Close to Home

"As is"

I cannot thank you enough for your comments and  prayers. They have brought much comfort to our entire family and to Paige and Bobby, especially. You are so, so appreciated. 

My daughter, Priscilla, begged to take a photo with my still new to me camera last night. My initial reaction was, I DON"T THINK SO!, seeing as my last camera broke when one of my dear children dropped it. Her dead serious request, though, was quite earnest and her expression heart wrenchingly hopeful. "I can do it, mom," she assured me.

 After making absolutely certain the camera strap was fixed securely around her neck and explaining to her multiple times how to turn it on, zoom in and out, aim it, I scooted close to Troy, and Mary leapt into our laps. "1...2...3," Priscilla counted, just like I sometimes do, and then, "click."

I like this photo; I like that Mary is in her jammies and Troy in his post-work flannel shirt, that we are seated around the kitchen table, that I'm not pretending I'm not exhausted. I like that my daughter provided today's picture, me being too tired and distracted to capture any kind of compelling image myself. 

 I've become even more passionate as of late about learning to accept...no, embrace my life, life in general, "as is." This practice of daily reflection has been for me like ... h-m-m-m...well, believe it or not, I have no words to describe its impact on my soul. This week my daughter told me off-handedly about her teacher pulling her aside and complimenting her for telling a classmate how amazing he was for getting A's on all his math tests. Math for her has been quite a challenge.  I think she was surprised when I took her by the shoulders and looked her square in the eye. "Priscilla," I said, "that, more than anything, makes me so very proud. It is easy to be kind and considerate when things are going well for you. How you respond, the choices you make, in the midst of a struggle is what truly defines your character." " U-m-m, OK," she said, before skipping up the stairs to her bedroom. 

Maybe this is an unfair blanket statement, but it sure seems like we in America, or maybe it's my generation, have a severe aversion to any kind of suffering. I want to get to the point spiritually where I can recognize sadness, inconvenience and uncertainty not as unnatural hindrances to the placid existence we feel we deserve but as potent and salvific means for growth and humility -  as necessary for more thoroughly, and without judgement, empathizing with and caring about my neighbor. "By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another," said Jesus.  If I could let go of my complicated assumptions about God, about others ( how scary!!), and simplify, perceiving the entire purpose of life as but one opportunity after another to fulfill this single command (love), I dare say I'd be blown away by, would fall flat on my face out of  reverence for, God's fathomless mercy .

Those who believe they believe in God but without passion in the heart, without anguish of mind, without uncertainty, without doubt, and even at times without despair, believe only in the idea of God, and not in God himself. - Madeleine L'Engle

My Lord, I know not what I ought to ask of Thee.
Thou and Thou alone knowest my needs.
Thou lovest me more than I am able to love Thee.
O Father, grant unto me, Thy servant, all which I cannot ask.
For a cross I dare not ask, nor for consolation;
I dare only to stand in Thy presence.
My heart is open to Thee.
Thou seest my needs of which I myself am unaware.
Behold and lift me up!
In Thy presence I stand,
awed and silenced by Thy will and Thy judgments,
into which my mind cannot penetrate.
To Thee I offer myself as a sacrifice.
No other desire is mine but to fulfill Thy will.
Teach me how to pray.
Do Thyself pray within me.
Amen.

Prayer of Metropolitan Philaret

"As is": 35 of 365

Throwing Caution to the Wind

 

Dear friends,

Yesterday I wrote about the imperativeness of investing ourselves in the lives of others. Today that message has taken on a whole new level of significance. Here's the thing: it's inconvenient to love, it's uncomfortable and at times terrifying. There are nights I lie in bed and shudder, with tears in my eyes, at the thought of losing or watching suffer those I care about so deeply, so profoundly, their pain or absence would rip a hole in my heart - would maim me permanently. How much safer it would be to restrain myself from caring too much, to choose sterile isolation over the risky messiness involved in throwing caution to the wind and living, loving, boldly. To participate or keep to ourselves? That is the question. 

On Wednesday my sister-in-law went to her obstetrician for a routine pre-natal check-up where instead of her baby's heartbeat they heard only silence and we are grieving now for my brother and Paige and their family. I've learned a lot from Paige, throughout the last decade-and-a-half (me being by nature a rather skittish, self-conscious introvert) about the eternal and spiritual benefits of laying aside apprehension, selfishness and insecurity in order to actively, decidedly, put others' needs ahead of my own. I have witnessed first-hand, in the past 24 hours, the many sacrifices she has made on behalf of her neighbors over the years being transformed into a warm, protective blanket of support. How can I help? I've already been asked countless times via e-mails and phone messages by past recipients of Paige's friendship and generosity.  Ah, I get it now: we weren't created to go it alone, to float through life like an invisible ghost avoiding hardships by remaining untouchable. The alternative to emptiness is fullness by way of faith - faith in Christ's assurance that those who mourn will be comforted, that perfect love (Divine love) casts out fear.

Please pray for Paige and Bobby as they prepare physically and emotionally for "delivery" on Monday. God is so very good to cover us with his mercy through the kindness and benevolence of our peers. 

Peace to you,

Molly

Throwing Caution to the Wind: 34 of 365   

A part of the main

 

During the Orthodox Divine Liturgy, you step out of time, out of the confines of earth and its physical limitations.  The curtain, dividing present from past and future, eternity from temporalness, opens wide. Gathered there with me to worship are the angels and the saints, the apostles, the Theotokos, my children, my Orthodox Christian brothers and sisters and ancestors in Pennsylvania, Romania, Ethopia, my parents, my old college roommate and her family, men, women and children I've never met personally but am interlocked with like gear teeth.  My faith, my actions, affect everyone. There are times I press forward, playing a part in propelling the body of Christ as a whole toward salvation and times when I, all limp and exhausted, am carried ahead solely by the prayers and selflessness of others. Blessed is the soul that loves his brother, said St. Silouan, for our brother is our life.

Today is poetry Wednesday. I picked a classic poem by John Donne that reminds me to rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with with those who weep for I am not a neutral, impervious, removed bystander, but an essential "part of the main."  

Forgive me for sometimes forgetting that. 

No Man is an Island

 by John Donne

No man is an island,

Entire of itself.

Each is a piece of the continent,

A part of the main.

If a clod be washed away by the sea,

Europe is the less.

As well as if a promontory were.

As well as if a manner of thine own

Or of thine friend's were.

Each man's death diminishes me,

For I am involved in mankind.

Therefore, send not to know

For whom the bell tolls,

It tolls for thee.

Isolation: 33 of 365

High in the sky apple pie hopes...

 

Every year, as soon as the temperature starts to drop and the days begin to shorten, I get this urge to break out a pair of knitting needles and spend the evenings creating for some lucky recipient a cozy, woolen masterpiece, and every year I get about thirty rows in to a pattern too challenging for me and end up handing the whole project over to my mother, who then finishes it in about fifteen minutes flat. This Fall has been no different. Last Sunday, I sure found myself, as usual, scanning the aisles of Michaels craft store for just the perfect colors of yarn.  "Good news," I told my husband, Troy, when I got back home, "I'm making you a super cool scarf for Christmas."  "You mean this Christmas?," he asked incredulously, thinking back on all my unfinished baby hats, blankets, mittens. And then I chastised him with my eyes for being so skeptical. 

For real, though, I'm going to do it! I've not sabotaged myself, you see, by taking on a venture involving sleeves or some intricate design. This scarf is just long and straight requiring only that I knit, purl, knit from beginning to end. I really do love the calming process of knitting, the soothing click clack sound of the needles, having something to do with my hands while sitting on the couch next to Troy who is watching football or hockey or the World Series. Yes, I will complete this scarf, then take a hundred pictures of my husband wearing it and post them here. I will think positively (The eleventh time's a charm, right?). I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.... 

I think I can... : 31 of 365

candy, candy, candy

 

In Chicago, some thought Halloween (Columbus Day, Valentine's Day, New Year's Eve, etc) a perfect occasion for drinking excessively and shooting hand guns into the air. It wasn't unusual, in our neck of the woods, to have your door bell rung at 9:15 pm by a handful of teenagers (Dressed-up? Not dressed-up? Does an eye patch count? I could never be sure.) thrusting grocery bags into your face and mumbling something about treats. We'd draw a mustache, throw a karate suit, a pair of fairy wings, what have you, on our kids and walk them around to a few familiar houses while it was still light out, then perhaps watch, It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!, and be done with it all. Let's just say a charming community event, it was not. 

I was blown away our first Fall living here, in our little neighborhood, in Indiana, first of all by the fact that Trick-or-Treating only took place between 5:00 and 7:00 pm (What a novel idea!), and then by the amount of participation - the sheer volume of Transformers, princesses, G.I. Joes meandering up and down and around our blocks with their parents trailing close behind. It is honestly the one time of year, I see and speak with almost all of my neighbors, neighbors who often hand out full-sized candy bars and who, this year, provided updates on who in their household is still sick or, thankfully, starting to feel better.  By 7:15 pm, I was back on the couch with a mouth full of Runts and a face covered in flour (see photo below of me in the get-up I thought of at 4:45 pm). 

Yesterday, I went to Target with my mom and sister-in-law where picked-over costumes and autumn wreathes were 50% off and Christmas-themed everything was displayed prominently. It's like seasonal whiplash from October through January. Pacing myself, quieting the noise and preparing myself for the birth of Christ is always challenging, to say the least. 

I hope you enjoy these pictures of my kids, nieces, husband, and their friends. I hope the beginning of this brand new week finds you healthy (not too awful sick from inhaling exorbitant amounts of chocolate) and at peace. 

 

 

 

 

 

Trick-or-Treat: 31 of 365

Ruby Slippers

 

I prefer to take my pictures out of doors where the light is usually brilliant and the background way more  interesting than, say my crayon-marked walls, for example. Besides, it's autumn meaning, most of the time, our yard and street look like Thomas Kinkade himself came by with his paintbrush and turned our neighborhood into a tranquil scene worthy of slapping on to limited edition decorative plates to be sold in Good Housekeeping for three easy installments of only $19.99. For the past 48 hours, however, it has been raining and raining and raining on top of the mounds of dying leaves spread over our lawns making it look and feel and smell like wet dog around here. I've been forced, therefore, to search inside for some photo opportunities. 

I showed the shot above to my husband, who I know must, occasionally,  scratch his head in bewilderment of his wife's ever-growing obsession with finding/composing memorable images and yet, bless his heart, never ever questions or teases me about it. He responded with, "Oh, it's a picture of your feet." 

"Yes," I said, "they are my feet." And then I giggled inwardly at the thought of me on the edge of sanity, after spending a week locked away in our germ-infested house, wearing 24/7 the same old stretched-out stained sweater, pausing to seriously and enthusiastically position just right my red shoes on the bathroom linoleum. 

 And there it is: I create to punctuate the days and keep from, totally, losing my mind when life, as it tends to do, threatens to haphazardly bowl me over all at once rather than gently and methodically unfolding. What you're looking at is not only a picture of my humble, thrift store-bought version of Ruby Red Slippers, but also a means of preserving some honest-to-goodness contentment in the midst of chaos. 

And now for a shower and some hard-core dish washing! 

Ah, there's no place like home. 

Ruby Slippers: 30 of 365  

Family Ties

Those of you who used to visit my old Snapshot of the Day blog from time to time might remember me mentioning Troy's cousin, Erik, a musician who performs under the name of Cedarwell. He stops through Chesterton on occasion on his way to and from shows across the Midwest. Wednesday night he and a band mate crashed in our attic and then yesterday morning ate breakfast with Troy and me before heading to New York and then ultimately Europe for a month long tour.

 I enjoy watching my husband interact with his extended family. They are unusually tight and supportive of one another's various interests and endeavors. I could tell Troy and Erik genuinely cherished what little time they were able to spend together. "How lovely," I thought, while sipping coffee and listening to them share with each other condensed updates on their lives. Of course, before Erik left, I shoved a camera in both of their faces. I love this photo! 

We Sabourins are all big fans of Cedarwell! Erik's song are so melodic and lyrically rich. Seriously, I dare you to try and get "Burn up the Sky," performed beautifully in the video below, out of your head or to not be moved and totally captivated by THIS one. It's good, good stuff!

On the health front, Mary and Elijah seem much better but now Priscilla has come down with a slight fever and oh my, the drama! That Prissy's a real character - my own miniature Scarlett O'Hara (How will I ever go on if I miss tomorrow's spelling test?!). 

Take care of yourselves, friends, and your own under the weather babies! 

Cedarwell - Burn Up The Sky:Which One? from LaundroMatinee on Vimeo.

Family Ties: 29 of 365

Higher, mama!

 Against my better judgement, I said, "sure," when she asked me to swing her. Yes, she was feverish and queasy but this house - it was starting to smell/feel/taste like an infirmary. A breath of fresh air seemed liked a spectacular idea to both of us. 

So far I'm footloose and symptom-free! I tried to take advantage of this against all odds state of affairs by madly washing clothes and scrubbing toilets - whenever I wasn't fetching glasses of orange juice, taking temperatures and adjusting blankets for those on the "sick sofa," that is.   

There's a real feeling of camaraderie around here I find heartening and optimistic, like maybe we are, as a whole, linked together by more than just status updates and clever tweets after all. My neighbors have been calling to check in, compare notes. "Do you need anything?" I've been asked a total of three times this afternoon by fellow moms with their own sick children running out to pick up milk, prescriptions, popsicles at the grocery store. How satisfying, like way more fulfilling than new boots or iPhone apps, is sharing your day-to-day life with others, being a part of something bigger than your own self, your own worries. I forgot that for a minute and am very grateful for the reminder. 

It's time that me and my grungy self (oh yeah, I am a real treat to look at right now) snuggled up on the couch with my husband. Thank you so much for your prayers! I think we are starting to turn a corner around here. Blessings to you!!

Higher, mama!: 28 of 365

Inevitable

I feel like this drying out, solitary leaf, watching everybody else fall around me, knowing my own current position, as one of the last women standing, is precarious at best.  Mary and Elijah are hot with fevers. It won't be long, I am assuming, before this nasty, aggressive flu holding our little town hostage worms its way into the rest of our stomachs, chests, heads. 

I'm off to douse to myself in Lysol and dig out my nurses hat! 

Last man standing: 27 of 365

Home Sweet Home

Staying at home with my children hasn't always been easy...or enjoyable. I won't pretend there weren't weeks at a time (especially in the beginning when my kids were still babies) when I woke up in tears, overwhelmed by the long hours ahead of me - me alone with their needs and demands. I was so hard on myself, so quick to judge. There were altogether too many reminders in and around my house (temper tantrums, unmade beds, high-fructose corn syrup-laced snacks, Elmo DVDs, vegetable intolerances, etc.) of my seeming incompetence.   

I didn't/couldn't realize then that me just adoring them, hugging and kissing them, laughing with them, reading to them, filling their tiny tummies, and praying for them was having more of an impact on their development than my lack of organic, sugar-free baking skills or money for fancy Old Town School of Folk Music "mom and tot" classes.  It never occurred to me that those crash on the couch while my toddlers watched television and the dishes remained unwashed, "just getting through it," kind of days would be inevitable, me being human and imperfect and subject to exhaustion and all.

It's not that I don't still worry or berate myself (ahh, the plights of motherhood), but within the last three years or so, I have, in the healthiest way possible, lowered my own expectations thus reducing significantly my susceptibility to despair. Perhaps I've become more aware of the fragility of life and the lightning speed with which it passes; maybe it finally dawned on me that my sons and daughters seem to be healthy and happy so far despite my numerous foibles - whatever the reason, I am relieved that what once felt claustrophobic now brings me genuine, enduring peace and satisfaction. 

Yesterday morning, Ben had a low-grade fever so I had three of my four kids around instead of just the two. Usually, we're pretty busy between public, pre, and homeschool; so often, now, I gaze exasperatedly at the clock (5:00 pm?!) wondering where in the world the afternoon went. It was a nice change of pace, having nowhere to be, nothing urgent to do. Presently, we're all on the verge of illness, just waiting and watching to see which will way the tide will turn. It feels like someone has pressed "pause'; I dare not make too many plans lest we end up succumbing to the subtle aches in our heads, the fluttering nausea in our bellies (like everyone else in our neighborhood seems to have done) and have to cancel them. It's pleasant, every once in awhile, to not think ahead, to just stay in my jammies and be. I am here, with my family, caring for them the best, flawed, way I know how.

 We parents are neck deep in such a beautiful and complicated mess, one caked with uncertainties, inconveniences and love so intense, so Divine, it transcends death, disillusionment and even, most amazing of all, our own screw-ups. What other choice is there besides falling, forgiving, standing back up and redoubling our efforts? Those kids can sure get on my nerves, push my buttons and tear at my heart. I want nothing more in this world than to have them near me. 

Home Sweet Home: 26 of 365