑out. Replenish their life with all good things. Accept their crowns in Your Kingdom unsoiled and undefiled; and preserve them without offense to the ages of ages.*"

*All italicized portions are taken from The Service of Marriage; Liturgical Texts of the Orthodox Church.

Waiting on Change ~ Advent

2016-11-19T11:34:00.003-08:00

Mother of God, Lovingkindness

As evenings grow darker, I find my thoughts traveling to the Advent wreath. In years past, this is the weekend I would likely be panicking about the fact that I had, yet again, failed to order the candles on time. As darkness falls on lengthening nights, I yearn to light that first tiny flame--a herald of the coming of our Savior. But, I have traveled East, and Advent wreaths are not an Eastern Rite tradition. So, I am tossed in a sea absent Western traditions and spilling over her banks with unfamiliar Eastern ones. It is easier to fall into the familiar arms of traditions that you have grown up along side, than it is to immerse yourself in new ones--let me tell you. So, I-- who have lived 49 years ordering my life by the rhythm of the Western Christian calendar--stand in Eastern icon corners and search my soul for the warm, familiar feelings of home.

Large Rectangular Veil in Brown w Pink Accents ~ RCVM6

I am sitting in a quiet house today. My husband is sorting through mail and the dogs are snoring in the narrow ray of sun that the blinds let in. Elyse is two hours' drive away. She'll be home in a handful of days to sew and to don veils for new listing photos before Thanksgiving. After Thanksgiving, I'll have two adult children at home for awhile. Twice the love. Twice the hope for a marvelous future. Time flies by and change is both joy-giving, and ruthless.

I know that she will leave us to make her own life, but will stay in the warm embrace of family as she grows into that life, and forms it. Her life will be different from mine, yet will be shaped and influenced by her time in our home. All who came before her have put their stamp on her being--on her living. Just as an Advent wreath glows in the shadowy night corners of my heart, she will hear, in the distance, 1900s cattle lowing softly in the snowy night. The scent of warm bread dough rising while tucked snuggly in the back of an 1800s covered wagon -- kneeded by the weary hands of a foremother looking west to Zion-- will waft gently on her nostrils. She will startle-- gently, briefly-- as she places bare feet on the ground along those of her little ones, at the feel of the rich soil of the Tetons squeezing up between her toes. And then, she will look down to see that it is not really there--in her vision, but is written on her heart.

And, she will remember. She'll tell the ancestral stories to little ears. Her children will appear as if they are not listening, but, their hearts will hear. Their souls will record love of Christ and family--and stories of those who bequeathed these things to them. And her children, too, will remember.

Liturgical Time : "..Because of the Angels"

So, then, life continues on mercilessly, and change bursts in to reveal that all the things that really matter stay the same. I'll remember this as I pull my western Advent Wreath out of the sideboard this year and my youngest -- my only -- lights the first candle. Because, the dust of trails traveled clings to us as we move forward, and then falls gently on newly discovered ground, to enrich it.

He's coming friends-- our Lord, putting on human flesh to become one of us and to grow strong and wise, to teach us, and to conquer death and the grave. Are you making room? Are you sweeping corners and wiping shelves and taking stock of your heart and your household? Advent approaches, in the East and in the West--He is coming. Let us prepare ourselves and our homes, and make Him room.

Pax Christi, dear ones,
~Michelle

Lilacs and French Lace...Spring is on the Air

2016-04-09T14:31:00.000-07:00

It's lilac season at Liturgical Time. We're celebrating with a flurry of French laces and Springtime prints. The studio is humming with shipping activity. Into the midst of whirls of packaging ribbon and organza pouches filled with lace lovelies, Papa placed a vase of cut lilacs...and it brought to my mind an old post. So, I've resurrected it, below, from the archives.

I pray your home is filled with sweet fragrance and strong endurance, and that we all emerge newly broken from our Lenten disciplines,and ready for growth, into this year's Paschal Spring.

Pax Christi, dear ones!

“It is spring again. The earth is like a child that knows poems by heart.”

― Rainer Maria Rilke

Lilacs, Shoe Throwers, and Endurance: Remembering Who is in Charge, and Being Still
A Repost from the 2012 Archives....

It's lilac season in the Central California mountains.

I love this time of year. I hate this time of year.

I woke up to a flurry of emails

about typical end of the school year special education stresses.

May is rough.

But the lilacs are lovely. There are fields of them around here, and they adorn yards everywhere. In the center of town, some of them are enormous, like trees. I imagine they have been around longer than I have, probably much longer.

They have grown so large and sturdy and stately because they have endured. Through times of plenty and times of rationing, they have soldiered on, ...by simply standing still. They have celebrated in the roaring twenties; buckled down and lived on less throughout the Great Depression. I'm sure that they saw a thing or two in the sixties. They've seen grown little boys returning home from wars, and a few good sized California earthquakes.

All the while, they stood still, basked in sun when it was available, slept when it was time, and drank in the water and nutrients that they could. And it shaped them into something magnificent.

I've had some stresses of my own, I suppose, as I look back over my four and a half decades of life. As I contemplate the times that seemed debilitating, it was generally due to fear,....fear of loss, fear of change, fear of inadequacy,...and it generally has occurred during periods when I was operating under the delusion that I was in control.

We tend to develop big ideas for ourselves, we humans. We tend to think that things are in our hands, and to forget Whom it is that hung the stars.

Maybe you don't, but I do.

I tend to think that I can keep everything going, straighten it out, repair it, make it right, and keep it that way. Then, I begin to think that I must do these things.

Truth is, I'll be lucky if I can just get dinner on the table.

The machine is much bigger than we are, and we can only do our part. The people who throw shoes in our works,... the people who pass judgment...they cannot see into our souls, and they do not care to. They have their own agendas in mind.

Our Lord is the only one who can see the heart; he is the only one who has the full scoop. He is the only one who will stand in final judgment...and...he is the one in charge.

I don't need to be. You don't need to be.

We only need to stand still, bask in the sun when available, sleep when it is time, and drink in the water and nutrients that we can.

We only need to strive to have Christ in our hearts, and to be Christ to the world. We only need to strive to provide the best Christlike service that we can in a broken world.

We only need to get dinner on the table, and be still.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not unto your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight. ~Proverbs 3: 5-6

~~~~~

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On This Day of Bright Sorrow

2016-03-25T11:37:00.001-07:00

I borrowed the Western calendar today, for a moment, and pondered. As an Orthodox Christian, my Pacha, my Easter, will be May 1 this year. Still, one cannot help but notice that for our Western brothers and sisters, today is Good Friday....a Good Friday that shares a calendar-square with the date in both traditons, of the Annunciation. Bright sorrow, and melancholy joy, colliding.

Skokloster Castle / Jens Mohr

Forty-one years ago, a baby was born in my home. A little brother, unexpected, a gift. I was no longer an only child; I had someone to walk through the decades with. Nineteen years later, unexpectedly, he went home. This time, it didn't feel like a gift. I don't understand it. The pain really cannot be described, and so, I will not try. I can only trust that in God's wisdom, it was the better choice. I can only trust that it was to save him, and us, greater pain.

I don't talk about him much around those whom I do not trust with such raw, deep sorrow. I mostly keep him hidden in my heart. People often show interest in such stories for titillation. They want to know something that sits deep within you, something that can drop you to the ground. They want to be spectators to the sensational. And so, I keep him in my hearts' embrace.

It must have been something like that for Mary? Imagine the depth of her pain, and the sensational response of the masses to her son's death. How she must have grieved; how she must have wanted to cover him with her own body, to shield him from the titillated and jeering crowds. I am no Mary, but I can imagine a small piece of her experience,... perhaps.

The Virgin Mary Swooning over the Dead Body of Christ at the Foot of the Cross, by Pierre-Etienne Monnot, 1710

Still, she carried this devastating sorrow for the joy it ushered in. Our salvation, and hers....a wonder. Trusting God, that in His wisdom, it was the better choice...the only way to save us greater pain. And so, we trust.

Blessed Annunciation, dear ones, and a holy and blessed Good Friday to our precious friends who pray and wait at the foot of the cross, in the Western tradition,
~Michelle

Shoes and Rain on a Dry Mountain

2015-08-01T10:06:00.001-07:00

The face of the mountain is a cacophony of forest green and toasted brown. She is thirsty. My soul glints brown too; I cannot write, and I don't know why. You've not heard from me, because I haven't heard from myself.

Yet, the forest is a-flutter with birdsong. Perhaps in their DNA they know that these things pass and rain will soak the forest floor again, so they need not waste time grieving. Or, perhaps, they are crying out in choral prayer, for rain.

The kettle still hums and my husband still perches on couch's edge, strapping on shoes that prompt me to ask if he is leaving. For 26 years, his shoe donning behavior has confused me, striking uncertainty. In my house, we only put on shoes when we were leaving. In his, shoes went on every morning, regardless of plans. You'd think 26 years would be a teacher, and I'd no longer ask the well worn question, "are you going somewhere?" How many times have I heard the reply offered with a smile and a shake of his head, "just putting my shoes on"?

And so, I am assured and content as he settles back into his spot on the couch next to me, as he has done for two and half decades, wondering why I keep asking.

I pick up the daily reading:

Matthew 15:32-39, King James Version (KJV)

32 Then Jesus called his disciples unto him, and said, I have compassion on the multitude, because they continue with me now three days, and have nothing to eat: and I will not send them away fasting, lest they faint in the way.

33 And his disciples say unto him, Whence should we have so much bread in the wilderness, as to fill so great a multitude?

34 And Jesus saith unto them, How many loaves have ye? And they said, Seven, and a few little fishes.

35 And he commanded the multitude to sit down on the ground.

36 And he took the seven loaves and the fishes, and gave thanks, and brake them, and gave to his disciples, and the disciples to the multitude.
37 And they did all eat, and were filled: and they took up of the broken meat that was left seven baskets full.

38 And they that did eat were four thousand men, beside women and children.

39 And he sent away the multitude, and took ship, and came into the coasts of Magdala. (KJV-Public Dolmain)

Thursday, there was rain. My Facebook feed filled up to overflowing, with photos of water rushing down mountain village roads. And yet, today, I gaze on glints of forest brown and despair, having forgotten. And so, I am gently reminded. It is not my job to wonder from whence the nourishment will come. It is my job to continue with Him daily, to settle in before the woodstove beside a husband who will not venture elsewhere, and to trust that the birdsong will remain.

Pax Christi Dear Ones,
May you always find childlike trust in our risen Lord,
~Michelle

Pretty, Happy, Funny, Real - Elyse's Edition

2015-05-28T14:17:00.001-07:00

{ Pretty, Happy, Funny, Real }

It looks like it's my turn to share a bit of life's best bits with you guys!
- Elyse

Let me give you a little background for these pictures.

Recently, I spent a long weekend with my grandparents (one of my favorite things to do). We went sport shooting at a range (favorite thing ever), went to a car show (whee shiny chrome!), and then spent some time at the beach on the pier.
There is something especially special about spending time with my grandparents, and I think it’s reflected in these photographs.

{Pretty}

©Elyse at LiturgicalTime

No, these aren’t cars! These beauties were nestled into a planter in the middle of the car show, where street after street was lined with fantastic, sportsy, build-it-yourself kit cars, and where I became completely lost wandering around trying to find the parking garage where we left the car so I could get my jacket.

{Happy}

©Elyse at LiturgicalTime

I love the beach. If I believed in reincarnation and fantasy, I probably would say I had been a mermaid in my past life.

{Funny}

©Elyse at LiturgicalTime

Now, this photograph wasn’t taken during the weekend, but I think anyone who has a dog (or a cat) knows what this means.
FEED ME FEED ME FEED ME

{Real}

©Elyse at LiturgicalTime

These flowers were made from palm branches. One thing I love about the beach is the artistic nature of those who live there, and how willing they are to spread that nature around.

These flowers were made by a group of men seated at a bench at the start of the pier. As Grandma and I were walking by, we were offered the flowers. I asked how much they were, and was told that they simply took donations. At the time, I had no money in my pockets for them, so let them know I was grateful for the offer but kept walking. One of them hopped off the bench, took up a bouquet of two, and caught up with us to let us know he would rather we have them than not.

Something about this says "real" to me. Maybe it's the beauty of humanity wrapped into two small palm branch flowers, or maybe it's the generosity of someone wanting to share something wonderful with another without any recompense.
People are good, and we don't always see it.

Celebrating everyday life with Like Mother Like Daughter
(After our visit together, stop by the blog hop for more glimpses of simple joys):

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Am I empty?

2015-01-22T18:51:00.001-08:00

Today, I received an email from the editor of an upcoming book that I contributed to. The email contained the title of the book: Empty. I hadn't known the title until then.

I bristled.

It's an appropriate title for a book of Christian reflections on infertility and miscarriage, I'm sure.

Still...Empty...
Barren...fruitless...inadequate...unworthy...
Rejected as a mother, by God.
I felt 24 again. The same self-talk and shame rolled back into my being. Empty. Of course, my reaction to the title was not really about the title. It's a spectacularly appropriate and effective title. In truth, my reaction was about my own experiences and interpretations of my situation. This project has not been an easy one for me. Participation has required me to pry open wounds that I have covered over and attempted to forget.

I ignored the email for a few hours. There were meetings to be held that saved me from dealing with the word -- educational plan meetings with mothers overflowing with children...6 children to be exact, and then 8, respectively. Meetings with worthy women. Women who measured up. Women with mother-approval from God. I realized as I pondered this, that I still feel like I got away with something by conceiving a child. I realized that I still feel like I am going to get caught, and that, then, she will be taken from me.

Each mother was tired. As the first struggled with her blessed horde, I wondered if she knew. Did she know how others yearn for a child as they endure the aching pain of a hollow womb? Probably not, but even if she did, she wasn't thinking of it then. She was too busy trying to get her oldest to stop kicking the principal's cherry wood file cabinet. The littlest one threw a fuzzy, pink, stuffed heart at her head. He had good aim. Empty is difficult, but full is a challenge too.

Returning to my office when the meetings were completed, I was confronted by my phone, still blinking. Empty.

Empty. It needs to be said. Infertility and miscarriage leave one empty. There is pain. There is loss. Someone is missing. That needs to be acknowledged. Years later, there are scars. I felt it then; I feel them now. I contemplated the starkness of the word, the label. My label. My label?

Am I empty?
Perhaps I have been.
Emptiness leaves room for filling though, store-room for potential bounty. Space to suffuse with life, one way or another.

If I had already been filled, would I have been able to love others- that I have not birthed- quite so much? Would I have been able to fully appreciate the short years spent with a loved one who left this life early, had I not known the experience of emptiness prior to his arrival, and after? Perhaps. Perhaps not. When babies don't come easily, one learns, perhaps, to appreciate life in a particularly special way when it does occur.

In any event, as I consider my state, I see that I am no longer empty. I've been blessed with a miracle child who has filled our hearts and home, and who has brought others into our lives that we have loved. I don't think we love her more than others love their children, but we might love her differently. We understand the joy born of the filling of a space that had previously stood many years barren. Like the feast after a fast - sweeter for us than it might have been if the bounty had not trailed on the heels of scarcity. Cherished, ---oh, how she is cherished.

I cannot know God's ways. I can only feel joy and sorrow, and sometimes contentment, -and then trust that He knows what I need of each. Because he has loved and schooled and blessed, I am no longer empty. Because I have lived and cried and longed for those lost, and those never born, ...because I have kissed sweet baby fingers and have been privileged to witness life, I am full.
Today, I am full.

Pax Christi dear ones,
~Michelle

Why Women Make Blankets...and Prayer of the Hands

2015-01-05T09:25:00.002-08:00

I usually have work in my hands when I'm listening to speakers. I suspect that at least a few co-attendees think this is inappropriate. Busying one's hands can free up the mind to listen, though, and to pray. The repetitive rhythm of handwork has always been a conduit of prayer and of connection for me. You see, rosaries and prayer ropes are wonderful, but crochet works too! I always listen more attentively, and pray more deeply, when my hands are not calling me for something to do. Much better to pour one's prayer into a physical product of the experience. The prayer becomes the work, and the work becomes the prayer; you see?

Some twenty years ago, I spent the many hours of a five day autism conference with a crochet hook and silky yarn in my hands. A substantial portion of an afghan materialized as I took in what was then cutting edge training on serving the needs of children on the Autism spectrum. I did this sitting next to my boss.

He did not question the fact that I had a crochet hook, rather than a note taking pen, in my hand. He knew me. His question was different than that. "Why would you spend hours upon hours making a blanket, when I can walk into a store and buy one in minutes?" "Because there'd be no love in it," I replied. I could have added, "or prayer," but didn't; that would have been beyond him. He looked at me incredulously, or perhaps he was just confused. At any rate, he didn't get it. I distinctly remember him shaking his head. There was probably an eye roll in there too.

Women who make things with their hands understand though. It's the reason they send handmade blankets to children's hospitals and to orphanages and to friends who have recently lost loved ones. It's the reason that wrapped and ribbon-clad boxes at baby showers are filled with the things.

For women of faith, the work of our hands is full of intention born of the heart. It is physical prayer and permeated by love. I'm quite certain that the sensation of love can be tangibly perceived. It feels like dupioni silk and wool and quilting cotton. It feels like Chantilly lace, too. It's in there, amongst the fibers, saturating physical objects spun with it. It's how we bundle those we love in our care and protection and prayer. It's how we wrap people in our arms, and surround them with a comforting bulwark of love, when we cannot be there in person.

And that's why women make blankets.

“He should first show them in deeds rather than words all that is good and holy.”

~Bendict of Nursia, The Rule of Saint Benedict

Pax Christi dear ones, May your loved ones be always ensconced in a rampart of prayer, and may you always feel bundled in love.
~Michelle

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Always There is Advent

2014-12-06T20:23:00.000-08:00

The rhythm of our family life has been turned on its head since we've begun this multifaceted journey into Orthodoxy. Most of the holy days and seasons that we used to order our lives by have changed in focus or date, or have even faded into the background to accommodate the Byzantine rite and its calendar. I'm not sure what to make of this Advent period in my new ecclesiastical home. The focus seems to fall most strongly on the Nativity fast and its corresponding self examination and confession. Not so different really, but no Advent wreath flickers in our parish church. The O Antiphons do not echo there.

My daughter tells me she would prefer to be married in a Byzantine style church. This daughter that I had always pictured kneeling at the altar rail of a high church Western parish in the glow of stained glass and aumbry light. No bells will peel for my girl and her beloved. We have entered a new country - one that, although unfamiliar, we have chosen gratefully and peacefully.

Still, the darkness grows long in the California mountains. Broom and dustpan beckon us to clean our home and our souls. Eerie night hangs low and ominously questions -- are we ready? It is Advent still.

Are we ready for the birth of a king? Are we prepared for him to enter our lives full force and dwell in clean swept quarters? Are we ready for his return? And so, in the midst of new rhythms and of family growth and change, we fall into old habits cast in new light. Nights are spent cleaning and praying, examining our lives and waiting hopefully upon approaching light.

Change is coming. I can feel it around the edges of our lives. And so this year, as every year in Advent, I wonder: Have we prepared adequately? have we taught and learned what was needful? Have we stored up skills and wisdom and sufficient strength of character to bear the challenge? Have we done it justice?

No...no, of course we haven't. There is always more that is needful, much that was neglected. I am sorely inadequate. I can hardly manage my own life, much less pass the skills of life and home management on to another. And yet the wheel turns, and gray hairs come, and daughters grow more wise and ready. Ready to embark on a life that she is not fully prepared for. I have not done her justice.

Still, it is Advent. Time to prepare. Time to examine and correct. Time to light flames of hope that accumulate to form a great light as time progresses. Each year, there is Advent. Perhaps the greatest lesson is self appraisal and renewal. Perhaps the greatest lesson is the lighting of flickering hope for a future of continual growth and progress.

So then, she is ready, because each year of her life she has lit candles of purple and pink and whispered into ominous darkness: O Come O Come Emmanuel. Come and bring us true hope.

Pax Christi dear ones,
~Michelle

O Come, O Come, Emmanuel
And Ransom Captive Israel,
That mourns in lonely exile here,
Until the Son of God appear.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee O Israel.

Courtship: What I Have Learned (Too Late)

2014-11-30T12:57:00.000-08:00

Roses - gift from Sir Merton Russell-Cotes,
1921 by Matha Mutrie from Russell-Cotes Art Gallery & Museum;
via The Public Catalogue Foundation

1. It really doesn't matter what you call it. In spite of the current fervor in Christian circles over the "courtship vs. dating" phenomenon, you don't particularly have to define it. You simply need to teach principles that you deem right. Even if you entertain some regrets over potential downsides of your chosen approach, your child is still going to absorb what you believe and value; and then she's going to live it.

2. Adverse effects of your parenting mistakes are a given. Your well-loved child is smarter than you know. She'll adjust accordingly. Let it go; you've got bread to bake and laundry to do,- there isn't time for self flagellation.

3. At some point, you are finished. All that time spent exercising concern over how to best guide the process may be a bit excessive. You don't really need to guide the process much at all; you've already taught her what to look for and how to honor it when she finds it. You can't get any of that worry-wasted time back, but you can save time now by getting out of the way. You've raised an adult; allow her to become one.

4. There are actually stellar and God-fearing young men whom you would happily hand your daughter over to. All that wretched anxiety was misspent.

5. In spite of your decades long and deeply held intention to welcome said stellar young man into your family embrace with love, you can best accomplish that by respecting his independence and leaving him alone. He has a mother and doesn't require another. The granting of autonomy does not equal rejection. Who knew? Life is chock full of unanticipated realities.

Pax Christi dear ones,
You'll make a terrible lot of mistakes; there isn't value in dwelling on them,
~Michelle

Wondering where we started from?
This is part 7 of a series.
Part 1 is here.
Part 2 is here.
Part 3 is here.
Part 4 is here.
Part 5 is here.
Part 6 is here.

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Men and Women and Tires

2014-10-20T16:39:00.000-07:00

My husband knelt on the dirt alongside a farmer's field to change our daughter's tire last night. I sat in our Jeep watching him finish the job in the glare of headlights. Under cover of darkness, I realized again how profoundly grateful I am for him.

All these years together, as I have fretted and planned, worried and analyzed, evaluated and adjusted our life together, he has simply stood calmly and quietly by. He has stepped in only when he needs to, in order to keep me from tipping the boat with my agitation. He mostly lets me wear myself out until I throw my hands up and rest.

I sometimes wish I could be like that- level, uniform, resilient. For all my building and fashioning of family, it would all collapse if he were not the bedrock on which it all rests. I can plan all the routes - and I do a lot of that - but it would be fruitless if he didn't keep me calmly reassured and step in to change the tires when they need changing.

While he was changing that tire, I watched my daughter. I could see it in her expression and posture: She was running over the incident in her mind, using "if-only" as a mantra, worrying about the expense of replacing the damaged wheel, questioning her decision to buy the wheels in the first place - churning in disquietude. She has her mother in her - poor girl. Her father, though, just kept changing the tire and then got into her car to drive it home, in case there was a problem with the spare. I love men.

I think that we, as the daughters of several waves of feminism, rarely give men their due. Yet, as bullets fly in movie theaters, men step in and risk their own safety to protect women that they do not know. For thousands of years, men have gone to war to protect women and children. Ordinary men get up each morning to go to work and then come home without complaint. They ride out the emotional cycles of the women that they love. They kneel on dirt and asphalt to change tires for stranded women. It's a marvel really.

Love - EngagementCC BY 2.0 April Killingsworth from Los Angeles, United States - Flickr

Still, men are curious creatures to a woman's mind. They're physical; we're emotional. They are hands-on while we live in our hearts and minds. How the twain ever meet is a mystery.

Millennia of experiences on the part of our foremothers have written on our DNA the need for caution. A man can physically harm a woman, or he can shield her from injury and abuse. He can provide protection, support, and leadership for a woman and her children; or he can abandon her and leave them in danger. He can be a partner to her, or he can demean and control her. He can be faithful, or he can emotionally destroy her.

While both are made vulnerable, I think that it's not quite such a huge risk for a man to enter into a relationship with a woman. He is relatively safe without her. She is unsafe without him, but she could be harmed by him. She must trust him to provide for her and her children. She must trust him to choose not to expose them to harm. Regardless of the advances women may have made in recent decades, I believe that these cautions are woven into our makeup and that they influence the steps that we take.

So, while physical intimacy- no matter how innocent -may be his natural means of communication and union, she must know him - really know him - first. She must fret and analyze, plan and consider. She must hear what he thinks, values, plans, and hopes for. She must know the priorities and beliefs upon which he bases his decisions, before she can submit to those decisions. She has to know where he is headed, and how he will decide changes in course, before she can follow. She must hear his words before she can be open to the vulnerability in which she receives his touch, no matter how much that touch is wanted.

It must baffle them. We must baffle them. Yet, generation after generation, somehow, together we vanquish these obstacles and pair bonds remarkably form and endure. Men learn to buttress women and stand by them. They learn to fill our needs, even when they don't understand them. They show kindness and patience. Then, they transform into fathers who change tires in the dirt on the edge of farmers' night-black fields, and they hug daughters who are unnerved. They send daughters to ride home with their mothers for talking. They take the keys and drive home on spare tires to shield wives and daughters from harm.

Pax Christi dear ones,
~Michelle

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Seven Quick Takes ~ Onset of Fall 2014

2014-10-17T16:58:00.002-07:00

--- 1 ---

It feels like a woodstove sort of weekend. I think it might actually get cold enough to make a fire. Fingers crossed; we shall see. I have visions of hot chocolate, popcorn, and movie viewing in front of a glowing stove. My efforts to include young people in these plans seem not to be panning out; nonetheless, I am looking forward to it. My anticipation of embracing a Fall evening, and the likelihood that Papa and I will be doing it alone this year, both serve as reminders that the seasons change quickly, and each ought be savored.

--- 2 ---

I am learning that it is awfully difficult to stop being a mother. Even when one knows that her child is old enough to become a mother herself. Now I know why my mother still asks me, even though I'm 47, if I "have to go potty" before we leave the house on a roadtrip.

--- 3 ---

First progress reports of the school year were due today. For some reason, this annual milestone starts me thinking about our annual family reunion. We're looking forward to it, as always. I find myself musing on the way that the generations cycle through these gatherings.

--- 4 ---

Elyse has been driving eight to ten hours, and spending two nights away from home, most weeks of late. I have four hours a week of drive time on her, but, I'm more accustomed to it than she is. I see it wearing on her. She's tired. I have my reservations about whether she should be doing the full measure of this driving, but that is not really a topic for a blog post. It inspires reflection on all the driving we have done in our years of family life. We seem to be drawn to small towns and wilderness, which does not facilitate short commutes to work or church.

--- 5 ---

My author copies of Let Us Keep The Feast: Living the Church Year at Home (Complete Collection) arrived in my mailbox. Nice to have a project finished and move on to the next!

--- 6 ---

I'm a bit surprised by Elyse's maturity level lately. I'm not sure why I'm surprised. She's always been sensible and wise beyond her years. Somehow, though, I didn't anticipate the fact that I wouldn't really need to worry about her much, because it turns out that she has actually been listening all these years. Who knew?

At any rate, she seems to be exhibiting one of her frequent resurgences of interest in producing cakes. This is always a bad omen for my waistline. It is my ardent intention to encourage her current plans to send some of these cakes south of here. This seems a marvelous plan to both me and my bathroom scale.

--- 7 ---

I got nothin' for number seven, which is really a fantastic phenomenon. I guess everything is mostly okay at the moment.

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Lucky?

2014-10-10T10:13:00.001-07:00

My husband was having a conversation with a good friend the other day. Something about life and home and family and the stresses that inevitably come. After some talk of his own experiences, this friend turned to my husband and said, "Well, we can't all be lucky like you."

Bride photoCC BY 2.0 Allan Ajifo - https://www.flickr.com/photos/125992663@N02/14414226240/

My husband came home that evening and told me about it. My first reaction was the same as his had been: "lucky?!". We were mildly irked, in spite of our mutual fondness for this fine person, because his comment had, I suppose, invalidated our story. Still, we both put it aside as something that, "doesn't matter."

Boutonniere-whitesuitCC BY 2.5view termsDavid Ball - Own work

For days though, it has niggled at me. Why, I have wondered, does it bother me? What does it matter? With a day off of work and lace in my hands, my thoughts are always more clear. I now know why it matters. Here is why:

I hope you don't think we're lucky.

I'm sure it might look that way. With the marital harmony and financial security of middle life, things must look smooth and easy, like a gift that we didn't have to unwrap. But, I do hope that you don't misunderstand.

I hope you don't think that we are lucky, while you are young and are wondering, as we both did at times, whether you have made the right choice of a spouse, -because you will wonder. I hope that when you're sitting on the ground at the top of the hill at two in the morning , as I once did, and listening to the horses scrape and wuffle in the dark with tears in your eyes because you aren't happy - that you don't think I am lucky. I hope that when the stack of bills is tall and the money is low, as it has been for us at times over the years, you don't think that we are lucky. I hope that when you wish you hadn't married this person -(because you will have those times)- you don't think that we are lucky. Because marriage is bigger than me and you. Marriage is about vocation and commitment and family. Marriage is about blessing society and the Church. Marriage is about making a choice and sticking to it. Marriage is about holding fast during the rocky times, because you will find the smooth stretches. Marriage isn't to make you happy. Marriage is about being married. The really amazing gift is that in the process of being committed to marriage and family, together you sort out the living and then contentment settles in on you and engulfs you in a deeper joy than simple happiness could ever provide.

I hope you don't think we are lucky, because if you do, you may think that you are not. You may think that and then walk away from one of the only earthly things that can truly bring you joy. You might give up before you've had a chance to really learn to live.

Hochzeitsfotograf-Wedding-RingCC BY 3.0, SebCon - Own work

We are not lucky. We are stubborn and committed. We believe in marriage and family. We believe in holding fast when the waves are crashing and the ship seems unstable. We believe in battening down the hatches and staying aboard until the ship can be righted. That's all.

Stay the course. As long as you are not in danger or dealing with someone so psychologically unhealthy that things cannot possibly be made right, stay the course. You will find peace and harmony and contentment. You will find your way together, and throughout the journey, you will look beside you and see the same person that you began it with. Holding steady. Being true. Toward the end, youth will have faded and children will move on, but that person will still be there, breathing in the dark while you sit on the bed at two in the morning, listening with tears in your eyes, because you are happy and because you are not alone and because you cannot imagine anyone else lying beside you. Stay the course, because you're not going to be lucky, but, friends, luck has nothing to do with it.

Pax Christi dear ones,
~Michelle

When Kids Do What You Say

2014-10-10T07:36:00.002-07:00

When I was my daughter's age, I was applying to a master's degree program. I was a child of the 80s, impacted by feminism, yet aware, of a feminine backlash against it on the horizon. I thought I was quite crafty, having chosen a field that would allow me to collect an admirable salary in context of a flexible career field. My children (we had though there would be many) would never step foot in daycare, yet I would do my empowered duty by contributing to family finances if needed. I thought it was a splendid plan. Twenty-seven years later, I'm not so sure. Our goal was for me to be home full time, but it just never seemed to fully happen. I am absolutely certain that had we put my husband through grad school before we put me through, and I had stayed home full time as a wife and mother, all three of our lives would have been better. I suppose this may not be true of every family, but it is certainly true of ours.

In our defense, one of us was always home with Elyse. We essentially both worked part time and cared for her the rest of the time. For a while, my husband packed her up with his tools and home schooled her while working. She essentially had the life of a child with a stay-at-home parent, but neither of her parents had the life of a stay-at-home parent or of the spouse of one. In retrospect, we could have done better, for all three of us. Someone needs to mind the home fires, and it is difficult to do that part time.

True to our values, and partly in response to our experiences, she's been raised with a strong focus on home and family. She's been taught that being a wife and mother is a high calling, and that the lives of every member of a family are blessed when mom is dedicated to honoring, respecting, and caring for her husband, and dedicates all of her time and efforts to attending to his needs and to the rearing of their children. This seems a marvelous plan when a daughter is young. One ought instill in a child one's sincere beliefs, yes? The problem is, then she may become an adult and actually want to do it.

This is when the parental panic starts. My bright and capable child who had been carefully groomed for University of California admission doesn't want to finish an undergraduate degree? Wait, she's doing what I taught her to do. Is there even a man out there who wants this anymore? Will she be safe? Will she be valued? Is there a complimentary piece to this two piece puzzle? What was I thinking?

I suppose I was thinking that I don't want her to have the stresses I had, by trying to fill both roles. I imagine I was concerned about shielding her children from growing up as she did, with a mother who couldn't dedicate all of her efforts to home and family without being emotionally strangled by work pressures. The picture changes, though, when a daughter reaches an age when you can no longer view her as one person, but now as one half of a yet-unidentified union. Someone has to have raised the other half. A half that fits. A half that wants to fit. A half that will not view her as failing to "pull her own weight." What was I thinking?

I suppose that I was blinding trusting.
I suppose that there isn't any reason to withdraw that trust.

She doesn't have any doubts. But she is twenty. She is young and naive and trusting.
Maybe she has it right, or maybe she's too young to know any better? Only time will tell.

She sits at a sewing table each day and diligently pursues home industry. Lace runs through her fingers as I craft clinical reports. She does the shop's bookkeeping to the ticking of a wooden cuckoo clock while I watch the cold, black schoolroom clock in my office. She kneads bread on the kitchen table while I hone phonological systems at a laminate therapy table. Our home is blessed with her daily presence there, while it is taxed by my absence, I'm sure. She has chosen the better part. I just hope that there is a man out there who will choose to embrace her in the role she has chosen.

I suppose that he is out there. I suppose that there are families preparing the other half of this puzzle. Of course there are. We can't be the only crazy ones. I suppose one ought to stay the course. And trust.

Pax Christi,
~Michelle

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More Trucks than Cars and Finding Home

2014-10-07T13:18:00.002-07:00

Elyse invited someone to a country music concert the other day. It gave me pause and a smile. I'm guessing that someone who grew up in posh southern California does not expect to spend an evening in "Nashville-West" central California with the redneck descendant of a Wyoming cattle ranching family. This should be interesting.

By Alexandre Buisse (Own work) [CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

As I pondered this on my way home from work today, I turned north onto the back road. My surroundings progressively shifted to windmills, ranch land, and more trucks than cars-- and my stress fell away. I'm most comfortable in the familiar. I spend my work days surrounded by poverty and gang affiliations. I've stopped wearing my wedding and anniversary rings to work. I've stopped going out to lunch there too; an experience that Elyse had, while picking up lunch for us, has scared us straight. We pack lunches now.

I struggle to see the face of God in the parents of the children that I serve. Their lives are different from mine. Their values and guiding tenets come from a different place. None of them grew up on stories of cattle ranching in winter and damming the Snake River with the family oxen so that Jackson's Hole, Wyoming, could be born. (Yes, we still call it that.)

We share a human story though. We share a God. And so I struggle. I struggle to temper with good sense my efforts to put away fear. I grapple with finding common ground and serving without resentment. I wrestle with my biases to see the face of God in faces that have confronted experiences that I have been shielded from. I do not know the end of this story, but I suspect that I have been placed here to find my way through it.

Nevertheless, as farmland gradually surrounds me, and an old man waves to me from a green tractor, I allow myself to sigh deeply and settle into gratitude to be home. Perhaps I will learn to find home and family fully in the faces of all of God's children, -but not entirely just yet. Perhaps that is the coveted outcome of a lifelong journey.

Pax Christi dear ones,
~Michelle

Can't We Just Call it Dating? ~ Because the World Keeps Turning upon the Hand of God, in Spite of Us

2014-10-03T06:21:00.000-07:00

A couple of years ago, largely in response to inquiries from readers, and partly as a means of working through my own thoughts, I began a series on courtship. Over the past years, that series has evinced the evolution of my thoughts on the matter. I have continually reminded you that I haven't a clue what I'm talking about; I am only thinking my pitiable tissue-paper thoughts out loud. Here's what I think now: Josh Harris should be slapped. Okay, maybe not literally slapped - and not Josh Harris specifically, but the concepts he, in part, gave birth to. I think we have meant well, but we have created some obstacles for at least some members of a generation of Christian kids in the process.

Cistothorus palustris CTCC BY-SA 3.0, Cephas - Own work

There's a lot of talk, at present, about the fact that Christian kids of marriageable age are not dating much. That's partly a manifestation of the state of singles in the general society, I'm sure. But I think it's also because we scared our Christian kids half to death by putting the idea in their heads that relationship failure is not a godly option. I'm sure we didn't mean it. It's certainly not what we said, but that may be what many of them heard. We set out to avoid throwing them to the wolves without guidance and support, but we ended up putting a wolf at the door that makes them terribly afraid to open it.

Life is not a safe proposition. It's full of hurt and error, false starts and corrections, mishaps and blunders. We were never told that nothing would go wrong; we were merely told that we wouldn't be given anything we could not handle, and that we would have Divine companionship on the journey. And, isn't that really the best set of promises to have? Formulaic approaches to life may seem safe; but they are terribly restricting, are not generally conducive to real growth, and they steal the glory, don't they?

I'm not quite sure how this happened, this tendency of my generation to wrap our children in emotional bubble wrap. Perhaps it is a vestige of the World War II generation that saw true horror, and wanted to make certain that their children would be shielded from knowing of its presence behind the curtain? At any rate, our good intentions may have pulled a curtain over their potential joys as well - because if one is afraid to lift the curtain, one can see neither, I suppose.

Puffin Latrabjarg IcelandCC BY 3.0, Boaworm - Own work

I still believe that dating should not be a merely recreational activity. It should not be undertaken lightly. It is not for children. It is meaningless for those below marriageable age. Ultimately, it is about discernment of vocation, singly and as couples- eventually. But, it may also be about learning to live. It may be about learning to navigate intimacy. It may even be about --gasp-- learning to fall down and pick oneself back up. We really need to lighten up folks, and give them a little room to breathe and learn and grow. We need to give them permission to experience joy, even when some pain, for one party or another, might result.

I continue to believe that dating / courtship- whatever we are calling it this week- ought involve family. Parents have a little wisdom to share, and life happens within the family embrace. Separating oneself from family to experience life may likely not be wise, and it is certainly not a means of clear discernment of ones own heart and soul, or those of another. Fathers have a role in the protection and headship of their daughters. The notion that another man should walk into that daughter's life absent of the discerning and protective gaze of her father continues to seem both absurd and disrespectful to me. (This has never meant to us that couples should not spend time alone, by the way. Only that some time should be spent with families, as well.)

Haematopus longirostris - Austins FerryCC BY-SA 3.0, JJ Harrison (jjharrison89@facebook.com) - Own work

I think we ought be very careful though, how we apply these principles. I think that we may be starting, in our thought process, from the place where we found ourselves at their age. We may want to avoid the extremely recreational approach to relationships that we confronted, and believe that by sharing courtship principles with them, we are bringing them a step away from that emotionally dangerous place. They have no backdrop, though, against which to temper our suggestions. They are hearing them, perhaps, with no prior experiences to use as a starting place for applying those principles to their lives. We are telling them that we want them to live well, but they may be hearing that we don't want them to live at all, unless they are certain they can do it perfectly. We didn't mean that did we? Of course we didn't, but perhaps a course correction is called for.

As Darcy has shared:

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.”

~C. S. Lewis

Wondering where we started from?
This is part 6 of a series.
Part 1 is here.
Part 2 is here.
Part 3 is here.
Part 4 is here.
Part 5 is here.

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How to Know if He is The One

2014-09-22T06:48:00.001-07:00

My generation didn't do a good job teaching your generation about marriage. In fact, we nearly obliterated it. We dosed it with birth control and bludgeoned it with a focus on self satisfaction. We offended it with infidelity and called it freedom, when real freedom is the experience of unconditional loyalty. We made a mess of things.

It's no wonder you're confused. You're struggling to learn how to determine who "the one" is. I'm not sure how to answer that question. I'm pretty sure it's not even the right question. You're probably better off asking how to choose a companion for your journey toward salvation, rather than asking how to find the one who will be some semblance of psuedo-salvation. You're likely better off asking how to find someone who will hold your hand on the journey and not let go.

I've just celebrated 25 years of marriage with my love. Twenty-five years is a long time I suppose, but it's really been so full of forward motion that I've hardly noticed the time passing. As I look back over my shoulder to try to analyze what has passed, I realize that I can't see without my glasses on anymore. There are wrinkles and stretch marks where there weren't before, and the 21 year old body that fit in my wedding dress is a distant memory. (You think it won't happen to you, but tomorrow afternoon it will.) He's still here though. He's beside me holding my hand and laughing with me in the middle of the night and we're still worried that we'll wake the baby in the house who is now twenty. How did that happen? I cannot fathom the speedy passage of time.

As I strain to see those first months and years, they are a tad blurry. They rest in a fog of memory. I'm sure they were a heady time, a mix of chemistry and giggles. They must have been right? That's how we all expect that they would be. Honestly, I can't remember though.

I do remember a man who drove two and a half hours to work on the 405 freeway in the summer in a laughable little Datsun pickup with no air conditioning, because there were bills to be paid. I remember nights crying over religious conversion that tore his world asunder from the clear cut path he had been taught to follow. I remember the late night laughing when we were too tired to sleep and silliness seemed overwhelmingly funny. I remember his baffled patience when I was worried about attractive women around him and wasn't yet ready to understand that seeing the obvious is different from loving the secret hidden things. (You'll get there; understanding will come.) I remember a man who drove five hours round trip to pick up what I needed to nurse a sweet newborn girl who would ask adult questions about life choices one day. I remember last week waking before he did and staring into the now-lined face of a 49 year old man, (who, just days earlier, had been a skinny boy who had held open doors for me,) and pondering the profound intimacy that I had never understood I would have.

There must have been heady excitement and chemistry. There must have been? Now there is just an intense mysterious bond that reaches deeper than I knew there were places to experience. Now there is the same hand in mine. It's an old hand now, world worn and rough. It's pounded countless nails into drywall and taken out the trash a thousand times and then again. It's held mine in the delivery room and in quiet moments while I drift to sleep. It has stroked newborn skin and the hair of a young adult daughter with love. I know his hand will be there in mine as long as there is life in it, no matter what comes.

That is what I would wish for you. Loyalty and unconditional companionship. Patience in error, and service in the face of fatigue. Love that transcends fleeting youth and the dissipation of initial chemical attraction. A father for your children who will place them above his own needs and wants. A man who will go shopping for dresses with you if you want him to. A man who will hold you at night when your waist is thicker and the wrinkles come. A man who will hold your hand and never let it go.

Pax Christi dear ones,
~Michelle

Nothing New, Just Trusting God

2014-08-03T12:27:00.000-07:00

California has been in a preeeeetty bad drought lately.

The deserts are more desert-y and the forests are catching on fire. It’s easy to feel hopeless when something like that is happening. It’s easy to feel hopeless with anything in life—work, relationships, loss, etc.

This is no new revelation for anyone, we’ve heard it from blog post after blog post, but I think people need reminding because we always forget. I’ve been having trust issues too. I start to not trust because things aren’t going my way, and then I get scared, and I forget that the Lord is always watching and always guiding me to something better.

God reminds us to trust Him, because when we grasp and flounder for control, everything spirals out of control. Sometimes He has to remind us that we need Him.

So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. -Isaiah 41:10

Whenever I go to work with Mom, there is a sign planted out in the middle of the desert that says “If my people humble themselves and pray, I will heal their land.”

So I tried it last night, I tried to be humble and realize there’s nothing I can do without God’s help, and that I was trying to control things and make them go my way, when the Creator has something so much better planned. I stopped asking for that cheap artificially sweetened chocolate when God has the real good stuff from Sweden. I asked Him to help me trust because there is no peace without trust, and I asked him to keep us coming ever closer, and I asked for rain.

:) I woke up to that rain. Even if we've heard something a hundred times before, we need to hear it one more time.

- Elyse

"Here comes rain again" by Juni from Kyoto, Japan - Flickr. Licensed under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Here_comes_rain_again.jpg#mediaviewer/File:Here_comes_rain_again.jpg

Incense on our Mountain, and the Gift of Music

2014-07-28T12:36:00.000-07:00

St. Seraphim of Sarov icon near the church doors
(the "old" St. Seraphim of Sarov Church in Anapa, Russia), Alexei Zoubov

There are advantages to mountain living. One of them is spending ordinary days in a place where others travel to spend vacations. There are disadvantages too, like driving an hour to church every Sunday morning. Occasionally though, both poles of the dichotomy collide. This month, we've been able to drive five minutes to church with people who are on vacation, sort of, at the local Orthodox summer camp.

I've always known it was there - all these years that I've rested, impatient but easy, on the knowledge that our path would lead to Orthodoxy. Nights under a star packed sky, as I've sat on our deck facing gazing upon the mountain and contemplating our tiny family's place in the Christian constellation, it has been an ever present beacon on the landscape of our forest home. A camp sharing a corner of our canopy of pines - a place where incense rises. It has been a familiar companion, but one we have not accessed before now.

I don't think we've ever driven a mere five miles to church. We've always lived at least 55 miles away from our parish home. Our five minute trips to camp have taught us a few things. One was that other people can get up at 8 a.m. on a Sunday morning. Imagine that. Another was that there are, in fact, Orthodox young adults. Not in tiny mountain towns, perhaps, but they exist. As we've barged in upon their Sunday mornings, we've been grateful for the kind hospitality of seeming strangers who share our walk with Christ.

Muir Woods National Monument, California, USA /
Personal picture taken by user Urban, 2004 {{GFDL}}

We've learned other things. We were impacted by music this weekend. Living with a daughter who has many years of choir under her belt, and having come from an Anglican parish with a proud heritage of really good music, we are not unaware of the impact of music on spiritual life. Personally, I don't have much talent for it, but we all know the power of those who do. Standing in a tiny wooden chapel, under the gaze of saints and through the haze of incense, we were blessed by the voices of a fine, yet likely makeshift, summer choir- most particularly, the really fine voice of one young man whom we do not know and almost assuredly never will. My husband stood at the sink at home in our little cabin after liturgy and said, "that is the best Orthodox liturgy I have experienced to date." I don't know how to describe the reasons it was so good. Something about enunciation and plosives and other music speak that did not really register with my linguistic speech pathologist brain while Elyse explained it on the way home. But, it was a gift.

As I reflect on it today, I realize that we have been given a gift by some tall kid with glasses and a really exquisite voice, but he'll almost certainly never know that. In the same vein, but in sharp contrast, I'm sure that through the years, I've sown pain into the lives of others without even knowing it; - a poorly considered word here; impatience there - I'm sure it has happened a multitude of times. We have such power, as individuals, to bless and heal, or to harm. Something like the children of vacation renters who crush our tiny newly sprouted baby pines under foot while they run rough shod over the forest floor. They cannot begin to realize that the 300 foot Jeffrey pine to their left would not exist had one of their fore bearers done the same many decades back. Honestly, they're just playing in the snow. What then, of our own choices in the lives of others? What impact might we have?

I'm grateful for the endowments others have bestowed upon me through my 47 years. Kindnesses remembered. I'm sorry too, for the harms I have surely dealt. May they be healed by the hand of One who is love. And God bless the tall kid with the glasses. Thank you for an experience that has shored us up in our journey to Orthodoxy.

He has told you, O man, what is good; And what does the LORD require of you But to do justice, to love kindness, And to walk humbly with your God?

~Micah 6:8

Pax Christi dear readers,
your comments and kindnesses have blessed our family life,
~Michelle

On Distinctions

2014-07-28T09:59:00.003-07:00

"Oh, I don't reject Christ. I love Christ. It's just that so many of you Christians are so unlike Christ...

If Christians would really live according to the teachings of Christ, as found in the Bible,

all of India would be Christian today."

~Ghandi

There's a bit of controversy on the internet over whether Ghandi really said that. Whether the words are his or not, I think we might listen to them. The internet, as we all know, can be a dangerous place. The anonymity it provides can facilitate some stinky behavior on the part of otherwise kind people. Unfortunately, the Christian blog-o-sphere is not immune to this. Instead, it seems laden with Christian-on-Christian judgment and distinction making.

Ancient icon of the apostles Peter and Paul
By unknown, photo by George Shuklin (Russian Museum)
[Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

We seem to spend a lot of time making distinctions among ourselves.

Catholic - Protestant.

Denominational - Non Denominational

Novus Ordo - Latin Mass

Anglican - Episcopalian

These distinctions are important. They embody belief and creed. They matter.

Once we've established them for ourselves though, I'm not sure that spending inordinate amounts of time distinguishing ourselves from others - by building fences and then herding others in and out of them - is particularly useful to a life of discipleship. After all, if we are spending all of our time with our eyes on the one another with a mind toward distinction and division, then our eyes are not on Christ or his commandment to love.

It's important to establish truth and to teach it. I'm not so sure that it's particularly valuable to focus on beating eachother over the head with it. At any rate, it's probably not a particularly effective teaching method.

We can't be much more different than Peter and Paul were from one another, and yet they found powerful unity in Christ.

Truth matters. Elevating ourselves by pointing out our differences from others does not.

And it's tiring, isn't it? Pushing eachother around? Setting one another up for inspection? Herding one another in-- and out? I wonder how much more we would be served by sitting down to tea and learning about one another? I'd bet that we could actually understand one another's points of view without losing our own. Don't you think? I do.

And couldn't some of that herding energy be used for serving?

I think it could.

"Why do you call me, 'Lord, Lord,' and do not do what I say?

~Luke 6:46

May I find a path toward non-judgement. May I learn to live as Christ did. May I learn to love.

Heaven knows, I have a long way to go.

Pax Christi dear ones,

~Michelle

There's a strange man out there... and prayer

2014-06-22T03:58:00.000-07:00

Schaduw op het BuurkerkhofCC BY-SA 3.0view terms

Victor van Werkhooven - Own work

There's a strange man out there. I've likely never met him. I have no idea where he is. I know he has a beard, because I know my daughter.

I worry for him.

He is swimming in sea of secular corruption and struggling with a society that is not God affirming. He has pornography at his fingertips and is faced with the task of achieving professional success in an economy that is hardly promising. He is surrounded by women who have been suckled on a hook-up-culture. He has the challenge of honoring his parents while emerging into manhood. Although he has likely not yet set eyes on her, he holds the heart, security, and the hopes and dreams of my daughter in his hands. He will raise my grandchildren.

I've been praying for him for years. His parents rest in my heart's embrace; I understand their task and their worries. Daily, they enter my prayers. Three unseen people - a mystery - held close, are the focus of so many supplications. The nucleus of years of soul-yearning before God.

We've been preparing her these twenty years.

She's learned to love family and home. She's trained her gaze on our Lord. She's entered college at 16, so that she might exit equally quickly to nurture an entrepreneurial spirit. She's dug deeply into child development. She's learned to show kindness and to give mercy and to struggle against passing judgement. She's learned to respect and value men and to honor their strengths and their differences. She's learned not to worry like her mother does. She's learned to pray and to set boundaries and to prepare her family's tax returns. She's struggled with taming emotions and has tackled skills for making rational decisions. She's learned to manage customers' orders and create beauty and ship her creations all over the world. She's poured over instructions for perfect madeleines. She's learned to laugh at the silliness of it all. She's learned to how to love.

She's learned that she's only scratched the surface and that her growth and development must never end. She's learned that she must overcome her parents' vast inadequacies.

Ніжний ранковий світлоCC BY-SA 3.0 Balkhovitin - Own work, National park "Sviati Hory" (Holy Mountains),Donetsk Oblast, Ukraine

I cannot raise him, though.

I can only trust that he is growing strong and righteous and prayerful in a warm and solid family embrace. I can only hope that they have taught him to respect her and protect her and provide for her. I can only anticipate that he smiles at toddlers who scream in church and puts one on his knee once in a while. I can yearn to trust that his father has taught him to be a man and to love a woman. I can have faith that his mother holds him warmly and tightly-- and that he knows that she believes in him. I can be optimistic that he understands that pornography will train him to respond to streaming images rather a warm, breathing woman who loves him; and that it will place a chasm between him and his beloved. I can only hope that he has extraordinary strength.

I can only pray.

I'm sure my concerns seem obsessive to some, - premature, unnecessary. I don't think I'm alone though. I think that for those for whom family is held above all other earth-bound concerns, the awareness that our children will transition into families of their own weighs both joyously and anxiously heavy.

And so we pray.

"Remember (him), O Lord our God, and the parents who have reared (him), for the prayers of parents confirm the foundation of houses."
(~Orthodox Service of Marriage, adapted)

God bless our children this day and always,

Pax Christi dear ones,

~Michelle

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A Bright Spot in a Deteriorating Culture

2014-06-16T10:38:00.003-07:00

Family Excursion (4199790470)CC BY 2.0

Alex Proimos from Sydney, Australia - Family Excursion Uploaded by russavia

A friend told me this morning that her atheist husband accompanies her and their boys to church each week. I'm sure she had no idea how strongly that would strike me. I actually texted my husband about it.

We have a thing around here about men taking their families to church, whether they buy into it or not. We've always felt that a good man, a good father, takes his family to church. It's his role. Whether he falls asleep for the whole service, or his mind drifts far away, his bottom ought be in a pew as leader of his family -- if that's where his wife feels that she and her children should be.

It doesn't happen often. It's a rather common occurrence for moms to cart their children to church each week, struggles and all, while dad sits in front of the television. Granted, situations are individual and it's easy to make a blanket statement, but not necessarily appropriate to apply it universally. Each family must find their own way. Still, here's to the man who takes his wife and boys to church at the expense of his own comfort. Here's to a leader and protector who merits respect. He's made our day. May their family be held ever in the arms of Almighty God.

The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him. ~G. K. CHESTERTON, The New Jerusalem

Pax Christi dear ones,
~Michelle