Matushka's Blog

2012-02-16T17:02:00.002-05:00

2012-02-14T15:58:00.001-05:00

Homemade Laundry Detergent

2012-02-14T13:26:00.002-05:00

Homemade laundry detergent has been my best discovery in years. It is simple and inexpensive. I made my first batch two months ago and I still haven't made a dent in the five-gallon bucket I made.

Here's the recipe:

4 Cups - hot tap water
1 Fels-Naptha soap bar (I have heard you can use any kind of bar-soap, but I don't know)
1 Cup Arm & Hammer Super Washing Soda*
½ Cup Borax

Grate bar of soap and add to saucepan with water. Stir continually over medium-low heat until soap dissolves and is melted.

Fill a 5 gallon bucket half full of hot tap water. Add melted soap, washing soda and Borax. Stir well until all powder is dissolved. Fill bucket to top with more hot water. Stir, cover and let sit overnight to thicken.

Stir and fill a used, clean, laundry soap dispenser half full with soap and then fill rest of way with water. Shake before each use. (will gel)

Optional: You can add 10-15 drops of essential oil per 2 gallons. Add once soap has cooled.

-Top Load Machine- 5/8 Cup per load (Approx. 180 loads)

-Front Load Machines- ¼ Cup per load (Approx. 640 loads)

*Arm & Hammer "Super Washing Soda" - in some stores or may be purchased online. Baking Soda will not work, nor will Arm & Hammer Detergent - It must must be sodium carbonate.

I'm grateful there are enough homemakers in Lexington, SC that the WalMart has all three items right next to each other on the shelf. I found this at the Duggar Family Website.

2012-02-06T18:20:00.005-05:00

This is by a Facebook friend of mine (Matushka Ann Lardas) on today's saint, Xenia.

[I] am thinking about the first Christians, and how they lived in a world that was okay with infanticide and all kinds of deviance and took money from them to fund their own persecution, and yet they not only survived, they overcame. Why? Through the power of their very great love for God and for each other. When they were first killed, they had no way of knowing if there would ever be more Christians. But they didn't think about "legacy," they thought about salvation, and a nation and an empire and the world was transformed. Today's amazing St. Xenia was named for the martyr St. Xenia, a rich patrician who didn't want her family to stop her from being a Christian, so when the Romans arrested her and asked her name, she replied only "Xenia," meaning, "Stranger." We are strangers here. This world does not reflect or revere our values. But through love, we can be transformed, and in the process, a thousand souls can be saved around us.

Love is stronger than hate, and through Christ, life is stronger than death.

Stand Fast and Watch

2012-01-28T17:01:00.001-05:00

Stand fast on spiritual watch, because you don’t know when the Lord will call you to Himself. In your earthly life be ready at any moment to give Him an account. Beware that the enemy does not catch you in his nets, that he not deceive you causing you to fall into temptation. Daily examine your conscience; try the purity of your thoughts, your intentions.

There was a king who had a wicked son. Having no hope that he would change for the better, the father condemned the son to death. He gave him a month to prepare.

The month went by, and the father summoned the son. To his surprise he saw that the young man was noticeably changed: his face was thin and drawn, and his whole body looked as if it had suffered.

“How is it that such a transformation has come over you, my son?” the father asked.

“My father and my lord,” replied the son, “how could I not change when each passing day brought me closer to death?”

“Good, my son,” remarked the king. “Since you have evidently come to your senses, I shall pardon you. However, you must maintain this vigilant disposition of soul for the rest of your life.”

“Father,” replied the son, “that’s impossible. How can I withstand the countless seductions and temptations?”

Then the king ordered that a vessel be brought, full of oil, and he told his son:

“Take this vessel and carry it along all the streets of the city. Following you will be two soldiers with sharp swords. If you spill so much as a single drop they will cut off your head.”

The son obeyed. With light, careful steps, he walked along all the streets, the soldiers accompanying him, and he did not spill a drop.

When he returned to the castle, the father asked,

“My son, what did you see as you were walking through the city?”

“I saw nothing.”

“What do you mean, ‘nothing’?” said the king.

“Today is a holiday; you must have seen the booths with all kinds of trinkets, many carriages, people animals…”

“I didn’t notice any of that,” said the son. “All my attention was focussed on the oil in the vessel. I was afraid to spill a drop and thereby lose my life.”

“Quite right, my son,” said the king. “Keep this lesson in mind for the rest of you life. Be as vigilant over your soul as you were today over the oil in the vessel. Turn your thoughts away from what will soon pass away, and keep them focused on what is eternal. You will be followed not by armed soldiers but by death to which we are brought closer by every day. Be very careful to guard your soul from all ruinous temptations.”

The son obeyed his father, and lived happily.

Watch, stand fast in the faith, quit you like men, be strong. (I Cor. 16:13).

The Apostle gives Christians this important counsel to bring their attention to the danger of this world, to summon them to frequent examination of their hearts, because without this one can easily bring to ruin the purity and ardor of one’s faith and unnoticeably cross over to the side of evil and faithlessness.

Just as a basic concern is to be careful of anything that might be harmful to our physical health, so our spiritual concern should watch out for anything that might harm our spiritual life and the work of faith and salvation. Therefore, carefully and attentively assess your inner impulses: are they from God or from the spirit of evil? Beware of temptations from this world and from worldly people; beware of hidden inner temptations which come from the spirit of indifference and carelessness in prayer, from the waning of Christian love.

If we turn our attention to our mind, we notice a torrent of successive thoughts and ideas. This torrent is uninterrupted; it is racing everywhere and at all times: at home, in church, at work, when we read, when we converse. It is usually called thinking, writes Bishop Theophan the Recluse, but in fact it is a disturbance of the mind, a scattering, a lack of concentration and attention. The same happens with the heart. Have you ever observed the life of the heart? Try it even for a short time and see what you find.

Something unpleasant happens, and you get irritated; some misfortune occurs, and you pity yourself; you see someone whom you dislike, and animosity wells up within you; you meet one of your equals who has now outdistanced you on the social scale, and you begin to envy him; you think of your talents and capabilities, and you begin to grow proud… All this is rottenness: vainglory, carnal desire, gluttony, laziness, malice-one on top of the other, they destroy the heart.

And all of this can pass through the heart in a matter of minutes. For this reason one ascetic, who was extremely attentive to himself, was quite right in saying that

“man’s heart is filled with poisonous serpents. Only the hearts of saints are free from these serpents, the passions.”

But such freedom is attained only through a long and difficult process of self-knowledge, working on oneself and being vigilant towards one’s inner life, i.e., the soul.

Be careful. Watch out for your soul! Turn your thoughts away from what will soon pass away and turn them towards what is eternal. Here you will find the happiness that your soul seeks, that your heart thirsts for.

(Translated from Pravoslavnaya Rus) and taken from

ORTHODOX AMERICA, Vol. XIV, No. 2-3, September-October, 1993

St. John of Shanghai

Octopodes and Pocketses

2012-01-17T18:03:00.010-05:00

I didn't know that the plural of octopus is neither octopi nor octopuses, but rather, octopods or octopodes. It doesn't much matter because this is indeed a story of just one octopus, a baby one.

On Orthodox Christmas Eve, I asked my daughter, Rose, and her young man, David, to take the children home from church after the morning liturgy. Instead of going home, David took them all out to eat so they could go Christmas shopping before the evening vigil. Since this was the final day of the Christmas fast, they went to an Eastern Buffet. One of the items on the buffet was baby octopus, which of course delighted the children--especially the crocodile hunter himself.

Max put a few on his plate. After eating one leg he decided it was less appealing in his mouth than on his plate.

During their shopping trip David overheard the Marko whispering intensely to his brother, "Put it back in your pocket!" Max put "it" back, but David was suspicious, thinking the boys were shoplifting.

"Max, what have you got in your pocket?"
"Nuthin"
"Max what's in your pocket? Take it out."

Out came the octopus to the amusement of everyone around.

"Max, put it back in your pocket."

However, a few hours later, at Christmas Eve vigil, David recalled that the octopus was probably still in Max's pocket.

Orthodox canons restrict any blood in the altar; neither are dead animals allowed. Despite this dead animal not being bloody, but lightly seasoned and probably linty, it was still a dead animal.

"Max do you still have that octopus in your pocket?"
"Yeah."
"You need to get rid of it. Throw it in the men's bathroom trash."

So like a good little altar boy, he got rid of it.

Later on in the evening, as David shared the tale with Josh. Josh said he had seen it in the trashcan and had thought to himself, "Hm. That's either a very fleshy spider--or an octopus."

Although this made me laugh when Margaret retold the story to me this morning, my lingering thought was something my husband often says: "however bizarre some of the Orthodox canonical regulations seem, they are written for a spiritual or practical reason, and probably had a particular historical event guiding their origin."

Christmas Letter 2011

2012-01-17T17:52:00.005-05:00

OK. I give up. It's not going to happen. I put together my Christmas letter thinking I would be able to send it out at least by Orthodox Christmas. But I put off too many things that when I should have done it, other events (including the passing of one our beloved friend and one of our church founders, Dusan) delayed its printing. So I will publish it here in hopes I can direct some of my family to the Blog to receive our belated-belated Christmas greetings.

Christmas Greetings from

the Mancusos!

It must seem strange getting a Christmas card in January, right?

In our church Christ’s birth is celebrated on January 7. As a family we have been giving out presents on December 25 and going to church for Christmas on January 7. This year our family decided to follow the tradition of our Orthodox church when celebrating Christmas. If you Google “Julian Calendar” and “Gregorian Calendar,” all of this will be clear. As for us, this means I get 13 extra days to order presents online, get discounted goodies, and write Christmas letters!

This is going to be a long Christmas letter because we have had a year like we haven’t had in a long time. Our oldest daughter, Rose, left for college in August, and we’ve been adjusting ever since. Because she has been my unpaid babysitter for nearly a decade, we have had to learn how to do simple things as a group. It has required a little re-training and re-adjusting. In her absence, the house acquired a simple rhythm and peaceful chaos. But, since Rose is only 90 minutes away at Coker College in Hartsville, SC, we get to return to our normal mega-chaos every now and then.

Rose is doing very well in school. She received almost a full scholarship to college and is studying music-education, which is a double-major. She was the only freshman accepted into the chamber choir. Since she has been home-schooled almost all her life, our biggest fear was her adjusting to a normal academic setting. Despite some misadventures her first semester, she is now thriving both socially and academically without us—which is more a relief than you can imagine.

Ella is likewise loving school. She is breezing through her math and history programs, reading anything and everything within her reach. One of her birthday presents was a book-light. For Ella it was being given a brand-new privilege: reading at night. She is singing soprano in our church choir and is excelling in her piano lessons.

Margaret is likewise taking piano lessons and seems to be vocally and musically inclined like her sisters. Even though she sometimes struggles academically, she makes up for it all with her wit and good humor. A couple months ago she decided to dig a catfish pond in our woods. The hole is now six feet deep and eight feet wide. We haven’t yet figured out how we will ever keep water in the pond (or keep the catfish alive, named Vladimir and Gabriel), but we’re having fun all the same.

Max and Mark are consummate boys. During baseball season they are outside dreaming of baseball and tumbling all over each other with a baseball before school hours. During football season they are outside calling plays and tumbling all over each other with a football before school hours. After school they tumble and roll with whatever sports imagery they need. This is a new kind of academic beast for me. My daily goal is just to hold them down long enough so they can learn to read, to do math and chores.

This year we have travelled and vacationed more than ever. Margaret and Rose travelled to Ohio to attend the 90^th birthday party of my Great-Aunt Margaret in July. They returned with historical tales and genealogical inquisitiveness.In September our family took our first long vacation in over 10 years to a beach house in Myrtle Beach. Despite nearly losing my youngest son in the ocean during a rip-tide, we enjoyed our time immensely, going to an aquarium, a water park, an historic plantation, and a pirate dinner-theater. The last day we went to the beach at sunrise and saw thousands of fish silhouetted in the waves and jumping out of the water. Ella and Max actually saw a shark make one of those nature-channel jumps by the pier. The whole experience was more than magical and truly relaxing (except for the rip-tide incident, obviously).

In November the youngest four and I took a road-trip through North Carolina, Tennessee, Kentucky and Ohio. We met up with my sister and my parents in Lexington, KY to visit some of the horse racing sites in the area.

At Thanksgiving, a few days later, my brother and his family, my sister and her two kids, and I with the youngest four stayed in the historic Hadley/Harvey home in Wilmington, Ohio. We partook of the traditionally magnificent Hadley-Farm Thanksgiving Feast with homemade pies, caramels and more sides than one could ever imagine (there was also turkey). My cousin Christine and her husband opened up the 200+ year old museum-house so we could “camp” there for three days. The children played football in the front yard and spent hours looking at the mammoth tusks, arrowheads, deer-heads, and innumerable other artifacts contained in the house and barn. We heard intriguing family history that culminated in a tour of the Quaker church and cemetery in which many of my ancestors are buried.

We took an Eastern route home, making a spontaneous visit with my cousin David and his family on the way. The children enjoyed playing lava-monster and parachuting with their long-distance cousins. On our way home we drove the loopy and hilly roads of Southern Ohio on our way to visit an Orthodox monastery in West Virginia. There we visited with friends, petted goats, saw soap- incense- and candle-making rooms, and walked over the mountains in the rain. The boys went through five pairs of pants within 3 hours because of rain and mud puddles.

In early December Fr Mark and I went to Miami, Florida for a clergy conference. I hadn’t planned to attend, but a parishioner donated his flyer miles so I could go. Coincidentally, it happened that the day we left was our 20^th anniversary. Even though we were supposed to leave on separate flights, my flight was so ridiculously delayed that the airline allowed me to reschedule with Fr Mark. Even though we were supposed to be separate, we ended up riding together on this historic flight side-by-side.

In Miami we were given a tour of the city on an open-air double-decker bus—and yes, we were on top. We then took an airboat tour of the Everglades, including an exotic animal exhibit, culminating in an alligator handling—yikes!

The next day, during a church service, Fr Mark was made archpriest. This is a huge honor for him and our little parish. Usually it is given to priests after fifteen years; Fr Mark was made archpriest after eleven. I’m not sure if I can express how proud I am of him, but I will take this opportunity to say so. It is well deserved and hard-won, Glory to God.

I am still painting, working to beautify the new church we acquired last year in December. It is an honor beyond words to be able to be able to do so.

Yes, this was a long Christmas letter. I apologize for it’s length, even though I won’t say it was tardy!

May Our Lord Jesus Christ bless you and keep you and grant you peace and joy in the New Year!

With love from,
The Mancuso Family
2011

2011-12-01T07:42:00.002-05:00

2011-11-29T09:52:00.000-05:00

Church that Held the 7th Ecumenical Council at Nicea to be Turned into Mosque

2011-11-10T19:35:00.001-05:00

Church that Held the 7th Ecumenical Council at Nicea to be Turned into Mosque

My daughter is named after the Blessed Empress Irene who convened the 7th Ecumenical Council. I feel sick about this.

2011-11-08T21:10:00.001-05:00

My six year-old, after hearing the guitar solo, said, "that's the deacon!"

Mother Lays Down Life For Baby

2011-10-27T18:21:00.002-04:00

Mother Lays Down Life For Baby

:O

2011-10-11T14:00:00.004-04:00

Not since seeing an angel piñata have I been this shocked at consumerist Christianity.

Our Creator took on flesh and became--a carrot?

Here's the angel pinata.

You can choose "hit-activated," meaning, it talks when you hit it.

2011-09-30T23:32:00.001-04:00

2011-09-24T16:38:00.002-04:00

Here is an interview with my husband by Fr Steven Ritter about our starting a mission church in South Carolina. It starts at 13:42, but the entire episode is very good.

2011-09-20T15:24:00.004-04:00

This is my daughter Margaret helping me put the finishing touches on the halo of St Olga.

It's taken three months to get near to finishing her and St Vladimir. They're each full length icons about four feet long. They'll adorn the "pillars," which are not free-standing pillars, but sections of our walls which jut out from the flat wall about 10 inches.

We will have a challenge hanging anything on the walls in our new building because the majority of them are concrete. A staple gun (our tool for hanging canvas icons when we were in the storefront) barely makes a hole. One thing I haven't figured out how to do is glue the canvas and control how much they shrink. If I get a chance I'll research it before doing more on the walls. The next project I've been assigned is the Holy Doors.

When I do think about it, I realize what a blessing I've been given to be the primary iconographer for this church. If it had not been for many moving pieces providentially falling into place at the same time, my husband would probably not be a priest at all, we would not have St Elizabeth's, not have this building, and the icons would never have been painted. It's the Story of my life how all these things have actually happened, instead of not happening. Thanks be to God--and a few pesky clergymen.

About How Ugliness Comes With Sin

2011-08-28T08:32:00.003-04:00

Yesterday, before leaving for the vigil and Lamentations for Dormition of the Most-Holy Theotokos, I was flipping towards the reading for the day in the Prologue, and ran across this homily by St Nikolai.

I don't want to presume anything about anyone else, knowing it applies to my own soul primarily. All the same, it should be required reading for every Orthodox woman.

About how ugliness comes with sin

"Instead of sweet smell there shall be stink; and instead of a girdle a rent; and instead of well set hair baldness …and burning instead of beauty" (Isaiah 3:24).

This is the word about extravagant and wayward women, about the daughters of Zion who have become haughty and "walk with stretched forth necks and wanton eyes, walking and mincing as they go and making a tinkling with their feet" (Isaiah 3:16). What was it that made the Hebrew women proud? Was it virtue? Virtue never made anyone proud for, in fact, virtue is a cure against pride. Was it the strength of a people and the stability of the State? No, on the contrary, the prophet exactly foretells the imminent bondage of the people and the destruction of the State. And, as one of the main causes for slavery and destruction, the prophet cites vain extravagance, spiritual nothingness and wayward women. What, therefore, made them so proud and haughty? Ornaments and embroideries stranded beads and necklaces, trinkets and hairpins, garters and girdles, perfumes and rings, quivers and mirrors. Behold, this is what made them proud and haughty! Exactly, all of this is an expression of their ignorant pride but the true cause of their pride is spiritual nothingness.

From spiritual nothingness comes pride and that external melange of colors which women drape over their bodies is only an obvious manifestation of their ignorant pride. What will become of all this in the end? Stench, disheveledness, baldness and burning. This will occur when the people fall into bondage. As usually happens: first, the spirit is enslaved by the body and then the body is enslaved by an external enemy.

Thus, that will be even then when the inescapable conqueror of our bodies comes death. Sweet smells will not help in the grave, the kingdom of stench. Neither will there be a need for girdles for a naked spine (skeleton). Neither will braided hair save the skull from baldness nor all the beauty from the black remains of burning. This is the inescapable fate of the most beautiful, the healthiest the wealthiest and the most extravagant women. But this is not the greatest misfortune. The greatest misfortune is that the souls of these women with their stench, disheveledness, baldness, and burning will come before God and before the heavenly hosts of the most beautiful of God's angels and righteous ones. For the stench of the body connotes the stench of the soul from depraved vices; a disheveled body connotes the insatiability of the soul for bodily pleasures; the baldness of the body connotes the baldness of the soul of good works and pure thoughts; burning of the body connotes the burning of the conscience and the mind.

O, how dreadful is the vision of Isaiah, the son of Amos; dreadful then and even dreadful today; dreadful, because it is true.

O, Lord Holy and All-pure, help the women who make the sign with Your Cross, that they may remember their souls and to cleanse their souls before Your Righteous Judgment, so that their souls, together, with their bodies do not become eternal stench.

(http://stnicholasredbank.com/august9-16.htm#a15)

Fr Mark and The Dove

2011-08-19T11:55:00.006-04:00

My husband was interviewed yesterday by a Christian radio station in Oregon. I think he did a wonderful job. He's a great public speaker about the Faith, but even better in a Q&A context with a sincere questioner.

This writeup is from the website of our Eastern American Diocese in English and Russian. Here's a link to the introduction to St Athanasius' On the Incarnation by C. S. Lewis which my husband mentions in the interview.

August 20, 2011
Columbia, SC: Priest Mark Mancuso gave an interview to The Dove radio show about the significance of the Transfiguration in the Orthodox Church

On Friday, August 19th, on the Great Feast of the Transfiguration of our Lord, Priest Mark Mancuso (rector of St. Elizabeth the New Martyr Church in Columbia, SC) gave an interview to Steve Johnson on The Dove radio show about the significance of the Transfiguration. In this fascinating interview, Fr. Mark explains to a Protestant audience how the Orthodox Church celebrates the feast of the Transfiguration, and how this important biblical event foreshadows our own Resurrection. Fr. Mark also gave the listeners some critical insight into the teachings of the Holy Fathers and recommended they read the writings of St. John Chrysostom and St. Athanasius the Great. Click here to listen to the full interview (23 min.).

Media Office of the Eastern American Diocese

The More Things Change...

2011-08-03T17:04:00.008-04:00

This is a re-post from four years ago. Reading it, I realize not much has changed in our family birthday tradition from when the children were little. Today I went to the girls room and woke Margaret so we could watch the sun rise together. We used the same present/breakfast plan, and had a few manipulative tears over Margaret's sharing her roller skates with one of the boys. But for the most part life is still, happily, the same. Geoffrey from Toys R Us always calls us twice in the middle of our breakfast, and we dismiss him ("It's Geoffrey calling--again!) like he's some pathetic giraffe-faced stalker. Margaret wanted her cousin, Hadley, for her birthday, so my sister and I met halfway between our houses, and spent an hour (or was it 2 hours...) in a Hardee's chatting our hearts out. It was a good day, despite having to retrieve the boys from the Men's room 20 or more times.

Which reminds me how when Margaret was finished potty training and we would go to any public location with her, she would announce with the dearest cluck of her tongue and honey-voice, "I think I have to go to the bathroom..." And she would turn her head back and forth as if she were in a lovely flower garden, and all she needed to find was a sweet daisy. After a while, knowing she was just wanting to use the bathroom like a big girl, we would say she was going "on tour."

Now she has transferred her love for public bathrooms to pushing shopping carts every where we go. She has preferred stores because of their shopping cart quality. The other day she said in an ordinary voice, "Pushing shopping carts. It's my passion."

Which means my little girl needs a hobby, and probably needs to get out more--into the non-retail world.

* * *

So today is Margaret's sixth birthday. For sentimental reasons I try to wake up before sunrise because the sunrise was the most memorable moment of her actual birthday (apart from the birth itself). I looked out my bedroom window mere moments after she was born, and saw the sun peeking over the tops of the trees on the horizon. I called everyone's attention to it at the time, because it was such a beautiful welcome. I wanted to nickname her "Sunny" because of it, but apparently there's some Italian tradition that a man calls his eldest son, "Sonny." At the time we didn't have any boys, and didn't seem to have any prospects for more children, but we didn't call her "Sunny" just the same. We don't call Max "Sonny" either, but at least we allowed for the possibility, which might satisfy the 25% of Fr Mark's Italian blood.

This morning the children came down, as they do on every birthday, ready to help Margaret find her hidden presents in the den. I discovered some new hiding places, so she didn't find them as quickly as the kids usually do. There are only so many places to hide something in a 12x20 foot space.

Then, as part of the tradition, after Papa leaves for work, we make pancakes in the shape of the birthday-child's name. We light candles, sing Happy Birthday, and then eat. So this morning, I accidentally sang "Happy birthday dear Ella...uh...Meggy...happy birthday to you!" Margaret was patient with me and gave me a weak smile. Rose said, "Make a wish!" But in the ensuing seconds where Meggy was getting a big breath to blow out the candles, Little Mark blew out one and Max blew out three. That left a two pathetic flames sitting unceremoniously amid five smoking pink & yellow candle butts. That was all Meggy could handle and she stormed out. She came back a few minutes later and she tried it again, but the magic was obviously gone.

Which is why I consider this our run-through for birthday cake tonight. I can't remember how many times I have come close to spanking a child over birthday cake. Several times they have become suddenly shy and withdrawn and have refused to blow. Grandparents and cousins sit and wait with bated breath for the big moment. The "Happy Birthday" melody fades into the ether, the moment arrives, and the child slaps a hand over her mouth and runs from the room.

Also part of the tradition, is my wishing that I had never given a single gift. If I don't monitor all of the activity, someone falls or runs over somebody else's fingers. This morning all was well until they began "taking turns" to ride the scooter around the house. If I don't use a timer, there's bound to be an argument. But then there's the added element of the scooter actually belonging to Margaret which throws a monkey wrench into all of the turns and sharing. Meanwhile Little Mark is walking around the house with the voice modulator repeating some gobbledegook in a high-pitched Munchkin Land voice over and over and over and over. Apparently if you hold down the "play" button, you can make it repeat the phrase until kingdom-come or someone throws it out the window.

I didn't realize until I saw the photo up close that I accidentally put 7 candles on her cake. What a mother I am.

35 Days

2011-07-09T19:48:00.008-04:00

#2 Long Walks

When Rose was little we walked together all the time. Once we were going along with her stroller and I saw a flowering cactus on the side of the road. I parked and carefully pried the lovely, yellow flower from the plant. Examining it and seeing that it was clean of prickles (and not being a cactologist for Pete's sake), I handed it to my sweet baby girl.

We continued our walk.

After a few moments she threw the flower aside and squealed, screeched and kicked her little heart out. She rubbed her hands as if she was being attacked by a swarm of crawly bugs. I grabbed her hands and realized to my horror that this innocent, yellow flower contained within its stem a blitzkrieg of microscopic needles. I ran her home, and looking at her hands, saw hundreds of little white things in her soft, fat palms. Every attempt to pull them out with tweezers failed. After many tears between us, I finally shoved her whole hand in my mouth, and with my tongue and teeth, cleared her hand of every needle.

I vividly remember the oddly trusting look on her face, as it might have seemed to her that her mama was eating her hand, while at the same time making every thing better.

So, in recent years we haven't walked much together. And so my plan is to walk and fish more within the next 35 days.

55 Days

2011-06-25T23:52:00.003-04:00

Maybe every parent and homeschooler struggles with these fears and regrets. Even though Rose was accepted into college and has a pretty fat scholarship and several grants, I keep thinking of all the things we didn't do together, or I never taught her. These things are both personal and academic. Yes, it's not as if she's going to be gone forever the minute she gets her dorm-room key. But, this is the beginning of her growing up and being gone from me, and it makes me sentimental.

So this is the beginning of a few thoughts on the above. They may seem insignificant, but these are the things wake me up at night and keep me awake till morning.

#1 FISHING
We went fishing only once together. When she was about two, I took her to the lake behind my parents' house with a fishing pole. I soon realized I had lost the casting skills of my youth, being able to catch only pine straw submerged in two feet of water--about 10-15 feet away from us. I saw a snake squiggle around her foot, and I said, "Rose! Look! Catch it!" She twisted her body around quickly, but didn't catch it. The event lasted mere seconds, but in my memory it took much longer, because I have the regretful, ominous fear it could have been a baby water moccasin I was telling her to pick up. And if she had--OMGosh. I would have been upset about that.

Upon returning to my parents' house we walked into the den, and my dad was sitting in his favorite chair looking at Antiques Weekly. Rose immediately walked up to him with the worm container in her hands, "Papaw, look what we have!" Papaw said, "I know what you have--don't you run at me with those things, you're gonna..." And Rose did. She managed to hurl a whole pint of red worms onto my dad's belly and into the inner workings of his recliner. Even weeks later he was finding portions of crunchy, dry worms under the foot rest of the chair.

In my youth, I fished pretty often, so much so that I had an opinion about worms vs. crickets. I even had a story of the one "that got away" with a piece of hotdog and my hook. It could have been a log, but it was probably a huge fish.

So I wish Rose and I had fished more together.
And now I have 55 days to take her fishing a few more times before she goes away.

Comments On...

2011-06-17T23:38:00.004-04:00

I've had this blog for a number of years, beginning it when the kids were younger so I could provide some anecdotes about the kids for my sometimes-absent, ever-busy, full-time librarian/priest (devoted, loving) husband. Since then it's become a place for me to pass the time and sometimes opine. I haven't treated it like I did my diary in my youth, because there are some seriously major events in my life I haven't chronicled. So I don't know what this blog is for, except for me to practice typing and formulating sentences about funny and sometimes profoundly moving moments in my life.

I rarely turn on the comments. Once, when I did, someone made a comment that sounded relevant enough to the post, and attached a link to an Oriental lady dating site. I had to go to the link to find out it wasn't appropriate and obviously rigged.

Ugh and double ugh.

Anyway, out of curiosity, I am turning on the comments, just to see who is here. I feel a little shy about this--like a person walking into a hotel ballroom which could either be full of friends, or totally empty.

I might turn them off tomorrow.

2011-05-19T11:05:00.004-04:00

A New Reality Show

2011-05-18T00:58:00.009-04:00

Someone needs to come up with a program to rival TLC's show, Extreme Couponers, called Pathetic Couponers.

This show will showcase a lady who spends three hours a day from Sunday to Tuesday organizing and reorganizing her coupons in anticipation of the release of the new weekly sale flyers from Publix, BiLo, and elsewhere. The woman stays awake to ridiculous hours registering, downloading, selecting, and printing all her coupons, only to discover she's sending all of it to a printer out of ink. Then the website tells her she's reached the maximum number of prints when she tries to correct herself and reprint.

There is much more for a second episode, which involves our heroine's courageous attempts at mental math as she stares blankly at a long shelf of yogurts and Pillsbury biscuits. Two of her girls play chatty Food Network stars shopping at a grocery store, while her two boys climb into a freezer. The same episode highlights the danger of the coupon dispenser, which the children discover will spit forth two coupons in succession, but must be smacked violently if it is to spit out a second batch. The pathetic couponer returns home discovering her children have proudly blessed her with 50 coupons for Almond Milk and stuffed them in the dry goods section of her accordion folder.

In the next episode our heroine decides to travel with a calculator and a pair of scissors. She prints her list, rifles through her coupons, neglects her children, but arrives at the checkout proudly holding her stack of coupons only to squint and see that half of them expired two days ago. She uses her savings to buy a pair of reading glasses.

Next week she dives into the perilous waters of FuelPerks as she discovers she can save $0.20 a gallon if she buys three specific items from a list. She excitedly discovers she has two coupons for each item, thus earning $0.40 off each gallon of gas. As she loads the six precious items into her cart, she wonders if she would in any other circumstance, spend $7.99 for something calling itself "clinical-strength" deodorant.

In the season finale our heroine sits at her desk and smiles ironically at the sight before her: the First, a cutout from a cereal box which details an offer from Kelloggs whereby she can receive a $10 gas gift card if she sends in 10 UPCs from their healthiest cereals (All Bran, Meuslix, Smart Start, etc.); the Second imploring her to take the BlastOButter Popcorn challenge to receive $5.00 in BlastOButter Popcorn coupons by agreeing to like their popcorn. Our heroine lifts them and squeals as she discovers a forgotten coupon for a free photobook from Shutterfly, only to see at the bottom of the stack, a homemade Mothers Day "coupon" for one free hug has expired.

Her head drops onto the desk before her.

Fade to black.

Massage Boy

2011-05-11T23:30:00.000-04:00

Last week I offhandedly talked to the kids about what I envisioned them growing up to be:

Rose: housewife/moderately sized-church matushka/teacher/choir director;

Ella: housewife/CEO of something very important/mega-church matushka/nun;

Meggy: housewife/chef/grocery store manager/matushka;

Max: civil engineer/architect/priest/iconographer-monk;

Mark-o: soldier/priest.

After telling Mark-o my thoughts on his future, his reply was this: "I want to be a 'massage boy' too so I can meet girls."

Even though they were tempted, none of the kids mentioned how this could be problematic if he also wanted to be a priest.

When I asked him this evening about his "massage boy" aspirations, he said he changed it to football player and baseball player. I wonder if his motivation is different from his earlier one--even though the results might be the same.

I just love my kids.

“It came from Me”

2011-04-15T15:36:00.004-04:00

Did you ever stop to think that everything that affects you affects Me as well? For everything that has to do with you also has to do with apple of My eye. You are precious in My sight, very precious, and I love you. It therefore brings me special joy to educate you. I want you to know that whenever a flood of the enemy’s temptations enemy has descended upon you, it came from Me.

I want you to know that in your weakness, you need My strength, and that your safety lies in giving Me the opportunity to defend you. Did you ever find yourself in difficult straits, among people who did not understand you, who did not consider what you liked, who kept aloof from? Know that this was from Me

I am your God, Who orders circumstances. It was no accident that you found yourself in that specific place; it was the very place I had appointed for you. Did you not ask that I teach you humility? Thus, I set you into that specific milieu, in the school in which that lesson could be learned. Those around you, those living with you, are merely acting according to My will. If you were ever in financial difficulties, if it was hard for you to make ends meet – that came from Me.

For I manage your resources, and I want you to run to Me, to know that you depend upon Me, that my store of resources is inexhaustible. I want you to become convinced that I faithfully keep My promises, so that in your time of need, others might not be able to say to you “Don’t believe your Lord God.” Did you ever spend the night in sorrow? If you were estranged from loved ones and neighbors, I sent you that.

I am the Man of sorrows, who knows the meaning of sickness. I allowed it so that you might turn to Me and in Me find eternal comfort. If a friend, someone to whom you had opened your heart, disappointed you, that also came from Me.

I allowed you to be touched by that disappointment, so that you might recognize that the Lord is your truest friend. I want you to bring Me everything, and to talk to Me. If someone slandered you, present it to Me, and with your shoulder lean closer to Me, your refuge, so that you might be sheltered from wagging tongues. I will bring out your truth like a bright light and and your fate like noonday. When your plans fell through and you felt downhearted and exhausted, that was from Me.

You had made your own plans, you had your own intentions, and you brought them to Me for My blessing. However, I wanted you to allow Me to decide and order the circumstances of your life, for you are merely an instrument and not an active participant. When in your secular life you encountered unexpected misfortunes, when your heart was seized by despair, know that it came from Me.

For I want your heart and soul to always be ablaze in My sight, to defeat with My name any faint-heartedness. If, because those dear to you infrequently get in touch with you, your faint-heartedness and weakness of faith cause you to fall into discontented grumbling and despair, know that that also came from Me.

It is through this troubling of your soul that I test the strength of your faith, the immutability of your promises, and the daring of your prayers for those dear to you. Was it not you who entrusted your cares for them to My providential love? Was it not you who still entrusts them to the Protection of My Most-pure Mother? If you were struck by a serious illness, whether temporary or incurable, and you became bedridden – that came from Me.

I wanted you to come to know me even more even better through your bodily ills, so that you would not complain about all of these trials sent to you, so that you would not strive by various means to discern my plans of salvation of human souls, so that instead you would obediently and without complaint, would bow your head before My grace for you. If you ever dreamed of doing some special work for Me, and instead lay down on your bed of illness and weakness, that was from Me.

For you would have been burdened with your own affairs, and I would have been unable to attract your mind to thoughts about Me. Yet I want to teach you My most profound of thoughts and lessons, so that you might be in My service. I want you to comprehend that you are nothing without Me. Some of My best children are those who are cut off from active work, so that they might learn to use the weapon of ceaseless prayer. If, unexpectedly, you are called to take on this difficult and responsible position, put your trust in Me. I entrust you with these difficulties, and for them, your Lord God will bless you in everything you do wherever you go; in everything, your Lord will be your Director and Teacher. On this day, My child, I have placed in your hands that container of Holy Oil. Make free use of it. Always remember that every difficulty that arises, every word that offends you, every wrongful accusation or condemnation, every obstacle to doing your job that could evoke disappointment, disillusion, disenchantment, every manifestation of weakness and impotence will be anointed with this oil. That came from Me.

Remember that every false accusation is an instruction from God. Therefore, instill in your heart those words I have told you today: It came from Me.

Keep them, know them and always remember them, wherever you might go. The pain of every sting you endure will be blunted if you will but learn to see Me in everything. I sent everything to perfect your soul. It all came from Me.

"It came from Me"
Spiritual Testament of St. Seraphim of Vyritsa

Hiero-schemamonk Seraphim (Muraviev) was born in 1865 in Yaroslavl Province. He reposed in 1949 in the village of Vyritsa, Leningrad District. One could say that he was one of our contemporaries, but one who in lived to see and experience far more than we: the Monarchy, the Revolution, the years of Soviet power, and devastating wars…

He was a peasant boy who was to become a retail salesman, then a successful furrier, and later the spiritual director of a large Russian monastery, and an elder who prayed for the Russian land. He was a kind family man who later became a zealous monastic, a worker of miracles, and a prophet. Above all else, he was always and in every circumstance one who dedicated his life to God, and who practiced obedience to the commandment of our Lord Jesus Christ: “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy sould, and with all thy mind…[and] thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.” (Matthew 22: 37-39). While living in the world and undertaking a multitude of cares and concerns, St. Seraphim of Vyritsa not only was able to keep himself from the temptations of the age, but he was made worthy to attain great spiritual gifts. Unquestionably, his life is a lesson for all of us. Now just as it did during his earthly life, his prayerful intercession continues to save, edify, and turn toward repentance those who revere his holy memory.

Not an Egg

2011-04-02T09:34:00.005-04:00

I've been meaning to put this up for a while, but never got around to it. It's a recipe for a Lenten egg substitute, a fake egg.

This recipe equals 1 Egg.

2 Tb Flour
2 Tb Water
1 1/2 tsp Vegetable Oil
1/2 tsp Baking Powder

Mix it together and add it to whatever recipe that calls for an egg: muffins, cornbread, even cake.

Just don't try it in boxed brownies. It will never work.

Paranoia, Stockings & Piety

2011-03-26T21:35:00.006-04:00

This is the first Lent in which I am requiring that all my children participate in the Fast.

In years past, I made excuses for them which ranged between everything from calcium and bone-growth issues, to protein and muscle-issues, to chocolate as calcium/protein-incentives-for-good-deeds-issues. To assuage my guilt, I was able to paint my concerns as behavior and health-mindful-mothering.

In reality I was choosing ease and convenience for myself, over demanding (or expecting) discipline from the children.

I never thought of the Fast as training up the children with food in the same way as I train them up with the rod. Nor did I ever consider that God, the Creator of all, might know the best diet for His children by the Church's prescribing a diet for them during certain times of the year.

So this Lent we are following the time-honored Orthodox Fast: no meat (yes, that includes chicken), no milk or milk-products, no butter or cheese, no eggs, and no fish (or creatures with backbones (which include snakes, frogs and turtles--but not snails, if you're so inclined)). On the days we've encountered that are strict fast days, I've not pushed meals, and I have waited for them to ask for something to eat. It's amazing how long the children will go without food if I keep them occupied with Legos in the morning.

The first week there was open rebellion from LMark. He tried to use all the excuses I had been using over the years: "MOM! I'm a little kid!" "MOM! I need eggs for my muscles!"

Then, he just became calmly belligerent: "Mom, you can't make me fast. You can't make me fast, you know..." His tone of voice was so like his father's that I almost felt like I had to obey. Then it finally struck me as so funny. I just replied, "OK Mark. You know? I have chicken in the freezer. I tell you what. You just go home, thaw it, and fry yourself some, OK?--How about you just run to the store and get yourself some cheese too?"

One Sunday we were passing McDonalds on our way home from church. He had chosen to skip our coffee hour meal because he didn't like the food being served. He suddenly curled up, groaning how hungry he was. "But you have to stop! I'm starving to death!" I must have been inspired by my earlier "fried chicken" joke, because I laughed and said, "Watch me not stop! Whoops! I passed it! No burgers today! Guess what? It's Lent!"

But seriously, I have talked to them about something I read before Lent which struck me, "Our problem is that we do not look at the essence of the fast as a freewill act of love for God." I never thought of it this way before. I can do my best to obey the commandments and to love my neighbor all year long. But the Great Fast is one way I can simply obey.

I have also reminded them: "You know the basket we have at Pascha? Everything you don't eat during Lent, gets to go in this basket: butter, cheeses, chocolates, sausages, ham, eggs, bacon--maybe also Cheez-Its, Doritos and BBQ. If you eat this good stuff all Lent-long, what are you going to put in your basket? You might end up having potatoes and beans in your basket on Pascha because you didn't want to eat them during Lent! It would be like finding coal in your stocking on Christmas morning!"

The result of all this was a complete surprise. They have entirely embraced the Fast--even the boys. The younger four recently went to a birthday party together. LMark was about to tell the hostess they were fasting, so they couldn't have the Little Smokies she was going to serve. He was also suspicious of the contents of the birthday cake. But Max told him not to worry about it (I've told them they are not supposed to announce that they are fasting or ask somebody to go out of their way for them). So they ate their sausages and cake (without complaint).

Since we home-school, one of the things that has always struck me about my kids is their behaving as if somebody other than me is evaluating their work. I have never told them this; they have seen me personally grade their papers. But sometimes if they don't understand something, they talk frantically as if some nameless person isn't going to appreciate their hard work or understand the answer they wrote down! As if Mr Steve himself from Math-U-See is personally going to grade their worksheets!

Maybe, by tapping into this home-school paranoia, mixing it with a little Christmas-stocking fear, and peppering it with a child-like piety, I have stumbled across something.

Regardless, in my estimation, for the Mancuso family, this is a Lenten miracle.

When we must, the kids are perfectly content when we go through the fast-food places and order only fries instead of the burger. Our grocery budget is lower than normal. We've introduced fruit and fruit-juices into our communal diet. LMark is even eating peanut butter (this is one of the two foods over the years I have "allowed" him to dislike--I allow each child to dislike two foods (which brings up a genuinely bad parenting idea I had, which I might discuss (after I solve it) in another blog-post)).

This is an accomplishment for me, to embrace a new type of "rod" wielded not only by, but upon my own self while I use it for my childrens' sake.

I doubt these events will fulfill the criteria as a miracle for the Orthodox hierarchy, if only because they (and I) know we should have been doing this all along, as have the millions of Orthodox every year, since the First Century.

Regardless, I'm looking forward to my Pascha basket, sans potatoes & beans!

Kursk Icon visits St. Elizabeth's Church in Columbia, SC

2011-02-15T14:00:00.000-05:00

2011-02-08T18:31:00.002-05:00

Our dear friend Dusan gave us a scare today. Around 11 o'clock Fr Mark told me that Jean had called and said she thinks Dusan is dying. I went over after dropping off the children and found him in a state of semi-coma. He looked like he was sleeping, although he drifted in and out of what seemed like sleep to what seemed like nobody-there.

Jean was emotional and very distraught saying things like, "He might have been a fuss-budget, but he was a great, a really Great man." As we sat alone she would caress his hand tenderly. Apparently he had fallen late last night/early morning and was distraught at how disoriented he was. He said, "I'll never be able to find St Elizabeth's again!"

People arrived: Jean's family and children; calls were made to out-of-town people so they could say their own goodbyes to him. One of his godsons arrived. My husband arrived with Quartus. Everyone else was ushered away so Quartus could talk to him. Quartus' face was so tender and almost pleadingly conversational that I'll never forget the image of the two men.

Fr Mark then began the service for his final communion. He received the Gifts, and seemed to stir. Quartus must have noticed this because he began to read the Otche Nash, quite a bit louder than the other prayers. He was given the Anointing for the Sick right after the post-communion prayers. After that people whispered to him and said goodbye. Fr Mark left the room and was preparing for the Canon of the Departing of the Soul from the Body.

Then he opened his eyes.

We talked to him quietly about how pretty the day was, who was in the house, and who had called him. He grunted occasionally to acknowledge what was being said and smiled weakly.

He crossed himself slightly and motioned for a pen and paper. Quartus returned with it and he wrote the letter M. and something with a loop. For a few moments we couldn't quite decipher what he wanted. Then we realized it was M.J.: Mama Jean. She returned as we realized he was cramping. She massaged his feet and calves with Maximos and as they did, he began to revive to the point where his arms were moving towards where he was hurting. He also reached for the icon of Sergius and Bacchus next to him.

After that it was remarkable how he revived. His eyes finally opened and he started responding to questions. He talked to us and then asked Fr Mark if he could hear his confession.

As we were all on the porch Rose arrived. Quartus remarked, "He'll be dancing soon, now that Rose is here." She has always loved Dusan since she was tiny, and has doted on him since growing old enough to do so. When Fr Mark walked out, indicating the confession was over, we returned and found Rose crying but Dusan smiling and chatting with her. I almost told her, "Stop crying! You should have seen him 20 minutes ago."

We reminded him that the Kursk icon is coming to our new church building on Friday. Fr Mark picked up the small copy he had on his dresser and put it next to a picture I had brought of the children. He seemed to recall the fact and said, motioning to a copy of the icon, "Ahhh, Napoleon, he tried to invade, but This kept him out...because the Russian people had the icon...Hitler didn't have one either." It made me and Fr Mark laugh almost to tears.

He said, "I was never blessed with children." We responded, "We are your children and grandchildren, Tata!" I told him how much my children love him and named them all. He began to talk of them and their innocence and their natural love for Christ. "Matushka," he motioned to Fr Mark, "he is the Crown, but you are the Key. You are the Key to lock Him in, or lock Him out of the hearts of your children."

After about 30 minutes he was sitting up on pillows, and leaning on Josh, his godson. The transformation was miraculous. He began to joke and smile, the relief made the jokes all the more funny and the smiles seem like a sigh of relief.

This is an 86 year-old man who weighs as much as my left leg, and who has threatened for years that this year he will be celebrating his last Slava. He was a spiritual son of Justin Popovitch, fought in WWII, and survived a German and a British concentration camp. Since I have known him he has talked about wanting to die, and wishing to be buried in the holy ground of Serbia. His coffin is comfortably situated in the corner of his room, something which I noticed only when he was wide awake and talking about the pancakes Jean had brought him hours ago.

It was a relief, indeed. He is undoubtedly waning, but it was a joy to see him revive.

And the words, "He is the crown, but you are the Key..." have touched my heart.

Priceless

2011-02-07T20:58:00.001-05:00

Max got a dollar when he lost his tooth a few weeks ago. He left his money in his pocket, which I later found in the washing machine.

Last week I told him I'd give him and Marko a dollar apiece every Sunday, if they were good altar boys.

Max asked for his $1 last Sunday, so I recycled his tooth-dollar.

Tuesday, I found it again in the washing machine, the same day Marko asked for his "altar-boy" dollar. But, Marko asked me to put his in a safe place because, he says, his sisters always "steal his dollars."

So today, Max demanded his dollar again for being a good altar boy.

And the price for all of this: $1, if that. The only cash I ever carry is what I find in the washing machine. Who knows how long this has been going on?

On Forgiveness

2011-01-14T07:33:00.008-05:00

The Orthodox Church has an annual "Forgiveness Sunday" vespers which happens at the beginning of Great Lent. During this service everyone in attendance prostrates to every other individual in the church, and says (I try at this point not to avert my eyes), "Forgive me a sinner." The person receiving the prostration replies "God forgives. May God forgive us both," and then he prostrates himself saying and doing the same.

Even when I was many months pregnant, I tried to do these full prostrations, because I wanted to convey my repentance to the other person, and also solidify in my own heart (and aching legs the next day) that I was truly sorry for those things I had in my heart that I might have forgotten or those nameless offenses I made without my knowledge. Receiving the prostration from the other person in return allows us to cast away from us those sins, and acknowledge that it is only by our forgiving one another that we are forgiven by God.

Every now an then when I'm irritated with my husband, I call to mind his past sins and misdemeanors in order to fuel the fire in my mind. Sometimes this provides great fodder if I'm in the mood to stay ticked off. But, sometimes, I can't help but recall the darkness of the church, the quietness and solemnity of the place, and the looks that pass between us during our prostrations on Forgiveness Sunday. If I'm able to catch myself, I count how many Forgiveness Vespers have gone since that sin/misdemeanor took place that offended me so.

I could justify this resentment and say that I have lingering "issues" with my husband. All those times he ___, or the time he kept ___ without considering my feelings might have affected me so universally and so deeply that these issues would be entirely justified.

I love the essay by C. S. Lewis, "On Forgiveness," because it seems to speak to my tendency, which I suppose most people have to justify what is in reality, "unforgiveness"--clinging to those "bits left over" after all the excuses have been made. My confessor doesn't often let me get away with making excuses, as he mentions, but Forgiveness Vespers also seems to put an official end to any excuses to keep my grudges.

ON FORGIVENESS
Macmillan Publishing Company, Inc., N.Y. 1960

We say a great many things in church (and out of church too) without thinking of what we are saying. For instance, we say in the Creed " I believe in the forgiveness of sins." I had been saying it for several years before I asked myself why it was in the Creed. At first sight it seems hardly worth putting in. "If one is a Christian," I thought " of course one believes in the forgiveness of sins. It goes without saying." But the people who compiled the Creed apparently thought that this was a part of our belief which we needed to be reminded of every time we went to church. And I have begun to see that, as far as I am concerned, they were right. To believe in the forgiveness of sins is not so easy as I thought. Real belief in it is the sort of thing that easily slips away if we don't keep on polishing it up.

We believe that God forgives us our sins; but also that He will not do so unless we forgive other people their sins against us. There is no doubt about the second part of this statement. It is in the Lord's Prayer, it was emphatically stated by our Lord. If you don't forgive you will not be forgiven. No exceptions to it. He doesn't say that we are to forgive other people's sins, provided they are not too frightful, or provided there are extenuating circumstances, or anything of that sort. We are to forgive them all, however spiteful, however mean, however often they are repeated. If we don't we shall be forgiven none of our own.

Now it seems to me that we often make a mistake both about God's forgiveness of our sins and about the forgiveness we are told to offer to other people's sins. Take it first about God's forgiveness, I find that when I think I am asking God to forgive me I am often in reality (unless I watch myself very carefully) asking Him to do something quite different. I am asking him not to forgive me but to excuse me. But there is all the difference in the world between forgiving and excusing. Forgiveness says, "Yes, you have done this thing, but I accept your apology; I will never hold it against you and everything between us two will be exactly as it was before." If one was not really to blame then there is nothing to forgive. In that sense forgiveness and excusing are almost opposites. Of course, in dozens of cases, either between God and man, or between one man and another, there may be a mixture of the two. Part of what at first seemed to be the sins turns out to be really nobody's fault and is excused; the bit that is left over is forgiven. If you had a perfect excuse, you would not need forgiveness; if the whole of your actions needs forgiveness, then there was no excuse for it. But the trouble is that what we call "asking God's forgiveness" very often really consists in asking God to accept our excuses. What leads us into this mistake is the fact that there usually is some amount of excuse, some "extenuating circumstances." We are so very anxious to point these things out to God (and to ourselves) that we are apt to forget the very important thing; that is, the bit left over, the bit which excuses don't cover, the bit which is inexcusable but not, thank God, unforgivable. And if we forget this, we shall go away imagining that we have repented and been forgiven when all that has really happened is that we have satisfied ourselves without own excuses. They may be very bad excuses; we are all too easily satisfied about ourselves.

There are two remedies for this danger. One is to remember that God knows all the real excuses very much better than we do. If there are real "extenuating circumstances" there is no fear that He will overlook them. Often He must know many excuses that we have never even thought of, and therefore humble souls will, after death, have the delightful surprise of discovering that on certain occasions they sinned much less than they thought. All the real excusing He will do. What we have got to take to Him is the inexcusable bit, the sin. We are only wasting our time talking about all the parts which can (we think) be excused. When you go to a Dr. you show him the bit of you that is wrong - say, a broken arm. It would be a mere waste of time to keep on explaining that your legs and throat and eyes are all right. You may be mistaken in thinking so, and anyway, if they are really right, the doctor will know that.

The second remedy is really and truly to believe in the forgiveness of sins. A great deal of our anxiety to make excuses comes from not really believing in it, from thinking that God will not take us to Himself again unless He is satisfied that some sort of case can be made out in our favor. But that is not forgiveness at all. Real forgiveness means looking steadily at the sin, the sin that is left over without any excuse, after all allowances have been made, and seeing it in all its horror, dirt, meanness, and malice, and nevertheless being wholly reconciled to the man who has done it.

When it comes to a question of our forgiving other people, it is partly the same and partly different. It is the same because, here also forgiving does not mean excusing. Many people seem to think it does. They think that if you ask them to forgive someone who has cheated or bullied them you are trying to make out that there was really no cheating or bullying. But if that were so, there would be nothing to forgive. (This doesn't mean that you must necessarily believe his next promise. It does mean that you must make every effort to kill every taste of resentment in your own heart - every wish to humiliate or hurt him or to pay him out.) The difference between this situation and the one in which you are asking God's forgiveness is this. In our own case we accept excuses too easily, in other people's we do not accept them easily enough. As regards my own sins it is a safe bet (though not a certainty) that the excuses are not really so good as I think; as regards other men's sins against me it is a safe bet (though not a certainty) that the excuses are better than I think. One must therefore begin by attending to everything which may show that the other man was not so much to blame as we thought. But even if he is absolutely fully to blame we still have to forgive him; and even if ninety-nine per cent of his apparent guilt can be explained away by really good excuses, the problem of forgiveness begins with the one per cent of guilt that is left over. To excuse, what can really produce good excuses is not Christian charity; it is only fairness. To be a Christian means to forgive the inexcusable, because God has forgiven the inexcusable in you.

This is hard. It is perhaps not so hard to forgive a single great injury. But to forgive the incessant provocations of daily life - to keep on forgiving the bossy mother-in-law, the bullying husband, the nagging wife, the selfish daughter, the deceitful son - How can we do it? Only, I think, by remembering where we stand, by meaning our words when we say in our prayers each night "Forgive our trespasses as we forgive those that trespass against us." We are offered forgiveness on no other terms. To refuse it is to refuse God's mercy for ourselves. There is no hint of exceptions and God means what He says.

Sticky Stuff

2010-12-09T20:04:00.005-05:00

I have to put together a senior ad for Rose's yearbook by tomorrow. From what I have seen, these ads are often sentimentally and spiritually wise letters from parents to their children. One can imagine a parent (like me) hoping a child (like Rose) will return to it for guidance in later years, when her parent has long gone, and when she needs her mother or father most.

Unfortuately I don't do well under pressure--especially when I'm expected to be sentimental or wise about something. I was looking at her baby photos this afternoon, and I couldn't help but feeling the happiest about the ones in which she was covered in food--or half-naked and covered in food. Although my favorite photo of all time is one in which she and her sisters are covered in green crayon--mostly because of the look on Margaret's face.

I'm also having difficulty coming up with something like a "goodbye" letter. Why: 1) It's the middle of the school year 2) she's not gone nor has she figured out where she's going yet and 3) she is trying to extend the "no-nagging" policy from last week, while still taking less than 20 seconds to wipe off the stupid kitchen counters she was told to wipe, and leaving at least 3 square feet of sticky stuff and crumbs all over.

So I went cruising the blog to see if I've written anything particularly sentimental, and I ran across this seasonally appropriate post. I ran across a few more, but nothing makes me feel weepy yet, which is the most fertile soil for sentimental yearbook letters.

Skills

2010-12-03T09:10:00.006-05:00

We're coming to the end days of Rose's homeschooling career. I just sent in her "Intent to Graduate" form to the appropriate authorities and we made a mad rush late Tuesday night to finish her early applications to her top three schools of choice.

I hesitated to help her Tuesday night, because the day before she used the "N" word, which is forbidden in my house. That N-word is "Nag." She said, "Mom, will you stop nagging me--PLEASE??!!" in that tone of voice which makes the person hearing it indict themselves, even though the person using it is totally worthy of being accused.

I had it perfected as a teenager.

So, with a flash of brilliance, I retorted, "OK. Your college applications and essays are due tomorrow and you are re-taking the SAT on Saturday. And that's all I'm saying about it." For a brief part of the day I thought I was going to die, and for that same part, I bet she thought she was in the lap of luxury, lounging around in her PJs, thumbing through magazines, taking three leisurly hours to complete one lesson of Government.

But as the hours ticked away on Tuesday and I hadn't said anything, she began to get quietly frantic (I could see it in her eyes). So I helped her where I could and we submitted everything around 11:58 PM, November 30--two minutes before the December 1 deadline.

As it turned out, my "brilliance" wasn't so brilliant after all. In those moments leading up to 11:58 PM, when I could have had a delightful time pointing out how much she had wasted time in the previous days and hours, I was instead chastening myself for wanting to nag when I had promised I would not. And so she ended up with me helping her finish something on which she had dawdled for weeks--with no nagging to boot. She could just be an evil genius.

But anyway I was reminded of a post I wrote in the early months of her freshman year, and the perils of trying to homeschool a high schooler and potty train at the same time. All I want to add is that I wish I had ended the post with this, "As long as she befriends the right people."

2010-11-18T19:53:00.001-05:00

One man to save rejected babies

2010-11-06T20:18:00.000-04:00

MySpace2

2010-10-31T20:02:00.002-04:00

As I mentioned before, some people have studios. I don't, which allows for interesting moments. And yes, that's pizza in his hand.

Perspective

2010-10-27T00:10:00.002-04:00

Today we were talking about the Manchu Dynasty's conquest over the Han Chinese & the Ming Dynasty. This discussion of dynasties made Margaret wonder about a previous lesson, "Mom...does the Gupta Dynasty still exist in India?"

At this moment, Ella began flipping furiously through her notebook for her paragraph on the Gupta Dynasty from last year.

Just before Ella made her pronouncement on the dates of the Gupta Dynasty, Margaret says thoughtfully, "...because I've seen a guy on TV, Sanjay Gupta..."

Ella and I start laughing,

..."for Cable Vantage..."

MySpace

2010-10-02T21:57:00.007-04:00

This is the space in which I'm working on an icon of Vladyka John. Some people have studios. If I had a studio it would probably be less organized than this.

I have my chair-and-stool lighting creation, my stool/TV tray work table, and something I call my "Quick Box." This box contains the brush-sizes and paint-colors I'm currently working with, in addition to the mess-up miscellanea I need when I mess up--which I need to replenish often, FYI.

I can set up and break down this stuff in less than five minutes, morning, noon, and night. It's become both a habit and a challenge to turn this 3'x5' studio back into the 3'x5' walkway in between the kitchen, living room, classroom.

I also homeschool five kids and make homecooked meals almost every day. I sometimes get behind on laundry, though.

Best Pope Protester Ever

2010-09-22T12:41:00.002-04:00

http://euangelizomai.blogspot.com/2010/09/best-pope-protester-ever.html

Axios!

2010-09-10T09:50:00.000-04:00

My husband was ordained to the priesthood ten years ago, on the feast of St Moses the Black at St John the Baptist Cathedral in Washington D.C., one of the most beautiful churches I have ever seen.

Mark-o Learns a New Skill

2010-09-06T15:38:00.003-04:00

Salvation in Christianity. The assassinated Father Daniel Sysoyev

2010-08-30T19:01:00.000-04:00

Tolerance and Suicide

2010-08-24T20:00:00.003-04:00

Beautiful Russian Orthodox Chant Valaam Православие Валаам

2010-08-14T17:21:00.000-04:00

Liturgical Chaos & Abuses - Part 1

2010-08-14T16:32:00.000-04:00

DADT & Military Chaplains

2010-08-12T06:59:00.000-04:00

The harm to military religious liberty posed by the possible dismantling of the so-called “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy is only recently starting to get the kind of attention it needs. If the military is forced to normalize homosexual conduct, service members’ religious beliefs that such conduct is immoral and harmful will likely be a casualty of the political push to radically alter military personnel policy. This likelihood is demonstrated by the nationwide assaults on religious belief in the civilian world and by new evidence from an active-duty chaplain that is being revealed for the first time here.

Not surprisingly, those who have fought the hardest to protect service members’ religious liberty against the normalized homosexual behavior are the same men who have given decades of their lives to the service of that liberty: chaplains. In April, 41 veteran chaplains—men who have ministered to our troops in battlegrounds ranging from Vietnam to Iraq to Afghanistan—signed a letter outlining the harm to religious liberty. These include censorship of sermons, counseling, and ethical teaching; forced changes to religious services and programs; and the marginalization of chaplains and service members with orthodox religious beliefs. A major vehicle for these harms, they warned, would be discrimination complaints, which would effectively end chaplains’ careers and thus censor their ministry.

And now new evidence has come to light that these concerns are true. Read more...

...and yes, we would like to have Hagia Sophia back too.

2010-08-08T19:29:00.001-04:00

2010-08-06T23:51:00.003-04:00

From an interview with Archpriest Artemy Vladimirov.

- You have touched upon the subject of computer games. It is natural for children to want to play games. Should this involvement in computer games be considered an illness?

- In our times, we are witnessing the following phenomenon: mankind, having exhausted its strength, has figured out new ways and methods of child education, of informing the children and introducing some manner of intellectual habit through computers. At the same time, we are becoming convinced that these inventions do not in the least justify themselves in obtaining the goal. Children are drowning in the quagmire of computer games. There is danger not only to their spiritual well-being, but also to their mental and physical health. They are becoming invalids before they have even had the chance to fully unfold their extraordinary powers. I sometimes think about how our country is not so technologically equipped (thank God), as other countries; yet every year more and more children are turning into computer Monte Christos — imprisoned voluntarily in the Chateau d'Iff of their own apartments. Their souls no longer see the living world. “The world holds no interest, and bread is not sweet.”

We are also witnesses to the terrible loss which children are inflicting upon themselves — motionless and dehydrated, they truly become patients. Certain modern psychologists kindly remind us that in 19th century Russia schizophrenia was called stony insensibility — the incapability of sharply perceiving things in the world. A person who is free from computer sickness can say together with Pushkin, “I am born to think and to suffer.”

A child who is, to the contrary, entangled in the virtual tentacles of the octopus of computer games, really does appear bloodless in the eyes of a trained specialist. He looses interest in living life, all his reactions are dulled, and he seeks no friendship with his peers. He becomes Kay of Han Christian Anderson's fairy tale, and finds himself in the land of icy hearts, an eternal captive of the Snow Queen, playing his melancholy game of Hermann Hesse's computer beads, repeating together with the story's famous heroine the words, “Freedom or no freedom, it's all the same.” He has lost the will to live. He no longer dreams about the future, he has fallen into a slavery of the most horrendous kind — computer instincts. His soul becomes filled ever more each day with aggression, pride, and fornication. All this is made even worse by the fact that it is all coming about in a hidden way — in the form of computer games.

2010-07-25T22:29:00.004-04:00

I can't seem to get the code to paste the video itself, but here's a Belarussian priest addressing the PCUSA.

His talk begins at 1:30, but the meat begins at 4:40. "In Belarus we don't have Presbyterians..."

2010-07-24T04:46:00.002-04:00

Here's a report of our Bishop's visit over St Elizabeth's Feast Day on the 18th.

Here's a photo report.

I Fought For You (By The Sound Tank).mp4

2010-07-12T00:15:00.000-04:00

2010-07-10T07:26:00.000-04:00

2010-07-02T16:10:00.002-04:00

I'm ashamed to say that I'm new to the world of couponing. I've been married nearly twenty years and I have enough kids to justify the effort but I never thought it was worth the trouble if I just bought the generic brand at WalMart. Indeed when I would compare the prices, it never seemed worth the time it took to clip the ads.

However, the internet has changed everything since my early dismissive days.

Recently I found a website that does the work for you, locates the coupons for you, and links the coupons for you. There is a web site that actually tells you how to game the system by combining coupons with offers that give you cash-back coupons so you get whatever is on sale for ridiculously low prices or for free.

It's not illegal or immoral. It's just finding the best price by combining sales with coupons, and certain coupon policies which sometimes allow multiple coupons. Somebody gets paid in the end, I always figure, whether it's the store, the newspaper, the ad company, or the company that sells the stupid printer cartridges for my inkjet printer--somebody always gets paid.

Since discovering this method of saving money (and the best website to integrate savings, clipped coupons, digital coupons, and everything else), I have looked at couponing (as a friend of my suggested) as part-time job. I haven't yet figured out how much I've saved because stores like Publix and Bi-Lo over-price their stuff, and it's only the sales + coupon deals that get them below WalMart prices.

But unlike other people who have part-time jobs, I've discovered that "coupon-moms" can be as intense and as ruthless about their weekly deals as a mother grizzly bear. Within a day or two, certain printable coupons become "no longer available" online because the company allows only a certain number of thousands to be printed. If a person doesn't get the coupon on time, tough. Buy one get one free deals (B1G1) are particularly dangerous deals. The stores usually run out of a these items the day or maybe the day after it is advertised (especially if there's a coupon available).

In other words, if a certain person shows up with her well-organized stack of coupons, expecting to find certain Lysol products on the shelves because the brand is a B1G1 at the store, and there exist several coupons with a dollar or more off that product (rendering it 35 cents or so)--making a person want to buy as many products as she has coupons--the product simply won't be there. Moreover, that certain person will feel like fool for showing up at noon (instead of 5 AM) on the day the product went on sale.

Obviously this event has happened to me (on more than one occasion).

But I also had the satisfaction--no, satisfaction isn't the word I'm looking for--maybe the phrase, empoweringly helpful feeling--wait, no--satisfaction is definitely the word--of being the person who helped another novice learn that the world of couponing is, or can be, a pretty bloody business.

I once encountered a lady with two sweet, little toddlers who was looking for the Gogurt B1G1 on sale at Publix that week, just after I visited the Gogurt aisle. I had six coupons (mind you, coupons collected over a period of five weeks or so) that got me a dollar off two Gogurts (which we freeze and use as popcicles) and one coupon for a dollar off one. Naturally if there are only 13 boxes of Gogurts in the refrigerated section of the store, it's not unreasonable for me to take as many as I need. It's certainly not illegal or unfair. It's just couponing.

So the young mother pulled her cart up right after I loaded up my 13th (and last) box of Gogurt and I heard her say sweetly to her two year-old (who in my guilty memory might have been looking longingly and forelornly into the refrigerated area that usually holds the Gogurt) , "Sorry honey. It looks like they're all gone."

There was a part of me that wanted to chase after her as she pulled away and say, "HERE! Take two boxes!!" But I couldn't also help but wonder if she wasn't the person who had taken the last eight bottles of Lysol I was expecting to find the week before.

Probably she wasn't.

But, she soon could be.

Or, soon will be.

(I can't believe I'm sharing that link. It's like I'm my own worst enemy sometimes)

*UPDATE*
I just discoverd that Publix will issue a rain-check if they run out of something during a sale. I suppose this makes all of what I said above totally irrelevant.

2010-05-28T22:38:00.005-04:00

When I was a child my parents would drive winding routes throughout the countryside of Ohio or other midwestern states in search of covered bridges to drive under.

Unknown to me at the time, my parents kissed each other every time. Apparently back in their day, teenagers used covered bridges as romantic meeting places. My parents' kissing was their corny way to comemorate this forgotten piece of history.

As a family we might be heading somewhere within 50 or so miles, but my parents would add another 20 miles to our trip in order to find that bridge.

This is an admirable thing if for no other reason than I know for a fact that my brother, sister, and I were some of the bickering-est kids alive.

A Parable

2010-05-20T05:54:00.004-04:00

Those who don't believe in the afterlife resemble two twins talking in the womb:

-Soon we'll be born into a new life...

-Brother, that's nonsense; it spells our death. Just imagine, they will take our only source of food by cutting the umbilical. What shall we do? Then there is no new life. How do you know about it? Nobody has come back here yet...

-Soon we will see our Mother...

-Believing in Mother is beyond nonsense. I can't see her now, so she doesn't exist at all. If you're so smart, tell me, where is she?

-I don't know how to explain it... But I feel her love in my heart and when everything quiets down at night, she gently strokes our world and softly sings. Everything is filled with her, and there is such a joy, as if we were abiding in her. Though I don't know much about life after birth, I believe it exists.

(I'm not sure where this "parable" originates, but I believe it is a translation of this song)

Blessed Are the Peacemakers

2010-05-08T07:17:00.000-04:00

Margaret as Henry V

2010-04-28T17:35:00.001-04:00

I promise Margaret isn't a favorite child. She's just been the star of my last three posts. And since I'm talking about her already, here's another one. The kids were watching Star Wars Return of the Jedi for the first time the other day. They were at the part where Luke was pleading with his father, Darth Vader, to abandon his evil ways. Darth Vader was struggling, "Luke, you don't know the power of the Dark Side..." Margaret said pitifully, "Can't he just give him a hug?"

These are things I need to remember.

2010-04-23T21:08:00.001-04:00

So I'm watching the last part of Gone with the Wind with the girls. We're at the very last part of the movie: "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn." And Rhett Butler walks off into the mist. We're all teary and, like Scarlett, we (even though I've seen it fifty thousand times) can't believe he's really leaving. Scarlett says breathily, "There must be some way to bring him back..."

Margaret whispers, "Were cell phones invented back then?"

Christ is Risen!

2010-04-05T15:52:00.003-04:00

Margaret discovered that Fr Mark had a list where people could sign up to read the Gospel on Pascha. She saw that there were people signed up for Russian, Ukranian, Serbian, Spanish, German, etc. Margaret was hoping she could sign up for something too, but she doesn't know another language.

So she offered, "Mom, can I sign up for 'British accent?'"

Alas, I had to say no.

Indeed He is Risen!!

...

2010-03-28T20:25:00.004-04:00

So today is Palm Sunday and we begin the countdown to Holy Pascha.

This year it became obvious to me how my life and that of my children is punctuated by the events in the life of the Church. We often talk about things that have happened and we discuss them in terms of happening before Pascha, or after Pascha, before the Kursk Root icon came, or after the Bishop or the Metropolitan visited, or when so-and-so was baptised. We'll sometimes resolve disputes over when something happened by trying to recall whether we were fasting at the time, or eating fish, or having wine or something like that.

During the pre-sanctified liturgies this Lent, Little Mark has whispered to me during the prostrations: "Is this a long one?" and "Can I come in your cave?" and "Can I come in your castle?"

When I kneel with my forehead on the floor, I put my arm around him and he nestles his face next to mine. My head-covering creates a dark space around our heads as we listen to the "Let my prayer arise" psalm. It's quiet and cozy for both of us. Margaret even joined us after she realized what Little Mark was doing.

Over the years, it has been occasionally difficult with the children during these Lenten services. The child has to learn what is happening because it's quite a bit different from what he is used to--and prostrations can be perfect opportunities to get silly. I have been spanked, tackled, tickled, drummed upon, and rolled over in the first weeks of Lent more times than I can count. Until they're used to the service, there's something about the prostrations that inspires these otherwise pretty obedient, young children to think, "OK, Mom's on the floor--get her!!"

Usually when I stand with my kids in the church I hold their hands, toussle their hair, pinch their nose or earlobes, wrap my arms around them, or caress their cheeks. All their lives they've stood around me in church being kept in line this way. It reminds me of something C.S. Lewis said as he described a bitch or a cat nursing her brood, "endlessly moving, but somehow at rest."

But there's something about this Season's PS liturgies that has made me a little melancholy. For all intents and purposes, this is the last Lent that I'll have to worry about those behaviors which so discouraged me when the children were younger. Very soon Little Mark will be going into the altar to serve as an acolyte. His big brother has been there for nearly three years. I'll probably take up residence in the choir soon after that since the girls are independent.

I guess this will be another one of those punctuation marks.

An ellipsis perhaps...

This story shall a good man teach his son...

2010-03-17T07:32:00.011-04:00

...now imagine this being done by an eight year-old girl. Video forthcoming.

2010-02-28T07:14:00.002-05:00

Bless my enemies, O Lord.

Even I bless them and do not curse them.

They, rather than I, have confessed my sins before the world.
They have punished me, whenever I have hesitated to punish myself.
They have tormented me, whenever I have tried to flee torments.
They have scolded me, whenever I have flattered myself.
They have spat upon me, whenever I have filled myself with arrogance.

Bless my enemies, O Lord,
Even I bless them and do not curse them.

Whenever I have made myself wise, they have called me foolish.
Whenever I have made myself mighty, they have mocked me as though I were a dwarf.
Whenever I have wanted to lead people, they have shoved me into the background.
Whenever I have rushed to enrich myself, they have prevented me with an iron hand.
Whenever I thought that I would sleep peacefully, they have wakened me from sleep.
Whenever I have tried to build a home for a long and tranquil life, they have demolished it and driven me out.

Truly, enemies have cut me loose from the world and have stretched out my hands to the hem of Thy garment.

Bless my enemies, O Lord.
Even I bless them and do not curse them.

Bless them and multiply them; multiply them and make them even more bitterly against me:

so that my fleeing to You may have no return;
so that all hope in men may be scattered like cobwebs;
so that absolute serenity may begin to reign in my soul;
so that my heart may become the grave of my two evil twins, arrogance and anger;
so that I might amass all my treasure in heaven;
ah, so that I may for once be freed from self-deception, which has entangled me in the dreadful web of illusory life.

Enemies have taught me to know what hardly anyone knows, that a person has no enemies in the world except himself.

One hates his enemies only when he fails to realize that they are not enemies, but cruel friends.

It is truly difficult for me to say who has done me more good and who has done me more evil in the world: friends or enemies.

Therefore bless, O Lord, both my friends and enemies. A slave curses enemies, for he does not understand. But a son blesses them, for he understands.

For a son knows that his enemies cannot touch his life. Therefore he freely steps among them and prays to God for them.

St Nikolai Velimirovic

Lick & Learn

2010-01-22T11:46:00.007-05:00

It's not always a struggle to get my kids to do the scheduled and rotating jobs every day: Ella & Meg alternate cleaning the room and emptying the dishwasher. Max and LMark alternate (on good weeks) cleaning their room and picking up the classroom.

Sometimes the work is accepted as inalienable and eternal. Other times is treated as if the concept is my way of torturing them or denying their rights as free-born citizens of the United States. Usually the latter attitude is caused by a breakup of our week by an all-day activity, be it related to church, school, or fun.

Monday and Tuesday this week were taken up by Theophany services. No parent can expect a child to clean his room after he has been in church for four hours on Monday and two hours on Tuesday. So I let them all goof around instead of setting them to work or school.

Every American Orthodox (and especially Old Calendar) home schooler knows that the days surrounding Thanksgiving, St Nicholas Day, Western Christmas, Western New Year, Orthodox Christmas Eve & Christmas, and Orthodox Theophany Eve & Theophany are hectic and disruptive to say the least. If Lent arrives early, as it does this year, we have to work at breakneck speed to finish what we need to do.

After all this, we treated Wednesday as the beginning of a new week.

But my laundry was behind, my floors were dirty and my bathrooms needed cleaning. I assigned a few jobs around to Rose and the boys, hoping we could get on top of the laundry at the very least.

Despite the labor required, the little girls accepted the bathroom assignment with gusto. They pulled out all of the chemicals, the brushes, the wipes and the paper towels. They scrubbed and wiped and made the bathroom quite nice while singing and laughing all the time.

I then told them they also needed to wipe the floor, which they weren't thrilled about. After a
few "I-can't-figure-out-how-to-do-it's" and "It's-too-hard's", we worked it out and it was all done.

After only 45 minutes they presented their clean bathroom to me.

Sometimes, if they zip through their cleaning jobs in the bathroom, I might point out their shoddy work by saying, "You know...this bathroom should be so clean that you would be willing to LICK the counter, because you are confident it is clean."

They never wanted to do it. And it inspired them to do those finishing touches to make it "lickable"--although I never required the licking. I only mentioned it.

Wednesday, Ella felt the confidence, when I asked if -- you know -- it was clean enough, to do the unthinkable:

>LICK!<

It took a few seconds of my and Margaret's gaping at her with something between admiration and horror for her to gulp,

"UGH! Yack!"

and grope for the faucet for a drink of water.

While I really wanted to hug Ella and say I never really meant to have her lick the counter, instead I felt it necessary to be the mom and say soberly, "Let's wipe it a little better now."

And I trotted away with that lingering wonder at why God ever let me be a mom.

Newton and Noodles

2010-01-11T22:10:00.004-05:00

Every homeschooler knows that teaching one's child affords innumerable opportunities for varying degrees of joy, suffering, anger and irritation, or humor.

Thankfully the most memorable for me are the funny moments. The agonizing moments we usually blame on the curriculum (Saxon for instance).

Today Rose and I were discussing Newton's third law of physics. We have spent a long time on the first two laws working through the accompanying equations and how to think about them in real-life terms. If, for instance, we want to push a big rock at a constant rate of speed, we need to consider the forces that are acting against us (not the least of which are our math skills) in order to figure out how much pressure we must exert upon the rock.

So the book assured us that the third law was the easiest to think about because we see it more obviously in our lives: like in jumping on a trampoline or hitting a tennis ball.

However, when I began to walk Rose through the meaning of "every action has an equal and opposite reaction," she decided to get silly and smack me across the head. Knowing what she was doing, I returned the smack.

"See?" I said, "every action has an equal and opposite reaction! You hit me so I hit you."

"No," she said coyly, "The opposite of hitting is not hitting. If it was an opposite reaction, you wouldn't have hit me back!"

We've been snickering about this all day.

2009-12-24T17:57:00.003-05:00

Between the Awesome and the Ordinary

2009-12-24T06:58:00.031-05:00

Tuesday, December 22, our church was honored by a visit of the 13th Century Kursk Root icon of the Mother of God.

She (as Fr Serge refers to the icon) arrived in Summerville Monday night with her delegation including Fr Serge, Rdr. Peter, and Rdr. Gregory. Fr Mark received a text from Peter upon their landing at the Charleston airport, "The Mother of God is in the South!"

Fr Mark and Rose drove to the services at Sts Cyril & Methodius in Summerville Monday afternoon while I scrambled around the house cleaning and cleaning and preparing for our honored guests. When the time they were supposed to arrive drew near, I was called and told they were going to be (of course) early. I exhorted my husband to drive the speed limit so I could finish working. I suppose this wasn't a very nice thing to do to the tired clergy following him, but alas, I still had to mop.

The icon arrived and Fr Serge removed the covering from it in the driveway so that I could venerate it as it entered our home. We spent a few moments discussing the placement of the icon and modifying the analogia so the it wouldn't slip off. We put the icon on an analogia Fr Mark had brought home from the church and had placed in our prayer corner. Then we spent the rest of the evening chatting as I sat on the floor two feet from this famous, 700 year-old icon, serving beer, hot tea, cookies, chips, and boiled peanuts to our guests.

This is an icon that has healed and has been venerated by countless faithful, and has stood in the company Tsars, royalty, martyrs, and saints. In September it returned to Russia for the first time in 90 years to a reception of thousands. The Russians made a special bullet-proof case for it, and the government gave assurances of its safety and that of the delegation. When the icon returned to Kursk, its hometown, the entire population of 500,000 came out to greet the icon, some standing in line for eight to twelve hours, to spend two seconds kissing the holy icon.

I am still in awe of the honor I felt when I was told that the icon would stay in my bedroom overnight. When the time came, Fr Mark decided it wasn't necessary to move the analogia upstairs, so he placed it on top of a blue analogia-cover draped over the front of my dresser. He lit an oil lamp and we went to bed.

Because the guests were sleeping in my children's rooms, my younger four spent the night with my parents, and Rose slept on our bedroom floor: directly in front of the icon.

The three of us were transfixed by the icon and by the honor we were receiving. We looked at the icon, then at each other, then back at the icon.

Amazing.

But, unlike Fr Mark, Rose and I fell asleep.

He got out of bed around 5 AM and started getting ready to leave for church. I woke up and resumed staring at the icon. I took a few pictures in the dark and a few of Rose sleeping at the foot of my dresser, beneath the icon. I realized that this might come across as my being silly or disrespectful, so I told my husband that it just seemed natural to document the moment. He affirmed my thoughts and said, "It's the most natural thing in the world that a child should sleep peacefully at the foot of her Mother."

And so we got ready to leave. Fr Mark left early. Rose left about 15 minutes before us with the two young men. Then Fr Serge and I were told to delay our leaving with the icon for 15 minutes because Fr Mark & Fr Columba had been stuck in traffic. We left for the church at 7:45.

She had already honored not only my family, my home, and my own bedroom, but now my car and soon my church.

I was struck, in the same way I felt about Rose sleeping at the foot of my dresser, how ordinary it all seemed, and yet how awesome it truly was.

When the icon finally entered the church I was so overwhelmed that I physically shook as I tried to hold my arms and my tears lest I should start making noise as I cried. It was like a relief and also like a prize. It was like perfect joy, but recalled every pain in my heart. It was so beautiful that the liturgy and the moleben was over before I was ready.

So, having witnessed a full year of previously difficult-to-imagine visits to our storefront church (a piece of the Holy Cross, Bishop George and Metropolitan Hilarion, and now the Kursk Root Mother of God), Fr Mark & I said that we couldn't imagine a greater honor than what we have already received. To a certain extent saying so was a relief, as one would describe finally seeing the bounteous fruits of his labor. But we also felt this satisfaction as a couple, as a family, as friends, and as part of a community.

To another extent we said it with a sigh: "how can we top this year?" After all, we still don't have a free-standing building for our church; we still are in our storefront, which many (perhaps understandably) look at with derision, despite what has taken place within its walls.

The ladies and I sometimes talk about how sad it will be to leave the storefront when the time comes, having had so many of our children and our own people baptised here. In my mind I liken it to how I feel about my ten year-old mattress: four children were born on it in my home, so the idea of getting rid of it for something of better quality or more practical makes me feel, of course, a little melacholy and stupidly sentimental.

But until the time comes, we'll plod along and glorify God with the extraordinary people and the beautiful place we have.

And by the way, I hear the relics of St Elizabeth the New Martyr herself might be coming here this summer.

Hand in Hand

2009-11-16T00:14:00.012-05:00

Right now I'm working on the two central icons for our iconostasis. From the waist, they are both about the height and width of an average person.

A year ago, as I was working on the Platytera for the altar, people would ask me how large the icon was going to be. I would stretch out my arms with the elbows a little away from my waist (her same pose) and that was how I would describe the width of the image. This is because I would occasionally lay my hands on hers when I would paint. I don't know why, but even when I was working with an incomplete image, it was a powerful feeling.

Last night as I was painting on the icon of Christ, I rested my hand on His hand as I leaned forward to paint something on His shoulder. As I pulled away I looked at my hand. I had curious feeling, similar to what I had with the Platytera, but something more: like I was involved in painting an icon that was already made, but was waiting for me to finish.

What I've been doing since the last post...

2009-08-29T20:07:00.003-04:00

St John Chrysostom

St Basil the Great

The Metropolian's Visit

2009-07-23T15:18:00.012-04:00

Metropolitan Hilarion visited our church from July 16-18. He arrived Thursday in Charleston where Fr Mark picked him up from the airport and drove to Summerville to eat lunch with Fr Anastassy at his restaurant. After that they drove up here, and arrived around 4:00. I was terribly nervous all day, which I was only able to relieve by cleaning the house and hollering at the children.

For me, in situations where there is a long period of preparation (in this case several weeks of real preparation), there comes a point where I feel like I'm on the edge of a precipice until the moment of truth arrives. Then I give up all hope of improving anything and relax entirely, ready to accept a fall into the abyss of success or failure.

We have had two bishops (Bp Gabriel & Bp Kallistos Ware) and now one metropolitan in our home, and I have to say the Metropolitan was the most enjoyable. Undoubtedly it's because I am a bit older, and perhaps better practiced in receiving people in my home now, than I was when the other two bishops visited. But the Metropolitan was very kind and friendly--not that the others weren't--and seemed to enjoy his visit--not that the others didn't. There was just something about the visit that felt more comfortable.

When he arrived, Rose, LMark & Ella ran downstairs to get a blessing. The way Orthodox Christians usually greet a priest or a bishop is to hold out their two hands, over which the priest or bishop makes the sign of the cross. Then his hand is kissed, as one would kiss the hand of Christ. I noticed that Margaret was missing, but because our foyer can get crowded, I did not notice that Max had not yet greeted the Metropolitan. Margaret was feeling shy, but she showed up a few minutes later.

We took the Metropolitan and his cell attendant (Denis) into the den to relax. I got them some water and conversed a little while Fr Mark hurried back and forth doing something probably related to their bags and whatnot. We talked about the icons I had painted at our church, which he said he liked. We discussed the Russian and Greek methods of icon-painting (the latter method is that with which I am more familiar).

Then Max came into the room. It appears that, at the arrival of the Metropolitan, he had run into his room to change from his t-shirt and shorts, into his "church clothes." I did not ask or tell any of the children to change clothes, because I knew they were going to their grandparents' house. But Max took it upon himself to put on church clothes.

He was wearing khaki pants, his church-shoes (no socks), and a white cotton shirt. He was wrinkly, but presented himself as seriously as a precious, little soldier.

The only problem was he had put on a girl's blouse (alas, Rose had put the clothes away again).

This wasn't something that we could have pretended was a boy's shirt. It was white with a baby-doll collar and huge, puffy half-sleeves. If I could have stopped myself, I would have, but I tried not to laugh--at least out loud--when I told him, "Max, you've got to change. ["Why?"] You're wearing a girl's shirt."

He had a look on his face--mortification so purely innocent and sweet--that I hope I never (OK--maybe just a few more times in his life) to see again. While siblings might not have the practice as adults of smothering their laughter, thankfully metropolitans do. Max quickly removed himself from the room.

Rose told me later that she saw Max in his room furiously tearing at the buttons of the shirt. She said, ignorant of the event downstairs, "Hey, Max, can I help you? I think that's a girl's shirt..." Max growled: "I KNOW!!"

So he returned with a baby-blue polo shirt and again presented himself to me, obviously nervous, but as strong as a little soldier. I told him to get a blessing, and as he did, the Metropolitan said quietly, "Max, I like your shirt."

I hope to post a few more (not so funny) but memorable events from our visit. I also hope to be able to post to my blog more often. I have discovered I find much more enjoyment painting than I do reading, watching TV, or writing this blog. But, for my own sake at least, I hope to keep up with what's going on in my life. I have a terrible memory, and unless I write them down, the tales of my and my children's foibles will be otherwise lost.

2009-06-13T06:24:00.004-04:00

I used a tiller borrowed from our deacon yesterday to dig up a new area for our pool and another area to plant seven 3-gallon loropetalums I bought from Lowes for $2 each (regularly priced $19.99 each). When I was negotiating the price with the manager, the shrubs were crunchy and nearly dead. But over the past several weeks I have revived them almost entirely. I hope to plant them this weekend. I know it's not a good time since we're going into the hot-season, but I promise to keep them watered and not let them die. They're too pretty to lose.

Anyway this is something I wrote last July when I began tilling up another area for the pool my parents and siblings gave me for my birthday. Our backyard is not at all flat, so I have to do some serious digging and leveling to get this area flat. I can't believe I did it last year without a tiller. I amaze myself sometimes.

----

Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday of last week I spent about 25 hours leveling, digging, digging, leveling, re-digging, re-leveling, re-digging and constructing an above ground pool for the children. The days I worked would have been beautiful days to swim: not a cloud in the sky, no wind, and 100 degree days from 8 AM to 3 PM. Wednesday the wind decided to blow around noon. To an asthmatic, sweaty, sandy mom it came as an angel of mercy...inspiring me to work three more hours.

The children pranced and danced around my work area, occasionally adding entertainment to the grueling work, but most often causing confusion and messing up my stakes, strings and line-level. I exhorted myself to be patient and to use these times as "learning moments." It wasn't meant to be. Almost every time I would begin to discuss the way X, Y, and Z are supposed to work (and why they weren't working right now), I would look up to find the child walking toward, smiling or waving at me from the air-conditioned house.

----

Yesterday morning when I was working, Max proudly emerged from the house with two cups of iced tea for us. I still think it's going to take a few days to get the ground completely level. Last year's attempt left us about four inches off, but we didn't find it out till we had about four feet of water in the pool, and at that point it wasn't worth dumping it and starting over. I don't want the same mistake to happen twice.

All the same, I just love to dig.

WhenExtremesMeet

2009-06-01T21:29:00.001-04:00

Seriously, within 24 hours of each other:

The husband, watching the sleekly-designed, hands-free, battery powered can-opener, says, "What the heck is that?"

The 7 year-old, holding up the hand-powered, standard can-opener, says, "What the heck is this?"

The Lord of the Dance

2009-05-28T22:07:00.003-04:00

I like Atlas Shrugged, but I don't know anything about this blog or the blogger. I appreciate the logic of the argument very, very much. This is the reason why, for right now, though maybe not for all time, presenting the Real-Life-position will help our side in the abortion-war. I don't think our faction will win the argument over Roe vs. Wade (alas, American and all of society is in a downward looped-y-loop), but the salvation of a single life is and should be counted as a Win in the end.

And it is.

---

the opposite of lying

If you're like most people, then you probably think the opposite of lying is truthfulness.

If I say "yes" when I know the truth is "no," then I am lying. But if a liar says "yes" when the answer is "yes," it doesn't mean he is not a liar. Lying, you see, is not about being untruthful -- it is about controlling the information a person receives, distorting reality, so that they act on flawed facts. It is about making another person your own means to an end. This is the reason fraud ranks right up there with force as an enemy of reason. And it is why we should expect a liar to say "yes" when it's the answer that suits him best. He's not concerned with being untruthful; he's concerned with controlling your actions by altering the information you use to make decisions.

Because of this, I am not satisfied calling mere truthfulness the opposite of lying. The opposite of lying, to me, is being informative.

Yesterday I saw this: States passing bills requiring ultrasounds prior to abortions. This is actually brilliant, not because of how it will influence women's decisions, but because of how it tests the liberal position on abortion.

A fetus, women are told, is just tissue. If you believe that is a lie, you might think the remedy is to deny it. This law is different -- it says: "See for yourself." And liberalism has a problem with this, not because it refutes their "tissue" argument, but because it truly allows a woman to make an informed choice. And here you thought they were protecting a woman's right to choose. Are you so sure?

Similarly, abortion activists are suing states over specialty license plates with slogans like "Choose Life." Tell me, if you wanted to make abortion "safe, legal and rare," do you think choosing life more would make abortion rarer? I do.

The truth is that we've been told that one side is about life, while the other side is about choice. When I see the life side clobbering the choice side by espousing choice, it puts the choice side in a very uncomfortable position of having to face what it is they really seek. And that's a lot like looking into a baby's face and calling it tissue.

So what does liberalism really seek, with regard to abortion? Well, it seeks what it always wants: a way to escape the consequences of irresponsible action by shifting some cost (in this case a very brutal and violent one) -- onto an innocent, but politically unrepresented, minority. And it relies on misrepresentations like "it's just tissue," to garner support from people who simply don't know better. Liberalism relies on lying.

Consider the source.

---

and the babies.

A Reason to Hope

2009-05-15T08:42:00.002-04:00

Hmm.

This was predicted a few years ago.

Throwing Off the Liberal Burqa

2009-05-13T22:53:00.005-04:00

May 13, 2009
ANN COULTER

Not even Dick Cheney can incite the blood-curdling rage of liberals at the sight of a sexy Evangelical Christian. Paula Jones, Katherine Harris, Michele Bachmann, Sarah Palin and, most recently, Miss California, Carrie Prejean, have all come under a frenzy of attacks from liberals.

Christians are supposed to be fat, balding sweaty little men with bad complexions. It's liberals who are supposed to be the sexy ones. (I know that from watching "The West Wing" and all movies starring Julia Roberts.)

But sadly for liberals, in real life, the fat, balding sweaty little guy with the bad complexion is Perez Hilton and the smoking-hot babe is Carrie Prejean.

This apparent contradiction incites violent anger in liberals, triggering their famous "fight or flight" response. So liberal masturbators are, once again, launching furious attacks on a beautiful Christian in a fit of pique similar to the one directed at Joan of Arc.

First, the Miss USA contest held a press conference to announce that Prejean had breast implants. Take a Christian position in public and Satan's handmaidens will turn all your secrets into front-page news.

Next, a photographer released a single cheesecake photo of Prejean. This prompted liberal reporters who have never met a Christian to proclaim that Christians were outraged by the photo. Liberals believe abortion is a sacrament, but smoking, wearing short skirts and modeling lingerie are mortal sins. (And if wearing women's underwear is a basis for being disqualified from the pageant, that's the end of Perez Hilton's judging career.)

Then on Monday some genuine "semi-nude" photos were released. These were not what we'd call appropriate for a Christian. In a curiously similar attack, the left's final attempt to destroy Paula Jones was to lure her into appearing naked in Penthouse magazine. Oh well.

Christians aren't people who believe they are without sin; they're people who know they're sinners and are awestruck by God's grace in sending his only Son to take the punishment they deserve.

This is in contradistinction to liberals, all of whom believe they're on a fast track to heaven on the basis of being "basically good" people -- and also believe that anyone who disagrees with that theological view is evil.

Finally (so far, anyway), reporters gleefully released the divorce records of Prejean's parents. Because when you want the truth, what is more reliable than angry accusations traded in the middle of an acrimonious divorce?

Liberals used the divorce papers to argue that Prejean had some deep-seated psychological disturbance causing her to oppose gay marriage. Symptoms of this debilitating illness include a belief in some sort of "god" and a reverence for the Bible.

It's not as if Prejean's special talent in the Miss USA contest was to perform an opposite-sex marriage. (Or, as the president and I call it, "marriage.") She didn't even volunteer her "controversial" views on marriage. Rather, she was asked for her opinion on gay marriage and gave it -- in an answer wrapped in so many layers of sugar it took 10 minutes to get to the point.

"Well, I think it's great that Americans are able to choose one way or the other. We live in a land where you can choose same-sex marriage or opposite marriage. You know what, in my country, in my family, I do believe that marriage should be between a man and a woman, no offense to anybody out there. But that's how I was raised, and I believe that it should be between a man and a woman."

What a vicious hate-monger! Any second there I was expecting her to bust out a "by golly!" or an "oh my gosh!" Angry gay-marriage supporters should be happy they didn't get my version of that answer. It contains some terms you won't find in your Bible.

Liberals wouldn't attack James Dobson with the amount of bile they've directed at a 21-year-old beauty contestant. It's not just Christianity -- it's women liberals hate.

From Jean-Paul Sartre, Pablo Picasso and Bertrand Russell, who treated women -- mostly their mistresses -- like dogs, to Teddy Kennedy and Bill Clinton in our own day, liberals are ferocious misogynists. They share Muslims' opinion of women, differing only to the extent that liberals also support a women's right to have an abortion and to perform lap dances.

You'd be better off in a real burqa than under the authority of a liberal American male.

I'm not sure we needed a psychological profile of Prejean to figure out why she holds the same position on gay marriage as: the president, the vice president, the secretary of state, Bill Clinton, John Kerry, John Edwards and his mistress, and the vast majority of the American people.

But what is crying out for an explanation is why every bubble-head TV news anchorette from a nice, churchgoing red state ends up adopting the political views of Karl Marx.

From Katie Couric on CBS to Norah O'Donnell on MSNBC, the whole stable of TV anchorettes weirdly have the exact same politics as their liberal masters. It's the ideological burqa women are required to wear to work in the mainstream media. As with a conventional burqa, it enforces conformity and severely restricts the vision.

The only way to protect yourself is to do the liberal male's bidding, as the bubble-head anchorettes do, or stand on the rock of Christianity.

Now, another beautiful Christian has thrown off the liberal burqa, thereby inciting mass hysteria throughout the liberal establishment. Prejean doesn't care. She is blazing across the sky, as impotent nose-pickers jockey for a piece of her reflected light by hurling insults at her.

Slow, Steady and One Hour Late

2009-05-12T23:36:00.005-04:00

We just returned from visiting Fr Mark's folks in their new retirement community. They keep trying to get me to tell my parents about it, but I refuse. In fact, they say to tell my folks to visit and I say thanks, but I'm not gonna. The lack of lawn maintenance alone would make my dad want to move there. And the cards! Lord have mercy, if my mom only knew she'd be gone in a shake.

So I'm not going to mention a word of the lovely new amenity center with two pools, and the sweet ponds and fountains all over the place. I need to keep my parents near me.

And yes, I am selfish.

This is a re-post from about a year & a half ago:

---

Mark & I returned this evening after checking out the new retirement community Mark’s dad & step-mother are moving to in June. It is near Griffin Georgia, which is south of Atlanta. They were looking at the same type of community in Charlotte, which is closer to us, but decided on the same house in a different location because it’s much less expensive. As a result, Marilyn can retire a year earlier, and they’ll be in the same financial circumstances as they would if they had waited another year and moved to Charlotte.

The leaves were changing and the drive was magnificent. We had an hour of extra time to enjoy it because Lou suggested that we take highway 16 (which was a “shorter” route) vs. the Interstate (which would have taken us “out of our way”). While Mark knew all along that he should have taken the Interstate, he decided to do what is father suggested, and to take the highway.

As I said, the drive was beautiful, and we had an extra hour to enjoy it. Not only did the road wind over creeks and rivers, through quaint little towns, past farms and beautiful old southern homes, we also got behind a “wide load” for about 45 minutes. It was very wide and tall, and accompanied by two pick-ups and two state troopers. It was, therefore, impossible to pass.

It was a boat. No, actually, I think it would be technically called--a ship. A ship. It was a mid-sized coast guard craft that had a crane on the back of it.

At first we laughed at it. Ha ha: a Coast Guard ship—boy won’t that be a good excuse for Mark’s dad (already waiting for us at Denny’s)? So we took pictures with the camera phone. As the hours—I mean minutes—wore on, the flashing lights became irritating, and the big black hull of the ship was not a complementary centerpiece to the majestic autumn colors framing it.

Fortunately, as we were driving through one of the little towns, the ship ran aground—or “a-curb” as the case may be. As the captains were negotiating their way out of it, we tore through back streets and around corners to find the highway again. There was no getting back to the Interstate now. Just as we were beginning to feel the freedom of the open road, a mile ahead of us there turned a pickup truck hauling a busted-up car. Its front wheels were propped up and chained inside its bed of the truck and it was going about –hmm—10? 15 miles per hour?

Decorum suggests that I bleep out what happened here.

But we arrived safely and returned home safely, thank God.

New Idea

2009-04-27T22:28:00.005-04:00

Sometimes I come up with really good ideas. My most recent one I will share here. It is a game called "I am Thinking of an Animal and it Rhymes With ___"

This is the best game ever. Everyone who plays it loves it.

Shmelafunt!

Biller Dale!

Flamster!

Pluck-nilled Chatamuss.

There are absolutely no frills. If you guess it you get to go next or you can give your turn away to Little Mark who often growls and we all yell "Dinosaur!"

I should sell this idea, but instead I'm giving it away free.

2009-04-24T19:09:00.001-04:00

Dear Brethren,

Christ is Risen!

This morning Margaret was burned by hot water that was spilled in her lap. Her burns began to quickly blister and she was in great pain. Margaret was actually transported by ambulance to the Emergency Room of the Children's Hospital of Palmetto Richland in Columbia. In the ambulance she was given morphine for the pain and the initial assessment in the Emergency Room was that the burns were severe. After anointing her with the oil from the lampada of the sepulcher of St John Maximovich and saying the anointing prayers, the surgeon came to see her. At his examination, he determined that the burns were not nearly as bad as first thought (in fact the tiny red blood-spots had completely disappeared) and Margaret was able to be discharged from the hospital in the early afternoon. She has to have a specially dressing on her burns for a couple of weeks as well as take special baths once a day.

I am convinced that St John had some part in alleviating her burns and pain. (And this would not be the first time he has interceded on her behalf.) Nevertheless, please keep her and us in your prayers.

With much love in our risen Lord,

Fr Mark

CHRIST IS RISEN! ХРИСТОС ВОСКРЕСЕ!

2009-04-22T22:26:00.003-04:00

People rejoice, all nations listen:
Christ God is risen! Let us rejoice!
Dance all ye stars and sing all ye mountains:
Christ God is risen! Let us rejoice!

Whisper ye woods and blow all ye winds:
Christ God is risen! Let us rejoice!
O seas proclaim and roar all ye beasts:
Christ God is risen! Let us rejoice!

Buzz all ye bees and sing all ye birds:
Christ God is risen! Let us rejoice!
O little lambs rejoice and be merry:
Christ God is risen! Let us rejoice!

Nightengales joyous, lending your song:
Christ God is risen! Let us rejoice!
Ring, O ye bells, let everyone hear:
Christ God is risen! Let us rejoice!

All angels join us, singing this song:
Christ God is risen! Let us rejoice!
Come down ye heavens, draw near the earth:
Christ God is risen! Let us rejoice!

Glory to Thee, God Almighty!
Christ God is risen! Let us rejoice!
Glory to Thee, God Almighty!
Christ God is risen! Let us rejoice!

Serbian Text:

Ljudi likujte, narodi čujte:
Hristos voskrse, radost donese!
Zvezde igrajte, gore pevajte,
Hristos voskrese, radost donese!
Šume šumite, vetri brujite,
Hristos voskrse, radost donese!
Mora gudite, zveri ričite,
Hristos voskrse, radost donese!
Pčele se rojte, a ptice pojte
Hristos voskrse, radost donese!

Anđeli stojte, pesmu utrojte,
Hristos voskrse, radost donese!
Nebo se snizi, zemlju uzvisi,
Hristos voskrse, radost donese!
Zvona zvonite, svima javite,
Hristos voskrse, radost donese!
Slava ti Bože, sve ti se može,
Hristos voskrse, radost donese!
Anđeli stojte, pesmu utrojte,
Hristos voskrse, radost donese!
Nebo se snizi, zemlju uzvisi,
Hristos voskrse, radost donese!
Zvona zvonite, svima javite,
Hristos voskrse, radost donese!
Slava ti Bože, sve ti se može,
Hristos voskrse, radost donese!

Church Family

2009-04-17T23:42:00.005-04:00

This is a re-post from last year. This year I was again able to attend the Lamentations Service of Holy Friday. Again I was in awe of the beauty of the words, as well as way we sang them. I hope it doesn't seem like I am critical or diminutive of other churches when I talk about how much I love mine. We're very small, so it's like talking about how I love my own brother, sister, mother, father, child or grandparent when I talk about my brothers and sisters in Christ at St Elizabeth's. It's not a condemnation of anybody else, just a recognition of how super-awesome my own church family is.

---

My husband has been serializing an article in our church bulletin for Orthodox parents on raising children in the Orthodox Church.

It is a thoroughly no-nonsense approach to child-training and the rearing of children to be Orthodox Christians. By "training and rearing" I don't mean the nebulous "moral," "fair to others," and the "doing unto others as you would dooblydoo" found on godless public television and elsewhere. What I am talking about is the raising of children in the Church: being fully mindful of the fasts, head-coverings, standing, sitting, standing, modesty, and how it all involves the submission of the will in an Orthodox context.

On Holy Friday last year, I stood on the "women's side" of the church. As we sang the Lamentations together as a community, I heard only the voices of the women next to me. The melody and the words, as well as my own weariness, brought into perfect clarity the mourning of the myrrh-bearing women as they stood at the tomb of Our Lord. It was a group of sisters, mourning in unison with our saintly sisters, Susanna, Joanna, Mary, Mary, Mary, Martha and Salome.

Something published in the bulletin last week confirmed a notion I have held for a long time. It was this:

But when we go to church, we enter into a bigger community and a larger family. We do not in our churches have family pews, or even stand apart as families, leaving those without families even more alone and isolated. In this context our particular family has less significance, and we adopt all those present as our brothers and sisters, our family, in the Faith. (The Shepherd, Vol. XV, Number 9, p. 17.)

In my early days I would recoil at the words, but recently, "Brothers and Sisters in Christ" has become for me a reality. In Orthodoxy this brotherhood is not a clubbish, sentimental, self-congratulatory exclusivity that looks to the inside. Rather it is a unity that stands together reaching towards one another, towards the outside, and together towards heaven.

C. S. describes it: "though something goes from man to God, yet all, including this something comes from God to man. If he rises, he does so lifted on a wave of the incoming tide of God's love for him. He becomes nothing in that ascension. His love is perfected by becoming, in a sense, nothing. He is less than a mote in that sunbeam, vanishing not from God's sight but from ours and his own, into the nuptual solitude of the Love that Loves Love, and in Love, all things.

Letter 2

2009-04-14T06:40:00.004-04:00

Dear A,

I'm glad to be of help. I understand how it is when you get these questions. You know someone doesn't really want to get the whole history of Christianity and the schism and the Orthodox position concerning everything under the sun that makes it distinct from other Christian bodies.

A quick answer I give, if someone asks me how we differ from the Roman Catholics (and the Protestants) is this: Historical Continuity. Even if the person doesn’t have time for a full dissertation, you can give him the basics of Church history, the Schism, and the filioque, which is more than 90% of church-goers know.

The thing about Orthodoxy, in my opinion, that makes it distinctive in modern America, is that we don’t claim to try to recapture or to have recreated a modern version of what we think was First Century Christianity. Nor do we have a guilt complex about our faith statement being “inaccessible” or “outdated” to the young or the modern mind. What Orthodoxy is, is the Church founded by Christ at Pentecost, and led by the Holy Spirit throughout history.

When non-Orthodox make their argument-of-choice against the Virgin Mary, icons, calling no man Father, confession, etc. it’s based upon the mistaken notion that the Church went into limbo after 33 A.D. and these issues were irrelevant to the Early Church.

What we have in Orthodoxy is preeminently Holy Scripture, the Liturgy, the writings of the Church Fathers, and the History of the Church in the lives of its Saints. In the daily readings of the lives of the saints from multiple centuries, we have some being martyred by the iconoclasts, one being boiled in pitch or flayed by a Roman emperor, another being exiled by leaders of a now-debunked heresy, and one or two sometimes reposing peacefully in a quiet village or monastery. Reading these lives makes church history real and imminent, but also personal.

I don’t think it’s necessary (unless you have an aptitude for this kind of thing) to read and to be able to spout off the Orthodox positions on every point of theology a non-Orthodox asks of you. Rather remember and be confident in the fact that the Orthodox Church has continued in unbroken continuity since the Apostles. It is and has been, for lack of a better phrase, alive-and-breathing for almost 2000 years. The best books to read are Bishop Kallistos' The Orthodox Church (for the history), and The Orthodox Way (for theology).

Something you might find easy and helpful is listening to a podcast by Fr John Whiteford on the Protestant perspective of “Sola Scriptura.” It’s an enjoyable and edifying talk on the differences between the Protestant and Orthodox understanding of Scripture. Here’s a link for the Prologue (I can't find a main page where you select the date, but here's one day).

Let me know if this helps.

BTW we had a lovely visit with Bishop George and the monks from Holy Cross in West Virginia. Here's an excellent video of theirs on living the Christian life.

Some pictures of Bp George's visit are posted in the church photo gallery. More will be put up soon.

Much love,

Matushka

Letter 1

2009-04-05T00:33:00.007-04:00

With my new resolve to talk more about Orthodoxy on my blog I am going to post a reply I made to a friend of mine in a letter regarding a question she encountered about women in the priesthood, and why Orthodoxy doesn't allow it.

My husband has been too busy preparing for the first bishop's visit we've had in almost six years to proof this, but I wanted to post it anyway. I'm sure I'll hear from him if I'm wrong.

* * *

Dear A.

I could research this point, but I imagine you would rather hear from a reformed feminist than a theologian. If that’s the case, here’s my perspective.

I grew up in the Catholic Church in the 70s when the feminist movement was activating itself inside the church. Even the Catholic parish I attended was inarguably modern. It had a rock band choir, weird modern Christian art, as well as women reading in the services, passing out communion, and also acting as altar girls. The latter role wasn’t allowed in the Roman Church till the 90s, but this parish promoted it in the 70s.

While I was told in my Sunday school to memorize this or that point of theology, I remember learning that the Bible didn’t really mean what it said; miracles were easily explained through science; and the Church lacked an enlightened perspective, sensitive to the needs of people, especially women.

I could go through the history that got me to the point at which I realized the whole movement was more patronizing than empowering, but I won’t.

St John Chrysostom says that the priesthood excludes most men and all women. This is to say that the Church doesn’t cavalierly ordain anyone who feels called to lead, or who has a special charism about their ability to sing, preach, or teach in the Church. There is much more to it—and, as many hagiographies tell us, very little of what the Church wants and needs has to do with a man’s desire to become a priest.

When I chose to become Orthodox, it was to embrace a theology, a worldview, and a state of soul that made me aspire to be worthy of it. I didn’t convert hoping that it would do something to become worthy of making my precious self show up on Sundays.

Seriously, if a woman wants to be a priest, there are plenty of churches that will let her. In fact, there are probably more churches that will let her lead their services than there are not.

With regard to your friend’s point, you answered correctly, I believe. It is about choosing to be a part of a church that requires certain things of you. If you choose to become Orthodox, this is the way things are. If you grow up as an Orthodox Christian, you know this is the way things are. No one is forcing you to stay if you’re ticked off you can’t be a priest.

There are a kazillion points you could make to a feminist. About the veneration of the Theotokos: how she is more prominent than any man other than Christ Himself in the Church. That she “pondered these things in her heart” and didn’t picket to be included among the apostles.

Even among the saints, women saints are venerated equally with men, and perhaps even more so because, being the weaker sex, we aren’t expected to be valiant in battle or courageous under extreme circumstances. When, as numerous women saints and martyrs in the history of the Church have done, we show not only piety and humility in our lives, but courage in the face of adversity and martyrdom, we prove ourselves to be worthy to be called saints and "the pillars of the Church."

Anyway, this is where I am coming from. I’d be happy to continue this conversation if you need clarification. I’m sure Fr Mark would have plenty to add, since he was the one who converted me from feminism. Although, I have to say my conversion wasn’t that difficult, since he was a handsome conservative I knew I wouldn’t be able to flip over to my point of view if I wanted him to marry me.

Let me know how your conversation goes.

All the best,
Matushka

Awed by the Beauty

2009-03-31T06:19:00.003-04:00

I found this link to a panoramic view of Holy Trinity Monastery in Jordanville, NY. I think more churches should have things like this to inspire the laborers at mission-churches like ours.

I think I'm going to put up more links when I find them.

Here's the link to the main page. The Cathedral Entrance and Cathedral Interior are magnificent. The iconography in the Refectory and Baptistry is quite beautiful, as well as that found inside the crypts.

All of Creation Rejoices in Thee

2009-03-23T12:44:00.008-04:00

All of creation rejoices in thee,
O Full of Grace!
The assembly of angels and the race of man
O Sanctified Temple and Spiritual Paradise
The Glory of Virgins!
From whom God was incarnate and became a child,
Our God before the ages.
He made thy body into a throne
And thy womb he made more spacious than the heavens!
All of creation rejoices in thee,
O Full of Grace,
Glory to Thee!

This is a 6'x4' icon I painted on rolled canvas for our church. I put this slide show together for a friend of mine who wanted to see the process of icon-painting, and how the image emerges as it is "painted with light." This isn't the traditional egg-tempera/gessoed-panel process. I'm going to stay with acrylics till I retire. I don't trust myself or my kids around the pigments, several of which could kill us if they spilled.

The icon is called the "Virgin of the Sign." It is based upon the prophecy of Isaiah: "Therefore the Lord himself shall give you a sign; behold a virgin shall conceive in the womb, and shall bring forth a son, and thou shalt call his name Emmanuel' (Is.vii,14). The image of the Mother of God with the Child Emmanuel in her bosom is this very Sign announced by the prophet and revealed to the world in its consummation. It is from this that the icon derives its name. The Sign is an image of the Divine Incarnation, of the revelation of the Second Person of the Holy Trinity, the manifestation of the Son of God through His human nature received from the mother of God...One can say that as, according to the words of St Basil the Great, "the word of truth...in the economy of the Spirit...is so brief and concise that little means much." (Ouspensky, Leonid. The Meaning of Icons. SVS Press. P.77)

The hymn, "All of Creation Rejoices in Thee," is sung during Lent, and I hummed it to myself as I painted. The song in the background is from a CD given to me without a title, so I don't know who did the music.

I'm also turning off comments.

Of Mountains and Memories

2009-03-13T23:30:00.011-04:00

What earthly sweetness remains unmixed with grief? What glory stands immutable on the earth? All things are but feeble shadows, all things are most deluding dreams, yet one moment only, and death shall supplant them all. But in the light of Thy countenance, O Christ, and in the sweetness of Thy beauty, give rest to him whom Thou hast chosen, for as much as Thou lovest mankind.

Yesterday I spent all day driving to, in, and returning from the Atlanta area for the funeral of my dear friend, the priest, Fr Damian. I knew that the service was going to be an emotional one for me, because ever since hearing of his cancer-diagnosis I often cried intermittently, wishing I had the nerve to call him, wishing I had one more chance to see him, and wishing I had said something to him the last time I saw him, to express how grateful I was to be counted among his friends.

We went to a panikhida service at St Mary's in Atlanta, and then to the burial which took place in Resaca at the monastery he founded and spent so many years. Someone mentioned that they didn't realize there was a second cemetery on the hill above the larger, main one. Another person said the monks called it "the Launching Pad" because it was so oddly flat in the monastery's mountainous setting.

It was difficult to feel so sad in a place that had brought me such happiness and joyful memories.

The daffodils were blooming along with miscellaneous bulby plants in various places on the grounds of hardwood forest and English ivy. Azaleas were threatening to blossom, and little blooms of periwinkle were peeking out from underneath the dead autumn leaves. It is in this place I have witnessed some of the most inspiring and humorous stories I have ever heard.

C.S. Lewis, in one of his recorded lectures, quotes somebody (when I listen to it again I'll amend this post), saying "I would rather go to hell with the knights and the ladies, than to heaven with the priests and the monks." If that person knew the joy it was to be with priests, monks, and everyone who lived their lives loving the same Person they do, who spent their lives both succeeding and failing at their love of that One Person, then they might appreciate the conversations, the humor, and, yes, the fun it was to be in their presence.

After the burial we returned to St Mary's for the "Mercy Meal" at which we ate wonderful food, but also talked and celebrated the life of our dear friend. There were stories of his rapier wit, quoting him (but, alas, my letters don't translate well into his Eastern North Carolina, growly drawl): "I'll flay you with a toothpick," "he could talk the ears off a brass billy-goat" or "all that woman needs is a sword, a shield, and a tin bra"; as well as the final stories of my friend: nurses, orderlies, and non-Orthodox in his last hospital both asking for his blessing and kissing his hand; and the multitude of people who met him once and remembered him for years.

I have posted elsewhere of the honor I felt at being given a necklace which, during his first visit to the Holy Land, he placed on the tomb of the Virgin Mary. I have also received many visits from him over the years as he came through town. He often recalled a story after visiting us of our son, Max (age three or four at the time), accidentally drinking from a glass of Nimiroff hot-pepper vodka which looked oddly like apple juice. He would start the story, "Do you remember Max and the..." and then fade off into chuckles, as we joined him in the tale of Max's horrified and pained face, and then his spinning around in the curtains, before taking a really long nap.

I just can't help but think the world has lost someone as irreplaceable as, perhaps, the inventor of the polio vaccine, although my poor biography is only a tiny image of what this man accomplished in his lifetime.

I recognize myself as a product of my age. But Fr Damian was like a modern-day dinosaur: a creature leftover from a lost era, and one that won't likely be repeated ever again. That he was an Orthodox Christian, a priest and a monk, only adds to the curiosity of his character in such a generation as well as a geography.

I just don't know what to think or feel, except perhaps a profound honor to have briefly witnessed the life and the passing of a mountain of a man, the likes of which this world will never see again.

With thy saints give rest, O our God, where sickness and sorrow are no more, neither sighing but life everlating!

Memory Eternal

2009-03-08T14:24:00.007-04:00

It is with great sadness that I learned this morning of the death of one of the founders and benefactors of our parish, the Archimandrite Damian Hart, formerly of Ascension Monastery, who reposed in the Lord at 11:13 PM Pacific Time on the Eve of the Feast of the Triumph of Orthodoxy (and our daughter’s name-day whom he baptized). Fr Damian was instrumental in the formation and the direction of the early members of our church, having baptized, catechized, married, confessed, and offered spiritual direction to many of us.

He was a man of nobility and goodness, and a master of the Southern idiom. Maybe in a few years I will try to gather all of his homemade phrases which made conversation with him so enjoyable and memorable.

Of the Monastery he led in Resaca, Georgia, he often said that it will not be completely built until those who founded it lie in its graves. When one of the other founders, Fr John Harwell, reposed in 2001, he restated this point in the eulogy after funeral service, adding glibly: “one more to go.”

May God bless and have mercy upon His good and faithful servant, and grant him life everlasting.

Dear Father, I will miss you.

The Bouncer and the Bobbysoxer

2009-03-05T06:55:00.005-05:00

Rose has recently become more social, having found a group of kids she enjoys hanging out with regularly (they call themselves "Team Thundercats"). They're a good set of kids and still have a great deal of innocence in their play and, of course, naivete in their perspective. But, as C.S. Lewis says, a group of friends can be a force for noble behavior, as among soldiers going into battle, or a support for evil behavior, as among the criminal element.

Yesterday, without provocation, she asked me, "Mom, did you have a fake ID when you were in school?"

I asked her what made her ask me this question. She said something about how Papa had said something about having one and she wondered if I had. I said no, but after thinking about it, I remembered that I had one for all of two hours. I was given one by a friend one evening before going out. The ID was of a girl with blonde hair (I have brown), a round face (I have a long face) and blue eyes (I have brown). I pointed out these items out to my friend, and he said that it's usually too dark for the bouncer to see all the details. I naievely agreed and went with my group of friends down to Five Points.

Alas, the bouncer had a flashlight and the jig was up within minutes. The flashlight might not have been an issue if the bouncer hadn't simply also asked my name and address. It was all over at that point: "Sharon? No! Susan Whit-- No! Will--."

And then, within minutes of Rose asking me about having a fake ID, she asked if she could go with her friends to see a friend of theirs play the piano at a local bar. "...They let kids my age in, but they just stamp their hands. We'll be going with A's & G's older brothers so you don't have anything to worry about."

I pointed out this curious coincidence and she protested that the topics were entirely unrelated--not at all connected--I swear.

I then asked her what would possess her to ask me about a fake ID before asking me if she would be allowed to go to a bar, if they weren't connected. She told me that another friend of hers had told her "Of all of the girls I know, you seem like the one who would have a fake ID."

So for the remainder of the day--as I will the rest of her adolescence--I did my best to point out to her that it is not a good thing to be considered "the girl most likely to have a fake ID."

Lord have mercy.

Orthodox Home Economics

2009-03-04T06:47:00.003-05:00

I'm re-posting this from March of last year because I still think it's funny.

--------

We are beginning to think about classes for our next school year. I was talking to Rose today about how Orthodox homeschoolers must have an entirely different approach to their home economics studies than regular folks. It opened up to my mind a thoroughly humorous class description.

SYLLABUS: ORTHODOX HOME ECONOMICS "The Spirit of Fasting"

PRE-REQUISITES: This is class assumes the student is a married male and baptized Orthodox. Very zealous single male and female Orthodox and catechumens will be admitted but only if they participate volubly in international Orthodox List Servers. Orthodox wives and women with children may audit the class, but absolutely no credit will be given for the work.

SYLLABUS:

FIRST WEEK OF LENT:
Learn how to eat absolutely nothing. Then, around Wednesday, learn how to modify the fast according to the Lenten Triodion. Memorize and learn how to piously use the phrase, “Well, according to the Lenten Triodion I can eat _____ today--no, really, look at page ___.”

SECOND WEEK OF LENT:
Acquire the spirit of fasting. Realize that starvation is pretty good for the waistline.

THIRD WEEK OF LENT:
Talk about how St Basil ate sausage on the steps of the cathedral because he wanted to teach the brethren that they should not fast, and yet devour the auditing students. Need to get some sausage to prove it. Eat sausage.

FOURTH WEEK OF LENT:
Shouldn’t have eaten the sausage. Go to confession. Get fake sausage. Discuss whey. Tell auditing students to learn how to make Lenten chocolate chip cookies.

FIFTH WEEK OF LENT:
Decide egg substitute could open up endless possibilities for Week Five and Six. Discuss fish with professor: new calendar or old calendar (same recipes can be used for Annunciation—don’t forget the lemon.) New Calendar should avoid Old Calendar students as there could be the 13-day-fish-resentment-issue. Otherwise refer to fish-counselor.

SIXTH WEEK OF LENT:
Lenten chocolate chip cookies are no better on the waistline than real ones. Tell auditing students to get Oreos. It’s getting close to Pascha. Start thinking about how you’re going to get the auditing students to cook the leg of lamb.

HOLY WEEK:
Reacquire the spirit of fasting. Get discount palms and full-priced fish for Palm Sunday. Tell auditing students to start the Pascha Cheese and go to eighteen different grocery stores to find a leg of lamb that they had during Western Easter, but they don’t have now.

PASCHA:
Get a good, long nap before Paschal services. Before doing so, make sure auditing students have the bratwurst, brownies and basket ready before the service. Make sure leg of lamb is still hot by the end of the service (approximately 2 AM--or later depending on the jurisdictional proclivities of the student--refer to counselor).

Prepare for Orthodox Home Economics 102: "Next Lent: Cookin' the Passions"

Hopes and Dreams

2009-03-02T07:12:00.004-05:00

Rose's sweet-16 was Friday and Max's 6th birthday was yesterday. It was a good weekend and worked out well with regards to the beginning of Lent and the beginning of the Fast and church and everything. I kissed him goodnight and caressed his face with my hand. I spoke to him sweetly, "Did you have a good birthday, buddy?"

He looked melancholy. I wondered if he was going to complain that we spent all day in church services. "It's just..." He averted his eyes as if he was afraid to tell me something.

"What is it buddy?" I was worried I might have overlooked something or if my stress about other things going on had ruined his day.

"It's just...I wish..." He looked at me, "I just wish...I was...another species."

I couldn't help but smile, but I didn't want to laugh to make him believe I was mocking his one great wish. I was speechless however, especially when he added, "...like a hamster."

An open last letter

2009-02-24T20:13:00.008-05:00

Dearest Father Damian,

Please bless me.

Ever since hearing of your diagnosis I have been praying for you daily. I wish you weren’t so far away, and that we could have one more time to visit together. The setting of every conversation we have ever had, in my memory, feels as if it has been on a front porch in a rocking chair. Indeed it might have been on several occasions.

You have always been very dear to me. I vividly remember the first time I ever talked to you. Fr Mark & I had already come several times to the monastery on pilgrimages and other visits for some time, but I was afraid to talk to you. Apart from vague pleasantries exchanged when we visited with our parish, you and I had never spoken.

What I remember as our first conversation began with a nod you gave me when Fr Mark and I came late into one of the services after driving up from Columbia. I noticed your nod, but assumed it was given to the person behind me. Then you nodded again and I thought you were nodding to a person in front of me. After glancing around to see I was the only person in the general direction you were nodding, I smiled and nodded after your third attempt. I was embarrassed, for good reason.

The next day after liturgy you gave me a necklace with a charm of the Virgin which you told me you had put on Her tomb, when you were there only a few months prior to our visit. You told me, “I couldn’t figure out who I should give this to till now.” Then you went on to explain the necklace and a few tales of your trip. I have treasured the necklace and the memory of it ever since. It hangs in my icon corner and makes me think of you and pray for you every time I see it.

I have often thought of you since you visited with us before relocating out west. The children, especially Rose, Ella & Margaret, talk of you as an old and dear family friend. I am sorry that I haven’t been able to talk to you.

Dear Father, I am confident that the Lord has chosen this place for you to spend your remaining days before you go to meet Him. I hope that you will be comforted in the love and prayers of your spiritual children. You have made a strong and lasting impact on my life, and that of my children. Please be at peace and be at rest.

We love you dear Father.

With love and prayers in our Lord,

Matushka Anne Mancuso

From this day, from this hour, from this very moment...

2009-02-12T06:43:00.003-05:00

Once the Elder was invited on board a frigate that had come from St. Petersburg. The captain of the frigate was a man quite learned, highly educated; he had been sent to America by Imperial command to inspect all the colonies. With the captain were some 25 officers, likewise educated men. In this company there sat a desert-dwelling monk of small stature, in an old garment, who by his wise conversation brought all his listeners to such a state that they did not know how to answer him. The captain himself related: "We were speechless fools before him!"

Father Herman gave them all one common question: "What do you, gentlemen, love above all, and what would each of you wish for his happiness?" Diverse answers followed. One desired wealth, one glory, one a beautiful wife, one a fine ship which he should command, and so on in this fashion. "Is it not true," said Father Herman at this, "that all your various desires can be reduced to one - that each of you desires that which, in his understanding, he considers best and most worthy of love?" "Yes, it is so," they all replied. "Well, then, tell me," he continued, "can there be anything better, higher above everything, more surpassing everything and in general more worthy of love, than our Lord Jesus Christ Himself, who created us, perfectly adorned us, gave life to all, supports all, nourishes and loves all, who Himself is love and more excellent than all men? Should not a person then love God high above all and desire and seek Him more than all else?" All began to say: "Well, yes! That is understood! That speaks for itself!"

"And do you love God?" the Elder then asked. All replied: "Of course, we love God. How can one not love God?" "And I, sinful one, for more than forty years have been striving to love God, and cannot say that I perfectly love Him," answered Father Herman; then he began to show how a person should love God. "If we love someone," he said, "we always think of him, strive to please him, day and night our heart is occupied with this subject. Is it thus that you, gentlemen, love God? Do you often turn to Him, do you always think of Him, do you always pray to Him, and fulfill His holy commandments?" It had to be acknowledged that they did not! "For our good, for our happiness," concluded the Elder, "at least let us make a promise to ourselves, that from this day, from this hour, from this very moment we shall strive to love God above all, and fulfill His holy will!"

(http://www.fatheralexander.org/booklets/english/herman.htm)

2009-01-15T08:03:00.002-05:00

How do you respond to those who say that Christ the Miracle-worker cannot fit into our logic? Simply reply: Fit yourself into His logic. In His logic, all eternity fits and all the nobleness of time--and so, if you wish, a place will be found even for you. If a barrel cannot fit into a thimble, you can fit a thimble into a barrel. Blessed Clement of Alexandria says: "Philosophers are children until they become men through Christ. For truth is never merely thinking." Christ came to correct man and, therefore, man's logic. His is our Logos and our Logic. That is why we must direct our reason toward Him and not Him toward our reason. He is the One Who corrects our reason. The sun is not regulated according to our clock, but our clock is regulated according to the sun.

From the Prologue today (Jan 15/2).

Christ is Born! Glorify Him!

2009-01-07T20:36:00.003-05:00

The night so grand and placid,
A star shining over the cave,
The mother sleeping in the cave,
Where the angel of Jesus has been.

The angels are singing,
The sheperds are flutin,
The angels are singing,
The wise bring it forth:
What the nations awaited,
What the prophets had said,
Here and now it is announced,

It is announced and brought forth:
Christ, our Redeemer is born!
For the Salvation of us all.
Halleluia, Halleluia,
Lord, have mercy!

Joy, Soul, Passion, Honor, Jesus, Faith, Hope, Salvation, Peace, Repentance, the Lord, Calmness, Love, Charity, Harmony...

God's peace! Christ is born! Truly, He is born!...
Let's renew ourselves, let's lift up the pillars!

---

And for those like me who just want to sing along...

Noć prekrasna i noć tija,
nad pećinom zvezda sija,
u pećini mati spi,
nad Isusom andjel bdi.

Andjeli pevaju,
Pastiri sviraju,
Andjeli pevaju
Mudraci javljaju:
Što narodi čekaše,
što proroci rekoše,
Evo sad se u svet javi,
U svet javi i objavi:
Rodi nam se Hristos Spas
Za spasenje sviju nas.
Aliluja, aliluja,
Gospodi pomiluj!

The Year(s) in Review (Part III)

2009-01-02T22:04:00.004-05:00

This collection is a little long because I ran across parts of a few good posts I didn't want to toss, but really don't need to be taking up space as drafts on my "blogspot."

* * *

10/3/08

Many of the people in our church know me as "Matushka." This title is meant to be an endearing term which the Russians and Slavs use to describe the priest's wife. The Greeks use the word, "Presvytera," the Arabs use the term, "Khouria," and the Serbians say "Popadia." I don't know what anyone else says, although I have heard people in the OCA use the word, "Mother" put in front of the name of the priest's wife, which amounts to the same thing.

After my husband was ordained in 2000, we had several people who, having known him as a layman, subdeacon and deacon, had a hard time using the prefix, "Father." Something he would tell them was that he term 'Father' isn't used to give him particular honor or seniority, or to say he knows more than anyone else. It's a term to help the people remember that he has been consecrated to serve--and it's for him too--to help him remember that he serves at the Altar of Christ.

Probably because it's easy to forget, I think, the title of Matushka is given to help the wife remember she is a priest's wife and that she is his helpmeet.

It might also be to help everyone else remember that the title is more of what she does than of what she is: i.e. the one who cleans up messes, makes meals, organizes Church-life, etc. This is not a condemnation or a complaint, just a statement of fact.

But, I tell you what, the title sometimes makes for awkward moments for the one who holds it.

Mostly it's because we're in the South. I can't count the number of times I have introduced myself, or have been introduced as "Matushka" and the person hearing it assumes I don't speak English. This makes for awkward moments after the introduction when the wide-eyed, nodding, smiling introductee speaks slowly, loudly, or not at all. Often these people are polite, but not much conversation ensues. If it didn't make me feel awkward in front of the people I know speak perfect English, it would appeal to my shy nature and help me avoid conversation with strangers.

But often it is more awkward among friends. People I have known for years either don't know my Orthodox name or my secular name. I was once being introduced at a large party, and a sweet girl publicly introduced me as her "dear friend--uh--(she didn't know my name)--Well, we call her 'Matushka.'" It was kind of awkward for her dear friend.

It reminds me of the moment I realized my mother wasn't just called, "Mommy," but really had a name like everyone else.

* * *

10/11/08

Today as I was driving to pick up Rose from a roofing job--yes my 90-pound daughter was helping to put a roof on the house of a needy person in Columbia--I listened to a podcast I located on Fr Joseph's site from a mother of four, and a regular on Ancient Faith Radio. I listened to her story which was painfully appropriate for the way I have been feeling recently--and unloaded in a recent post.

How embarrassing.

Anyway, a few days ago I began to wonder two things. First, why I don't write more about Orthodoxy on my blog than I do. And two, why I can't seem to achieve--even in my most zealous days--that something that many of my evangelical friends seem to have that resembles real Christian joy and peace--and even confidence.

This mother spoke so honestly about her own self-doubts and fears that I was on the brink of misty eyes. But, knowing I was within a couple miles of meeting up with Rose and some evangelicals, I had to make sure the eyes weren't pink and puffy.

* * *

11/1/08

Yesterday afternoon Max took a a purple marker and made an angry pumpkin head. He cut it out and asked me for tape so he could put it on the front door. I gave him the tape but asked that he put it next to the door since there is something about tape that pulls the paint off our door.

I still have a patch I am trying to cover up from a sign my sister put up announcing Margaret's birth seven years ago.

Hadley and Blakely were in town because of the Carolina game and went trick-or-treating with us. Hadley was Princess Amadala, and Blakely was a UPS man. I can't get over how perfect the costume was for him. It was so cute and perfect for his personality at the same time.

Jennifer made a box for him so that instead of a pumpkin to get the candy dropped into he had a brown box with a hole in it.

* * *

10/1/08

I decided to start a Facebook page a few months ago when my husband informed me he was getting friend-requests from seductively-posed Brazilian females. Actually, only one--but that's all it takes for me. Call me a fastidious, hostile paranoid--or just call me a good wife.

Since then, I have really enjoyed visiting with friends both far and near with this modern utility. Before I had more than one "friend" other than my husband, I received an email from a friend who had just moved to S. Korea asking if this person who had my name on Facebook (she didn't know me as anything other than "Matushka") was really me. Yes! And so began a reconnection I was afraid I had lost. Then came another friend out of the blue, who might as well be as far away as S. Korea--she's in Boston. Then over the ensuing weeks and months came people from everywhere: distant family; high school; college; down the road; over in the next neighborhood; Fr Mark's high school--everywhere. There's even a woman I have never met, but the wife of a friend who lives in Greece. I never thought I would feel as connected to faraway people as I do when I go to Facebook.

As for me, though, I feel like I've walked in on a party that has been going on for a long, long time. This might be why my friends have 450 friends and I have only 65. Sarah tells me that it's sometimes a game; and I've watched Rose play back and forth with other people saying "I have x-number of friends and you have x minus 1! So there!"

As for me I'm worried about adding people about whom I am not at least 85% confident they aren't going to jump in and start talking about something stupid I did in high school, college, or beyond before I get a chance to censor them. But, as I have said before, it's my own fault for having such a shady past.

* * *

This one was written in the midst of the 2008 campaign. Forgive my zeal.
9/5/08

There is nothing more apparent in the modern media today than the perverted joy exhibited in pronouncing a traditionally-minded Christian, a hypocrite. The media has no greater delight than watching the fall of a publicly acknowledged Christian into sin--something to which no real Christian admits immunity.

The recent news about Sarah Palin's daughter, Bristol, exposes a myth that has been perpetuated by the shrill and angry pro-choice crowd. This tale spins the notion that abortion is an act of courage and strength for a woman. That the act of abortion is intimately tied to the the advancement of women and their empowerment in modern society.

Although a woman might embrace this grandiosity walking into an abortion clinic, there is often a a sad, stark, emptiness greeting her when she walks out.

This past week we have seen what the pro-choice faction has historically characterized as heroic, pale dramatically in comparison to the courage and strength and faith exemplified by not only Sarah Palin, but also her teen daughter, Bristol, in carrying a child conceived outside marriage.

While there is a part of me which aches to speak to those women who regret and repent having had an abortion, to tell them there is forgiveness and rebirth in Christ. There is also a part of me which wants to stand up and cheer for Sarah and Bristol Palin. It is the same joy I have felt at hearing the story of a brave unknown persons from Flight 93. Facing the fear, uncertainty, and probable doom, they still choose to move forward into battle, regardless of the outcome.

Her mother had to put out a press release acknowledging her daughter's moral failure. This is something that could have been made a quiet personal "choice" that didn't have to inconvenience anyone. But this mistake was brought into the limelight and made (yes) to shame not only the girl but her mother.

And in the case of Bristol, she has made the choice to carry her baby in spite of international ridicule and derision.

What a mother she will make!

* * *

7/11/08

Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday of last week I spent about 25 hours leveling, digging, digging, leveling, re-digging, re-leveling, re-digging and constructing an above ground pool for the children. The days I worked would have been beautiful days to swim: not a cloud in the sky, no wind, and 100 degree days from 8 AM to 3 PM. Wednesday the wind decided to blow around noon. To an asthmatic, sweaty, sandy mom it came as an angel of mercy...inspiring me to work three more hours.

The children pranced and danced around my work area, occasionally adding entertainment to the grueling work, but most often causing confusion and messing up my stakes, strings and line-level. I exhorted myself to be patient and to use these times as "learning moments." It wasn't meant to be. Almost every time I would begin to discuss the way X, Y, and Z are supposed to work (and why they weren't exactly working right now), I would look up to find the child walking toward, smiling or waving at me from the air-conditioned house.

* * *

I might have one more part to this "Year(s) in Review." I didn't realize I had so many drafts.

The Year(s) in Review (Part II)

2008-12-29T16:55:00.006-05:00

This is a continuation of my collection of unfinished thoughts and tales from 2008:

* * *

It seems to me that the mathematically inclined always casually ask their math-questions aloud to everyone around them: "How many tablespoons in a pint?"; "How many sandwiches can we make with these 18 loaves of bread when each loaf has 23 pieces?"; "Is 437 a prime number?"

I have never been very good at math-on-the-spot, and it always seems that this is one skill that I am always quizzed about in public. No one ever asks me to diagram a sentence at coffee hour, or spell novemdigitate at dinner. But the math whiz will always do his or her cogitations aloud expecting me to jump in and help out. If I don't have a pencil and paper in front of me, I don't bother any more.

(answers: 32; 207; and no)

* * *

Last Wednesday I spent the day at Nell’s house working with her and Sarah to make blue altar and analogia coverings for Annunciation, which we celebrated Monday.

We measured and cut, and sometimes embarrassed ourselves with our poor math and geometry skills. We had two sewing machines and one ironing board. It was a good combination. My job was to iron the seams so the fabric could be easily sewn. Sarah and Nell did all the sewing.

It occurred to me how these blue coverings are an example of the vitality of the Church. Currently we use obviously homemade analogia coverings, inherited from the ladies in DC, NY, NJ, and maybe other places. They might be a little oily or burnt in places, but they are still very nice. These coverings were obviously in place for many years: for many services and amongst many of the Faithful.

Maybe our church will someday be one of those that can pass along our blue coverings to a mission church somewhere yet untouched by Orthodox Christianity, where the priest and matushka there are just as excited as we were to open a box of old and oily, but nonetheless beautiful analogia-covers.

* * *

I don't like big cities.

I don't like them for the obvious reasons, like traffic, crime and noise. But what I hate most of all is that they make my brain hurt.

Signs, billboards, flashing lights, flashing signs, flashing billboards--are everywhere. I can't drive a half-block in Atlanta without my peripheral vision being bombarded with 25%-off-one-time-only-blow-out-zero-credit-special-adult-toy-dancing-Coca Cola-girls-drive-away-today-ron-paul-limited-time-only-reason-for-the-season-holiday-special-sauce-lettuce-cheese-mountain-getaway signs saturating my brain as effortlessly as a South Carolina 5-minute thunderstorm.

Sometimes I wonder whether children and illiterate people are fortunate, in that this information doesn't litter their brain the way it does mine or that of the other literate folks. Now that the girls are all reading, I feel like a certain part of their innocence has been lost: "Mom, it's Two-for-Tuesday at Sonic!" or "Five on Friday!" or "Mom, you and Papa should go there--it's where 'the Adults shop!'"

* * *

I wonder if there is a diagnosable degeneration that takes place in the mind that is similar to macular degeneration in the eyes. Macular degeneration is the gradual loss of one's central vision while the peripheral vision remains unaffected and clear. Sometimes I think I have a perfectly normal memory or sense of organization while I am thinking about how I ought to think about what I have to do, but when I sit down with pen in hand or in front of my task-list on my computer, my mind becomes frighteningly dark.

It could be that my thinking about thinking instead of just thinking about the tasks themselves is what's causing the problem. Maybe I have a finite number of synapses available to me in each day and this redundancy is using them all up. Sometimes in these "peripheral" moments I will plan how a table with special color-coding is the answer to all of my difficulties. Other times I conceive of intricately designed spreadsheets with repeating formulas and delight in how this will solve my problems with planning each week's assignments.

I wonder if this is diagnosable...

But then, tonight I hear Fr Mark discussing Irenaeus' Against Heresies with Rose in her History class. "...it's the Void. If you say there is nothing there then there must be something there or you wouldn't be able to say there was nothing there. Do you see?"

And Rose says, "yes."

Then he says professorially, "I think we will end there."

And then I wonder if it is not really me but just too much danged philosophy in my house.

Or not.

Or too much.

* * *

Donkey Donkey Donkey Wooo!

The Year(s) in Review (Part I)

2008-12-22T22:11:00.005-05:00

Here are a few stories and reflections that never made it to this blog:

* * *

Over the past few months it has been enjoyable listening to LMark's language become more intelligible. With all of my children, these seemingly insignificant words or phrases have remained in my memory, while other, arguably more important ones, have been lost forever.

For instance, all of the children have had different words for a napkin. Rose would call a napkin a napink; for Ella it was packin; for Margaret it was kipkin; Max, gumgink; and for Little Mark, who was too keen to be fooled by this experiment of mine would say words that sounded like, glumgik, pluckin, gunglick, and so on. All the same, it has been a fun experiment.

We used to play a game with Max that mocked is pronunciation of the word, yellow. I would say, "Max, say yummy." Yummy." "Say Yucky." "Yucky." "Say Unicorn." "Unicorn." "Max, say Yellow."

"Lellow."

We all thought it was funny. Max didn't have a clue. Now LMark is our new victim (video coming soon).

LMark also had an odd phrase he used, which we were never able to translate. He would use it as both a verb or a noun, depending on the circumstances, and often in a threatening or insulting manner: You a yucky bompom!! He never behaved as if he expected us to understand what he was saying--except for the first two words.

Margaret, at his age, came up with a fun little phrase we would often join in and say with her: Donkey, donkey, donkey whooo!

Try it.

I defy you to find it unenjoyable to say.

This is the end of the first part of my reflections.

Memory Eternal

2008-12-06T12:26:00.000-05:00

The Golden Rule

2008-12-03T20:44:00.007-05:00

For about a year I have been struggling with teaching the children how to live Christ's words, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you," or "with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again," or "forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors."

While most children (nay, every son of Adam and daughter of Eve) struggle with this daily, I think my difficulty lies in the apparently insufficient explanation I have given of this pretty huge part of the Christian message.

Granted this is not a lesson one should teach in the heat of battle, so I try to talk about this daily in quiet conversation -- call it a "training session."

Among other things we talk about the parable of the wicked servant who blessed the rich man when he had his debt forgiven, but wouldn't forgive the tiniest debt of another man. "Don't you see how that guy is wrong?"

"Yeah!"

"Dontcha see how the wicked servant should have behaved? How should he have behaved y'all?"

And on and on till I get a sense they have finally understood and are willing to ascend to the behavior required of a person trying to live in civilized society--not least obtain the Kingdom of Heaven.

Pretty simple stuff one would think.

Not so.

Not so.

Just when I believe my words have warmed their cold, little, selfish hearts I hear a scream from across the house: "You did it to me!! Now I get to do it to you!" Max, who thinks he's pretty hot stuff because he is an altar boy, sometimes invokes the Lord: "Ella! I can hit you now because you just hit me! That's what Jesus said!!!" Sometimes he'll make stuff up like, "Jesus says that you gotta give me that because ..."

But today was the crowning glory of all of my muddled theological training of the children. Like I said, I try not to teach when the children are in the heat of battle, but today was different. I heard a yell from the den and LMark bolted into the living room where I was. Max calmly stormed past me, righteously hollering how the Lord says he has a right to hit Little Mark back because he hit him with a block or a car or something.

I stopped him, "Whoa there! Jesus doesn't say you are supposed to hit him back, Max."

Max panted a little, just to be dramatic.

"Actually, Max, Jesus says you are supposed to 'turn the other cheek.'"

--And before he muttered anything disrespectful, I interrupted him, "It means that you're not supposed to get even with Little Mark when he hurts you. If someone hurts you, you shouldn't try to hurt him back. If Little Mark slaps one side of your face, you are supposed to turn your face and let him slap the other side."

While I can't sufficiently describe the baffled silence that ensued, I can easily say that Max, with a single word, crystallized not only the plaintive wail of fallen Humanity, but also the injured cry of both the universally offended and the perpetually disrespected, when he said,

"What??!!"

I don't think he learned anything from this incident because neither Rose nor I could stop snickering--nor quoting him, "What??!!" which sent us into giggles for five minutes or more while he stood by looking injured.

I suppose I deserve what I get.

Classics and Twaddle

2008-12-01T06:52:00.008-05:00

Last week I began reading Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. This book, like Brothers Karamozov, has dogged me all my adult life with my not having read it. In my youth these books were painted as either too much for my weak intellect to handle (B.K.) or a bourgeois, capitalistic diatribe (A.S.). As it turns out they were correct about Karamozov, which is why it took me almost a year to complete (this time around--I have tried it many times before). As for Atlas Shrugged I am finding it one of the easiest and most enjoyable books I have read in years.

I recently read Twilight, the first in the popular series by Stephanie Meyer, which I liked a little bit. The story is about a 17 year-old girl who falls in love with a vampire who, with his three siblings, goes to her high school. The first part of the book is entirely teen-romance rated PG--which I don't at all consider a bad thing. But I had a difficult time seeing how, apart from the vampire-issue, the plot distinguished itself from anything else that goes on in modern teen romances loaded with teens who pity their father, baby their mother, and consider themselves intellectually superior to everyone except the cute guy (the vampire) in Biology class. I hear from a friend of mine that the whole series is, so far, unobjectionable so I don't mind introducing a little twaddle into Rose's pretty hefty reading list.

As far as Atlas Shrugged goes I have gotten to page 177 in a book, the font of which is about four points smaller than this and has 1,069 pages total. I'm proud I have gotten this far without assistance, but I decided I needed reading glasses to progress any further. However, if I had spent a couple dollars more I could have bought an edition with larger print and might not have had to spend the extra money on the means to read it. But they are super-cute and stylish, Rose tells me.

*Update: After page 177 Atlas Shrugged ceases to be a PG book--cringe.

2008-11-24T20:54:00.007-05:00

Today at Girl Scouts Margaret debuted her new hair cut.

I told Margaret I would cut her hair, but she needed to wait till it was convenient for me. Instead she agreed to allow a very willing Rose to do it for her.

Rose often jumps up with a smiley "Can I do it?" when I mention that I need to cut the boys' hair. Usually I tell her no because of the last (only) time I gave her free reign to cut hair she buzzed Max completely bald.

He didn't appreciate it.

I got fed up with Margaret's incessant pestering and insisting that the hair be done immediately. I told her to get Rose to do it if she wanted it so bad--figuring there really wasn't much damage Rose could do with a three-to-four inch cut.

Happily, Rose did quite a good job and she can receive credit for it in her Home Economics class.

Today we arrived at Girl Scouts earlier than normal, so I waited around with the leader till the door to the church was unlocked. Another car arrived and a little girl I don't know bounded up to the sidewalk positively bursting with energy.

Margaret, who is younger than this girl but about the same size, pulled off the hood of her sweater to expose the "New Margaret." The girl then screamed "Meg! Meg! you cut your hair I can't believe you cut your hair it's so short oh my gosh you cut it argh! I can't believe it it's so short I don't like it because it's so short argh! see my hair it's so long your hair looks so weird I can't believe you cut it it looks so weird!"

Margaret, was quiet but didn't seem at all offended. I whispered to to her that her hair was pretty and she didn't need to worry about what anyone else said. She told me "I don't care," and I'm pretty sure she meant it.

When I picked her up after the meeting I subtly broached the subject again. "No," she said, "It doesn't bother me. The girl said she liked it after all. But you know what?"

"What?" I asked.

"I don't like big foreheads."

I wasn't sure then and I'm not sure now whether there is any connection between the hair-criticizer and big foreheads, but I'm glad, for my part, to record this amusing (or possibly painful) episode in her life.

She'll thank me some day.