The Odyssey of Samwise Gamgee

Well, Hello Again, Voices

2009-05-09T14:39:00.000-07:00

My brother graduated with his Master's degree today. Yay! His grad recital was last week, and he was fantastic. The requisite youtube postings will come eventually, I have no doubt.

My brother is also engaged. That happened nearly three months ago, so it's sort of old news.

This is all good. I love my brother, and I'm proud of him. He's a great guy, and my soon-to-be sister-in-law is terrific.

But the voices are awake today. The voices love to remind me that sc0tlas has the Midas touch. He is golden. He always has been. This would be perfectly ok. Not a problem at all. Except for that one little detail. If sc0tlas is Midas, then I'm Medusa.

These waves hit me sometimes. My brother is golden, and everything I touch breaks. I hate these days. I hate feeling like the loser, living in the shadow of my younger brother. I know I'm looking at one of those distorted carnival mirrors- the bendy wavy things that reflect caricature rather than truth. The problem is, I don't know what the truth looks like. I've only ever seen the distortion. I've been told, sure, but there's knowing and then there's knowing.

At least I can recognize that I'm not seeing an accurate picture. That's improvement. At this point I'll take whatever positive I can find.

***************************
EDIT: Thursday marked a year since the rug was pulled out from under me. That shouldn't matter, but the calendar awareness is not helping.

Also, there is another new engagement at my parish. Yay? That's been a pretty raw spot for me over the last month or so for a variety of reasons, so of course it keeps getting scraped.

We're still in the season of Pascha. We still sing the words "Christ is risen" at every service. That's a truth I can take hold of. Christ is risen. I don't have to be stuck in gloom. None of the situation changes, but the view is zoomed out. I'm not on my own.

The Dating Game?

2009-04-26T22:39:00.001-07:00

Are you sitting down? Please, take a seat. What you are about to read may be shocking.

I went on a date last night.

I know him from work, but only in passing. He comes to the office to get export documents certified. He's there several times a week, but never for more than a couple minutes. On Tuesday, out of absolutely nowhere, he asked me out. My brain, of course, tried to explode. It somehow stopped dead and flew into a tizzy. Simultaneously. I told him I'd have to think about it.

The rest of Tuesday was spent flipping out. I put together a mental checklist of all the reasons not to go. He's short. He's Coptic. I don't know him. Then I proceeded to argue with myself. It was quite noisy in my head, so I emailed Father Patrick, and we talked after vespers.

When the subject came up again on Wednesday, I told him okay, on the condition that he come to vespers Saturday, seeing as how I really don't know him, and I'm not comfortable going out with someone I don't know.

Well, he came to vespers. Then we went to Sizzler. We talked. It was fine. I gave it a chance, as Father recommended. Nothing horrific happened, which was nice. He's a nice guy.

You hear it coming, don't you? There's this thing I'm about to say, and you think you know what it is.

Once was sufficient. See, in conversation, it came out that he's "not a church-goer." That's what he said. I know plenty of people who will see no problem with this. I have already been told by one friend, "He likes God, and he's nice. That's enough." Another friend tried to convince me that it's okay; he might become a church-goer. I just have to work on him.

No.

I rarely dig my heels in and insist that something be just so, but this is going to have to be one of those times.

Christianity isn't something I do because that's how I grew up. It isn't a matter of intellectual assent to a specified collection of ideas. It isn't about being a good person. And, no, it isn't about going to church. Sure, if you want to boil it down, those things are part of it, but they aren't it. These may be fine for some people. God bless them. It's not sufficient for me.

Granted, I'm a poet, not a scholar, but as far as I can tell, Christianity is about becoming like Jesus. The thing is, I've been working on that pretty much my whole life, and I still get it wrong. All the time! I cannot be what I want to be, but I have to try. I cannot be content with my best. I so rarely even give it my best. I cannot reach that high. Not on my own, anyway. If someone is preparing for a marathon, they work out, build endurance, and build up their body with the proper nutrition. I won't be running any marathons any time soon, but I do need a similar sort of spiritual training, and the only way I know to accomplish this is to be formed by the life of the Church.

Even that is not enough, though. I also need to be surrounded by people with the same goal, so when I start lagging, when I trip over my own feet, I am not left behind to figure it out on my own. I will never be able to figure it out on my own!

Now, with that in mind, how could I even consider choosing someone who does not share that priority, even someone who intellectually assents to the same basic collection of ideas?

Maybe my standards are impossibly high. I already know I'm dealing with rather limited options.

Still, it only takes one.

Christ is Risen!

2009-04-19T00:01:00.000-07:00

Christ is risen! Χριστός ανέστη! Хрїстосъ воскресе!
المسيح قام

Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death
and upon those in the tombs bestowing life.

Χριστός ανέστη εκ νεκρών, θανάτω θάνατον πατήσας,
και τοις εν τοις μνήμασι ζωήν χαρισάμενος.

Хрїстосъ воскресе изъ мертвыхъ, Смертїю смерть поправъ,
И сoyщымъ во гробѣхъ животъ даровавъ!

المسيح قام من بين الأموات و وطئ الموت بالموت
و وهب الحياة للذين في القبور

********************************
Transliterations:

Greek:
Khristos anesti ek nekron, Thanato thanaton patisas,
Kai tis en tis mnimasi Zo-in kharisamenos!

Slavonic:
Khristos voskrese iz mertvykh, Smertiyu smert poprav,
E sushchim vo grobekh Zhivot darovav!

Arabic:
Al-Masīh qām min baīni'l-amwāt Wa wati’ al-mawt bi'l-mawt
Wa wahab al-hayāt Lil-ladhīna fī'l-qubūr!

Holy and Great Friday

2009-04-16T22:54:00.000-07:00

hammer, nails
cross, spear
Your Mother's tears
and ours
a cry,
darkness falls, then
silence
cannot breathe
how can this be?
You hang there
suspended
we wait here
suspended
not knowing
what we see
we cannot bear
to stay
we do not dare
to leave
this holy space
but kneel, bow,
kiss Your feet,
wonder, and
wait

Glory to God in All Things

2009-03-15T16:11:00.000-07:00

I sit here exhausted at the end of the second week of Great Lent. I am reminded once again that I was not designed to be constantly on the go. Or, perhaps, my current form of constantly on the go is not well-suited to me. In either case, I find I have nothing left at the end of the day, and by Saturday, I am running on a deficit. The act of going to anything feels like a chore, though when that "anything" is church, invariably I find myself glad to have gone.

Glory to God in all things.

My human frailty is set in contrast against the stamina and endurance I wish I had. I have things that need to be done that haven't been done. I have friends in other time zones and a mom feeling neglected because of my relative absence. I missed Patrick of the Mountain's wedding reception yesterday. I can only do so much. I wish I had more, but I don't, and when I'm drained, that's it. I am drained but, paradoxically, more alive than ever before.

Glory to God in all things.

This is my first Lent as an actual Orthodox Christian. Last year was a breeze. There was so much waiting for me at the end of that particular journey that the whole thing pretty much flew by. I knew this year would likely be more difficult, and it has been so far, though not in the ways one might expect. The food issue makes one more attentive to what one eats, but it is not difficult for me. Prayer, though, is a constant struggle. I find I am too fond of my bed. While the time change has not helped, I suspect I am turning that into an excuse. It matters little, though, if the result is the same.

Glory to God in all things.

Change is slow to come. Still, I find myself chafing against the things that are holding me back. I find myself coming to challenging, and perhaps crazy, solutions to deal with them. Becoming Orthodox resolved many issues for me, but it was a beginning, not an end. I will not allow myself to see it as an end, or to treat it as such. In comfort there is complacency, and in complacency, death.

Glory to God in all things.

I dare not avoid or shrink back from the mirror that is Lent. It would be easier to hide, avoid, run away. It would certainly be my natural inclination. But if I did that, then I may as well have a steak for dinner tomorrow, because the fast would be pointless. I may as well go back to the not-so-Baptist community, because in refusing this mirror, I refuse the very thing I came to Orthodoxy in search of. No, however uncomfortable it may be, I will engage this as fully as I am able. God help me!

Glory to God in all things.

I can see now that this is what I have always wanted. I knew it intellectually when I first came to the Orthodox Church, but now I know it really. Lent is meant to be a struggle, but it is most definitely a blessed struggle. These thoughts I have typed today may mark a turning point for me. Or, should I choose the easier road, they may become the words by which I condemn myself. Yet I type, because I need to remember. God help me!

Glory to God in all things.

Glory to God who allowed me to slog through so much swamp and bog and mire in search of Him, for because of these I am strong, even in my weakness. Glory to God whose irresistible tug on me has never let up, for I have found my way home. Glory to God who has never let me go, in spite of my insolence. Glory to God who never will let me go.

O Lord God of hosts, blessed is the man that hopeth in Thee.

Sunday of Orthodoxy

2009-03-08T19:17:00.000-07:00

The first Sunday of Lent is known as the Sunday of Orthodoxy. On this day each year, the Orthodox Church commemorates the restoration of icons for use in the churches and homes of Christians. (Orthodox Wiki)

Ok, this could get messy, so first, some background.

In the Orthodox Church, there are different jurisdictions, and as it exists in the western world, they are pretty much all present and accounted for. An Orthodox Christian in SoCal could potentially find a Greek church, Antiochian, Romanian, Serbian, maybe Bulgarian, and one of several Russian churches. The possibilities are endless, really. These are nothing like the Protestant concept of denominations, as you will see shortly.

Each jurisdiction has its own leadership, and since Los Angeles is a major metropolis, the LA area is the home of several regional jurisdictions. The Serbian Diocese of Western America, for example, has its cathedral in Alhambra. Bishop Maxim is the Serbian bishop over the Serbian Christians of this part of the country. The Antiochian cathedral is just outside of downtown LA.

Enough background. Now for the story.

This year, for Sunday of Orthodoxy, Bishop Joseph called all the local clergy to the cathedral. Since we weren't going to have a priest today anyway, a couple from church decided it was a good excuse to take all us new folk on a field trip to the cathedral. Most of us had never been there.

Well, it was not just a collection of Antiochians at Divine Liturgy today. As deacons and altar servers went through the doors in the iconostasis, I could see Bishop Maxim among the faces back there. This was, after all, the Second Annual Pan Orthodox Hierarchical Divine Liturgy. Toward the end of the liturgy, Metropolitan Gerasimos of the Greek Orthodox Metropolis of San Francisco gave the homily. We got to see our friends from the OCA monastery, too.

God bless the internet. I never could have come up with all these names and titles otherwise!

A few thoughts, then, on today's adventure.

I thought metanias were awkward at St. Peter's. One tends to run into the chairs in the row in front of oneself. I must say, it is even more awkward, nearly impossible, in the cathedral. There are pews! Well, that was fantastic for Mark with his MD, and with my knee being stupid today, I sure appreciated the place to sit. Still, wow.

That said, the cathedral was rather nice. Before today, the only other "real" Orthodox church I had been in (in this country) was a little Serbian one with fairly grotesque icons. Ok, that is not entirely true. I did briefly walk inside the nave of the Greek church that hosted a seminar last month. These churches that are actually churches, rather than repurposed office or warehouse space, are really a sight to see. I wouldn't quite call it breathtaking. I reserve that description for the Cathedral of Christ the Savior in Moscow. Still, it was beautiful. It will be so exciting when our little parish finally has its own place!

It was definitely a full house in there today, as we all knew it would be. I had mentally prepared myself for crowd related panic, but none was forthcoming. Whew! It was packed, but not to the point of crowding. I suspect it also helped that I was between Pam and Martin, while Jackson, Grace, Mark, Barb, and Khouria were right in front of us, Fr. Patrick was two rows up from them, and the Z tribe was two rows behind us. I was literally surrounded by friends. Circulation of air and natural light probably played a role as well. Another thing to look forward to when we have our own place!

Of course, the two things that really struck me were exactly the sorts of things that always strike me. In many of our services, at least liturgy, but I think it's in vespers as well, we pray for "the unity of the faith." It is possible that this prayer means something other than how it sounds, but since I know no such thing, I will go with how it sounds.

This is something that, when I was a Protestant, bothered me tremendously. I hate division. Absolutely, completely hate it. The state of affairs in the proliferation of denominations is literally sickening. It's not so much the existence of the denominations themselves that is bothersome. It is the root cause of them. Division. Fighting. Granted, some of the fights are over significant issues. This only makes the problem uglier, though. Very few denominations even get along with each other at all. The jokes about Protestant denominations are funny only because they are so true. This is both ridiculous and heartbreaking.

In contrast, this morning in a single building in a seedy part of Los Angeles, three men from different jurisdictions in the Orthodox Church presided at Divine Liturgy, and they did so together. These men are Greek, Syrian, and Serbian. If culture and politics were the prevailing rule, they would not even be able to associate peaceably, yet there they were. Unity is a beautiful thing when it happens. The service was in English, Arabic, Greek, and Slavonic, and no one seemed to mind. I rather doubt anyone ever lost their place, either, even if they did not recognize the words being sung at any given moment.

Speaking of singing... What, you didn't expect me to pass on mentioning the music, did you? This, of course, is another one of those things that always gets my attention. The music. Wow. Um. So, Arabs can sing. Really. I mean, every time the singing from the kliros was in Arabic, it was phenomenal. The ornamentation. Wow. I have got to learn to chant like that. I guess I should work on getting the tones down first, though. Also, they sang one of my favorite hymns. And then they sang it in Arabic. We take this unity thing so seriously, even our songs sometimes cross linguistic lines! (Here it is in Greek, Slavonic, and Romanian! *whimper*) It's so beautiful!

That is beginning to sound like the refrain for the day, isn't it? It's true, though. Beauty is one of the hallmarks of Orthodoxy.

Have I mentioned that I really love being Orthodox?

Another Re-evaluation

2009-03-06T17:31:00.001-08:00

For the last seven months or so, I have been contemplating future employment possibilities. In the last two months, I've been nosing around, actually looking for opportunities.

There is a problem, though. I still have absolutely no idea what kind of work to look for! It is clear that I cannot continue in the kinds of "real" jobs I have had. Desk jobs are not for me. They never have been, and I am only making myself miserable trying to fit that particular mold. Sitting all day drains me. Data entry stresses me out. The phone is not my friend. Paperwork and I have a long history of mutual antagonism.

I'm left feeling exceptionally useless. I have no marketable skills. To be honest, I don't really have much in the way of skills at all. I am reasonably good at a few things, but not many people make a living writing or speaking bits and pieces of various and sundry languages. My skills just don't seem economically viable.

I know that offices, libraries, and classrooms are not good places for me. I know, also, that my two favorite jobs thus far were at Coffee Place and in the Student Union at College of the Cornfields, where I ran the grill. Those jobs were fantastic, and I came alive working in both those places. Of course, they also both paid minimum wage, which one simply cannot live on. If I could just find something like that that paid well, life would be absolutely fabulous.

I have thought about what made those experiences so good, and I came up with a short list of what seems to work for me.

Motion- I cannot sit still. If I am not in constant motion, I will glaze over. Being the grill girl kept me very active, as did running the coffee shop.
Creativity- I wasn't just grilling sandwiches or making lattes. There was more room for creativity at Coffee Place, but both gave me the opportunity to, well, play with my food. Neil and I were constantly creating new beverages and testing them on each other, and this was not discouraged. When I had the grill, I perfected the art of the french fry.
Interaction with the Public- I know I perfected the french fry (and the cheese stick) because people would say "Oh, good" when they saw me at the grill. At Coffee Place, there were a few regulars who would occasionally ask for whatever new beverage or sandwich I was trying out at the time. I knew my regular customers. I knew what they liked, where they worked or what they were studying in school. There was also a steady stream of new, sometimes interesting people. Sometimes they spoke with thick accents. Sometimes they needed computer help. Frequently, I have found myself being the ESL tutor. Of course, there will always be the occasional fruitcake, and boy do I have a story, but mostly I really enjoyed the customer interaction.
Variety and Productivity- Doing the same thing all day, every day, is really boring. Doing the same thing that pretty much accomplishes nothing all day, every day, is dreadful. On the other hand, if twelve people order a hamburger in the course of five minutes, and you're already juggling fries, cheese sticks, and chicken fingers in the two fryers, that is a challenge with actual payoff. When ten people walk in and order lattes, smoothies, sandwiches, and computer cards, and you have to go to the office to load the computer cards, it can be fun. At the end of the shift, you're tired, but it's that good tired that says you accomplished something.

I have no idea what my strengths are. I am all too familiar with my weaknesses. I am also painfully aware of the reality that was pointed out to me a few days ago. Somone who has known me a long time said,"You have really bad luck with jobs and bosses. Maybe you should be your own boss." Oh, wouldn't I love to! But doing what?

Well, I have laid out the parameters. I now open the comments for any thoughts anyone might have on the subject.

Yes, I am Still Alive

2009-02-18T20:30:00.000-08:00

I realize it has been a month since I posted. Believe me, I realize this. Writing is my SSRI, and without it, well, go off your Lexapro or Welbutrin or whatever, go off the Xanax, while you're at it, and you'll have a fair idea of how the last month has gone. So, yes, I'm still alive, but only if you take the more basic meanings of the word "alive."

I shall tell you a story.

This last Sunday, my housemate-landlords hosted a party at the house. It's their house, and they gave me several days' notice. They did everything right. Remember that, because this will get messy. They told me I was welcome to join in, if I were so inclined.

I was not so inclined. I don't do the social thing well with people I know. I'm better off somewhere else if it's people I don't know. I know this, though, so I planned to be somewhere else at the time of the event.

I did not, however, plan for a panic episode to hit during liturgy Sunday morning. I did not expect to be barely able to function by noon. I did not anticipate falling asleep for two hours when I arrived at home.

I woke up to unfamiliar voices in the hallway outside my door. That's not a good sound, I thought to myself. There were several knocks at the front door in the next half hour, and the volume kept increasing. Almost immediately I was back in panic mode. My heart was pounding audibly. I was shaking. It was just like the day the bishop came last month, except then I had a place to hide.

Finally, the voices were all congregated in the dining room, rather than drifting randomly throughout the house. I bolted. There was a lady at the door, greeting a late arrival, and she gave me this look. Granted, I was barely holding off the panic, so my perception was probably dreadfully mistaken, but the look on her face said, You do not belong here. I dodged out the door without a word.

My car was blocked in, of course. Curses! Foiled! It was 5:30 at night. The temperature was in the 40's, and while I did have my warm coat on, the zipper is broken. An open jacket does not do much. It was dark, I was on foot, and I was not in a particularly good emotional state. I needed a safe place, and I needed it as soon as possible. I could walk to Fr. Patrick's house; I could walk to my Godmother's house. Either one would be safe. Or, I could go to Starbucks. I had a block to consider where I was headed.

Thirty minutes later, I was in Starbucks with a cup of herbal tea in one hand and my phone in the other. I spent the next hour or so not texting any of the five people I considered texting and becoming increasingly irritated at myself in so doing. I needed help, and I knew it. I knew if I texted Counselor, she'd be able to reel me back in. I had a hunch that if I contacted any one of a few possibilities from church, making it suitably clear what a wreck I was, I would shortly find myself at someone's house. I was pretty sure a text to E would produce the same result.

Of course, I did none of this. Instead, I sat there, shooting myself in the foot each time I flipped the phone shut. I needed help, but I could not manage to ask for it. I knew exactly who to ask, and I had three back-up plans. But I had myself convinced that it was better to just push through it on my own. What is that? I told myself that no one needed to be bothered with the ancient history that got dredged up that day. Better to just let the voices scream at me. I guess I figured I pretty much deserved it anyway. So, when I got home, I was not much better off than when I had left. The panic had passed, but I was still a mess.

What in the world is wrong with me?

Counselor said last night that I took a few steps back on Sunday. No kidding. It's not the end of the world, though. I just need to get turned back in the right direction.

Observations and Questions

2009-01-19T18:23:00.000-08:00

These are topics which are lately catching my attention.

1) I have no trouble at all being around people ten, twenty, thirty years older than me, or ten or more years younger. In contrast, as a general rule, people my age, give or take five years, may as well be from another planet for all that I'm able to even converse with most of them! Why is that???

2) To whom it may concern: If you don't want to be in my life, please, would you get out of my head?

3) Finally, where is this mythic sea where fish can supposedly be found?

Chiropractic Visit

2009-01-10T10:52:00.001-08:00

So how was your holiday? Was it busy? Or was it fairly calm?

It was calm. As it should be!

Ah, so you didn't go to Vegas or anything.

Well... I did actually do that.

So followed a random and wandering discussion of internet friends, internet dating, Facebook, and the verb "to friend," specifically the past tense form "friended."

A Poem In Need of a Name

2009-01-09T13:46:00.000-08:00

Wrote this last Friday for a friend. I'm officially taking suggestions for a title.

Wand'ring One, Restless Soul-
despair at your heels
countless paths at your feet
flash neon lights,
confuse and confound
dazzling, but which will
lead where you go?

Searching Mind, read,
study, explore
You who hear cries of
the promise of truth
yet see each lair
where hate and despair
lie in wait to ensnare
what Truth would set free

Seeking Heart, your path
may wind and meander
despair will pursue,
oft'times you'll trudge on
alone
misery may be yours,
restlessness drive you on.
restlessness is your hope
relentlessly
driving you on
seeking
where you belong
seeking
you
shall find
home

Crowds

2009-01-08T13:38:00.000-08:00

Sunday morning arrived, and hot on its heels were Bishop Joseph, a priest, four deacons in addition to our own, a sub deacon, and a deacon-to-be who was ordained to the diaconate during Divine Liturgy. The visiting clergy also brought families, or, as Bishop Joseph put it, the whole tribe. Our nave is not large, and it can be crowded with just us. It was absolutely bursting at the seams on Sunday.

In retrospect, we should have had chairs in the back and maybe along the wall and moved the rest out. It would have been less closed in that way.

Closed in, you say? Why, yes. Yes, it was. I was standing against the wall near the chanters with my feet rooted to the floor, because it was pretty much all I could do to stay in the room. Too many people! And half of them were strangers! I know it's something that I need to face from time to time. I won't complain that they were there. But boy was it hard. After liturgy, the coffee hour area and the kitchen were so packed I had to get outside, so I hid on the back steps for a few minutes. A few minutes later, I was sitting in the crowded room again. I figured as long as I had the chair to hang on to, I'd be ok. Of course, as soon as those words left my mouth, I was scooted off so the guests could have the chairs. By then, the breathing had long been difficult. I tried very hard to keep myself afloat, and mostly I did, but it was exhausting, and I think it was obvious that I was not ok.

I was not so far gone, though, that I missed what followed. There was a small gathering of familiar faces in another room, and I found a space there. After I had calmed down a bit, I ventured back toward the swarm, and Valerie stopped me on the way there. She had seen me before I hid on the back steps, and I guess I didn't look any better.

Are you ok?

Getting there.

Go sit in there. (Pointing to the empty nave)

But I'm looking for Pam.

I'll get her. You sit.

Ok. No big deal, really. Except if you happen to be the one who spent several years hiding on the floor in the back of another church during panic far worse than this, or for any one of a hundred other reasons. If you happen to be that person, you may have also noticed that you generally either get pulled into forced society or become entirely invisible. Such was not the case on Sunday.

You might also think that what Fr. Patrick said later on was no big deal. He commented on the fact that I had stayed in the overcrowded nave through the entire service. I pointed out that that had been a stretch, and that I had hid outside afterward. "Good for you!" I... huh? My brain was scrambling at that point. You mean I can do that? And maybe that conversation was no big deal, except that he knows me well enough to know that the crowd was a real problem for me. That is worth noting.

One particularly funny part of the day was when Professor sat his ten-year-old son down to tell me about his new experiences with cable tv. This was his bizarre attempt to get me breathing and a little less tense. This kid is Calvin (as in & Hobbes) come to life, so it worked.

So, yeah, it was a rough morning, but it was also a really good morning. Old thought patterns are getting challenged, and maybe even replaced. Yay!

Yo Ho, Yo Ho!

2009-01-05T22:09:00.000-08:00

A few minutes after the chrismation service was over, I headed north. I had caught wind of a random excursion my friend Stacey was taking, and we decided that I would take a drive and meet her in Vegas.

It's interesting trying to explain a day trip that involves driving for eight hours. It's interesting trying to explain that I'm skipping out on the festivities celebrating ten of my friends becoming Orthodox so that I can get to Vegas and back before the visit from the bishop the next morning. Yes, it was a very odd context to sandwich Vegas into, but what can you do? She lives in New York. We'd been friends since summer '05 without meeting in person. The situation needed amending!

So it was that RevStacey, the alpha pirate and Spidey, the definitely not alpha pirate, finally met in person. So it is that we finally have photographic evidence of a pirate meeting involving Stacey.

Stacey did not want photographic evidence of being in Vegas, so I suggested the picture be taken in front of a Denny's sign. There were certainly enough of those! However, as we strolled past Treasure Island, it was clear that the only place we could possibly have our picture taken was right there.

It was a fun time. We walked the Strip. We called Mark. We half expected to run into someone we both happen to know (we had no idea who, it's just that we seem to know the same people). We ate at a sidewalk cafe at Paris. Three hours went by fast, though, and she had to meet her travelling companions for a show, so I headed home. As I sat in the parking lot that was Las Vegas Boulevard, I texted Counselor. Pirate meetings are made of total win.

A Chrismation or Ten

2009-01-04T18:01:00.000-08:00

Saturday was a rather momentous day. My friend Patrick of the Mountain got married yesterday. Sadly, I missed it. You see, it was in Oregon, and I lack the ability to be in two places at once, as would have been necessary.

What I was able to do, though, was witness a baptism and the chrismation of ten of my friends at church! Martin came to St. Peter's a month or two after I did. Raeanne showed up a year ago. As a result of early introductions by Fr. Patrick and Pam, the three of us quickly became an odd trio of friends. Jason and Debbie arrived a week or two after Raeanne, but I'm shy, and there were no random introductions, so it was a while before I got to know them. Mark and Barb were the last of this crew to arrive. Mark came with the Z's right around the beginning of Lent, and Barb started coming with him shortly thereafter. Again, my avoidance of new people got in the way, and I really didn't start getting to know them until Pascha. My loss. These ten have turned out to be a fantastic collection of friends, so the decision to show up for church at 8:30 on a random Saturday morning was really a no-brainer.

It was interesting being on the spectator side of things this time. There were parts that I remember vividly from my baptism in April, and there were details that I had no memory of at all. It was so incredibly cool, though, having watched them all on this journey since we met, having compared notes on the different hurdles we've dealt with, to be there when they were welcomed into the Church. What a tremendous day for them all!

So, to my friends Martin, Raeanne, Jason, Debbie, Michael, Cathy, Dani, Chris, Mark, and Barb, welcome home!

Why

2008-12-26T22:34:00.000-08:00

The other day, I was contemplating for perhaps the hundredth time what it was that made me leave the church I left to become Orthodox. When I left, Philosopher Pastor asked me why, and I have never had a good answer that someone who has not walked this same road would understand. "I just knew I needed to" won't cut it for most people. I cannot claim that what follows will be anything close to complete. I may never know the complete answer myself. However, this is the answer I can give for now. This may come out with an odd mix of distinctly Protestant and distinctly Orthodox vocabulary, but so it must be, for such has been the journey.

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I've mentioned before that I realized I needed someone to teach me. Call it discipling; call it mentoring. I knew I needed someone who would take responsibility for training me and commit to it. Book learning is good and useful, but by itself, it cannot bring life. I needed someone of whom I could ask stupid and not so stupid questions. I needed someone I could call if I had a really rotten day. What I needed was a godparent, a concept which simply does not exist in the world I was in. They've tried to implement something of the sort on occasion, and in some cases it has worked, but I always managed to miss out. The closest I ever came was when I got talked into meeting with the Stephen Minister person. That was a fantastic situation, but the program is designed to be temporary. I was fortunate in that when my time with her ended, I was already in the transition process.

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I needed community. I did not need more friends at church who I might talk with for five minutes once a month after church on Sunday. I needed to not exist in a bubble that hardly anyone ever ventured into. Knowing nearly everyone by name and being recognized by everyone does not create community. It does, however, turn the spotlight on isolation when it exists. Knowing everyone does not mean that one does not find oneself sitting at home alone six nights out of the week. Knowing everyone does not even guarantee a substantive conversation on the walk from the church building to the parking lot.

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I needed transformation. Everything pointed to that need. I have never questioned the reality of my own brokenness, but the more I traveled, the more I observed those around me, the more I realized the model most of us functioned with was incomplete. Praying one prayer one time is simply not sufficient. Salvation may be free, but it is not cheap. We can never earn it, but we must contribute to the process. I cannot sit around being a reasonably good person and a Christian and expect that to be enough. I was a reasonably good person and a Christian, and I knew I was still dying. I saw no sign in myself of abundant life or peace or freedom or any of those other things that one might expect.

What I did see in myself was a proliferation of the things I definitely did not want, and I had no power or means to truly deal with them. Still, the half-formed notion I had gotten somewhere along the line was that I was to somehow let God change me, and in the meantime, try really hard. But trying really hard is like filling a swimming pool with a leaky bucket. Meanwhile, God is not going to suddenly zap me into a new and improved Spidey. Neither was I interested in just muddling through until such time as I finally got to heaven and only then finding a much better me. Having hope on your deathbead is probably nice, but what about the thousands of days before? No, the Gospel is only truly good news if it is good news for today as well as some day sometime in the future.

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I was talking with Fr. Patrick today, and he was joking that I probably had no idea what I was signing up for when I showed up at his parish. He is without question one of the goofiest, quirkiest people around, and he knows it. It didn't take me long to respond.

The way I see it is I left something I loved that just wasn't working, and I found everything I was looking for, plus I got a bonus.

And I did get a bonus. Not only Fr. Patrick, either. Everyone I've gotten to know there, those who were there before me and those who have arrived since, they have all been an incredible gift.

No, it's not perfect. How can it be? There are issues, as there will likely always be everywhere. But somehow there is a sense of rootedness that I've never had before. Oh, and that elusive life, peace, freedom, and even joy.

Christ is Born!

2008-12-25T00:13:00.000-08:00

Catching Up

2008-12-15T22:42:00.000-08:00

Cold. Rainy. Frozen toes. Munching Skittles. For reasons unknown, "I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas" is on infinite loop in my brain. There is a pile of Christmas presents that should have been wrapped tonight. I sat down after dinner to plan out my evening, and two hours later, I woke up.

The Christmas season is officially upon us. During the first week of December, we had six events in four days. The next week, last week, began with an "unofficial review" which I knew would come eventually. I have been walking a tightrope since at least June. I and at least one board member have known that the Ringmaster and the head clown have been looking for reasons to shoot me down. The rope is beginning to fray. I'm easing my way to the platform at the end, hoping to get off the rope before it breaks.

In one of my more cynical moments in the last week, I realized that this year has been 2006 all over again. Job ending? Check. Lost best friend? Check. Lost home? Check. Grad school drama? Check. The main difference is I haven't been paralyzed, and I don't think this is entirely because I am stronger than I was. I am stronger, but the stability is not all my own. I know this because I did go back into depression. I know this because as soon as that was clear, the community around me helped me pull myself out. I finally have what I knew I needed all those years.

That reminds me of a conversation I had a couple weeks ago. I heard about a friend who had a hellish summer. There was a debilitating health problem, and her community provided no practical support. Knowing that community, there were undoubtedly promises of solidarity, quite probably prayer from a few, but it never did go beyond that. It's heartbreaking. I know they mean well. I know they want to do what's right, but they often don't know how or even what that means. Still, for all the good intentions, they've now effectively disenfranchised another person who has long been a pillar of that community. She isn't the first, and she won't be the last.

Go, keep warm and well fed.

Lord have mercy on us all.

Better This Time

2008-11-22T11:53:00.000-08:00

It was spring 2006 when I took Chinese at a local community college. It was rather upsetting to me. I had a degree. Going back to Community College seemed a bit insulting. It did not help that the Cal State Uni campus I had attempted to go to grad school at had turned me down over a GPA discrepancy of .05. That sucked.

Well, I just filled out the online application for that very same community college. I am turning into the perpetual student, it would seem. This time, though, I have a clearly defined purpose. I will take a class for three semesters, then I will head off to grad school. Again.

Yes, I know I keep saying that. Yes, I know this will be my third shot at grad school. Yes, I know no one reading this is making the comments- they're in my own mind. I'm answering because I need to. This time I will get it right. This time I will investigate and prepare. This time the monsters in my head will not win, because when I want something like this bad enough, I fight for it, and when I fight, I win.

This spring, then, my GPA enhancing and brain training class of choice will be German. I took German once, but it was my first year of college. I was 18. I remember some, but not much. Now I get to have another go at it, and this time it will be more than just for fun. The grad program requires proficiency in either German or French. Whee!

German or French. Of course, this being me, that "or" is daring me. This is something I have to make a decision on at some point. The program itself is Russian, and I am very seriously considering doubling it with Chinese, because I can't choose between them. So I'm already looking at tackling three languages at once. Changing the "or" to "and" will make it four. Granted, I have more years of French than any other foreign language, and German is the one I've always wanted. What a conundrum. Ha. It would be just like me, though, to go for it. No one who knows me would be the least bit surprised.

I'm noticing a shift in me from last week. I am not paralyzed today by the hugeness of the idea. I know I can do hard things. Look at the last four years of my life! I said on Sunday that I'm not afraid, and now the irony has worn off. It's true today. Tomorrow, who knows, but today, I am not afraid.

Whoo!

2008-11-18T19:52:00.000-08:00

Vespers tonight was just me and Father Patrick until the last minute, when Martin snuck in. I learned a few interesting things tonight.

I am improving in my sight reading ability. I guess having the context to use it really has brought improvement. With eight tones and no telling which is coming until I get there, sight reading is a necessity!
It is less stressful in an empty room, though Liturgy on Sunday was not too bad.
I still have tracking issues in reading, and reading aloud is still far more difficult than silently.
I still freeze when faced with a word I don't know. Why I am still plagued by the ghosts of first grade, I have no idea.

In addition to my observations, something very cool came my way. Father Patrick has two large notebooks of Slavonic and Greek text. He can read the Greek, but he does not know Slavonic. He gave them to me to see what I can figure out. Hee!

Of course, I also do not know Slavonic. The only advantage I have that he lacks is previous experience with Slavic languages, and even that is very limited. I suspect he is giving me a running start on my goal of translating. I also suspect he handed me this project because he knows I'm bored. Whatever the reason, I'm fairly excited.

My mind is running all over the place. Time to wrestle the Slavonic into submission!

I'm Not Afraid...

2008-11-16T16:30:00.000-08:00

The retreat was fantastic. There was nothing disagreeable about it. Even the souvenir bug bites were entirely worth dealing with. There was no forced socialization with complete strangers. The complete strangers were fantastic, so even if there had been, it would have been okay. The content was applicable to everyone, rather than catering primarily to categories that I am not and may never be in. My participation in future parish women's retreats will not require the use of excessive force, or even any at all, on anyone's part. I might even be willing to consider the bigger Antiochian Women retreat. Maybe.

On the drive to the monastery, Khouria and I were talking. That conversation was all over the place, and all of it disturbingly familiar territory for me, but it resulted in her encouraging me to pursue my languages with the goal of eventually being a translator.

That's all well and good. I was interested in linguistics, languages, and translation by age ten, and it was with that idea that I went into linguistics. However, when I began to realize that nothing ever works quite right for me, it was one of the dreams I gave up along the way. And now, at thirty, it would be so much more difficult to make it happen than it would have at twenty.

Still, it was interesting that the subject came up. The day before, a prospective Chamber member had stopped by the office. Her business card introduced her as a state certified interpreter. Twice in twenty-four hours could still be a fluke, though, and it was not the time to be thinking about such things, so I filed it away.

We caught the end of matins and had a lovely morning. There was breakfast with the nuns, wandering the grounds, and the first part of the presentation by our speaker.

At lunch, I put myself at the table that was not entirely people I knew, and I quickly found myself sitting next to an energetic 82 year old nun and across from a girl who will move to the monastery in the spring. I'll be darned if we did not have the very same conversation, in spite of my attempts at deflection.

It just occurred to me why I have almost no memory of the actual content of the presentation...

We got home that night, and by Sunday evening, the weekend's return of translation in triplicate was refusing to stay filed away. I emailed Father Patrick, and we met on Veteran's Day, which I conveniently had off. It was nearly a two hour conversation, and by the time I got home, I had some much-needed clarity.

We talked about school, work, and the question of what I actually want. This question has for some time been answered with a decisive "I don't know," though that is owing largely to the fact that I've long since shelved everything I actually want. Of course, I had not realized that until the retreat, and I could see no point in revisiting any of it until Father Patrick blew the dust off and swept away the cobwebs.

Now I have both a goal and an actual plan of getting there. Sort of. There are a few details to figure out. But there's a goal! And a plan! And it's all very intimidating! What if I don't get in to the school? What if there's no financial aid? What if I somehow screw it up? What if everything goes right except for the problem of actually attaining competence in a language and it turns out to be impossible after all? I have questions! The trick will be not letting them paralyze me. For that, though, I have help.

It is a wee bit unnerving to have this dream handed back to me.

Boy, have I got work to do.

Veteran's Day

2008-11-11T12:45:00.000-08:00

This one's for James, my Marine cousin in Iraq.

It's for my cousins Rob, Eric, and Banjo, and my friends Andrew, Bill, Merritt, Mike, Jon, Mike, and Chris, who are currently serving in various branches or have served over the last decade.

For another Bill who just got mobilized and who will be missed.

For my dad who served stateside in the Air Force during Vietnam, for his cousin Mike who was a soldier stationed in Germany at the end of the Cold War. For my friends David and Doug. For my cousin Amanda's husband and my friend Laurie's husband.

Happy Veteran's Day.

So, Wow

2008-11-07T12:54:00.000-08:00

Things have changed. I have changed. Dramatically.

When I walked into church for vespers on Tuesday, I noticed that John had been snagged to be the reader for the service. John's been with us since early September. I did not have to see it in his face to know he was fairly nervous.

I don't remember thinking about it. I'm fairly sure there was not thinking involved. I simply walked over to where he was and stood there to help. Not that I particularly know what I'm doing, but I've been there before. Plus, last time I was reader, Alana helped me out. It made a big difference for me.

After it was over, I realized that the shaking that is fairly normal for me never started. I had no trouble reading the Psalms. My voice never cracked, shook, or otherwise failed me. I had even been able to read the music, somewhat.

What in the world! When I was a kid, sc0tlas and I sang in church occasionally. Not as much as any of the adults, but more than any of the other kids. However, this kind of thing has completely freaked me out since high school! I tried to get over it in Model UN. I tried with voice lessons in college. Nothing I've tried has worked. Tuesday, though, I was perfectly ok.

Maybe it helps that it's not about me. I know it and everyone else in the room knows it, so, while I want to do the best I can, there's not a huge amount of pressure. Plus, it has become fairly common for me to find myself at the chanter's stand on Tuesdays, so I am getting used to it. Not that familiarity has ever helped before... Really, I do not know why this is suddenly ok, but I'm glad it is.

After vespers, we have class. Father Patrick teaches his lesson, then Lisa the cantor teaches hers. We are learning the tones by learning the songs we sing in those tones. I have a stack of music from the last several weeks, including a stack of music in tone 4. I also (thank you, Marko!) have an mp3 of the song for vespers in tone 4, so I can practice for Tuesday. I need to practice because, for some reason, I volunteered to do this. Why did I do that? I have no idea. But I'll be singing along with the track on my ipod as I drive up to the women's retreat tonight.

Yes, You read that correctly. Not only am I volunteering to sing in vespers, I'm also going to a women's retreat completely voluntarily. I am not doing so because someone would not let up until I agreed to go. I am not doing this because I think I ought to. I am not doing this to run away from anything. I actually *drumroll* want to go.

WHAT? The last time I went to a women's retreat, it was only a good experience when we were not specifically engaged in retreat activities. I have always avoided these things as much as possible. So what gives?

Someone said it's because I like these people. I liked the other people too. At least, I specifically liked the people I knew, and I liked the others in a more general and potential sense. If that makes sense. This is a smaller group, and on average I know them better, and they know me better. On average. There is that detail of having fourteen years of history at the other place that simply cannot be matched in just over a year.

I think the real difference is that there are no wild cards in this group. I will not find myself in a breakout session with women who have perfect happy lives with no difficulties. (Yeah, I had tons of fun with that one.) I will not find myself in a great conversation with Friend A, only to be interrupted by Complete Stranger B who is convinced she has the answers to all my problems.

Not that these people are perfect or even generally better than the other people. It's that somehow there is a fundamental difference in how these people function. There is a difference built into the culture of this church. It is a difference that either draws new people with the same quality, or very quickly seeps into the new people, so that even the dozen others who came after me are part of the difference. It is a difference I cannot quite put my finger on, but it is there.

My mom told me a couple weeks ago that her favorite thing about my church is that I fit. I don't know how or why. It just is.

Go Me!

2008-11-07T10:38:00.000-08:00

It's cold in this office, so I decided to light the fireplace.

I turned on the gas.

I struck a match and threw it in.

Nothing.

I struck another match.

WOOSH!

I swear the fire jumped at me. The match in my hand went out. I heard a disturbing sizzle. The office suddenly smelled funny.

My hair is a little bit fried.

Arrrrrrrrgh!

2008-10-31T20:44:00.001-07:00

Follow Up

2008-10-26T21:52:00.000-07:00

I need to clarify a few things.

What was is not what is. The depression that is cannot be compared to that which once was. The current conditions do not come close to the despair of those previous. I don't know that they ever could. I'm not silly enough to think that life can't or won't throw worse at me. I think I've seen the lowest point because I myself am so dramatically different than I was two years ago.

It used to be that I could not believe in God's goodness. Now I am convinced of it. It used to be that every difficulty would send me spiraling. Not so, now. It used to be that being without internet meant being without most of my support system. Now I have a solid face to face community in addition to my far-flung friends.

Yes, I have bad days, but the emotions are closer to normal. Yes, I still have a long way to go, but I've come such a long way already. Yes, I asked for help, but there was a time when I could not even do that.

I know I can beat this depression. It's not only possible, it's inevitable. It will take effort, yes. But it will not paralyze me this time, because, in addition to all the other changes, this time I have confidence.