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The Way I See It: Evening

 

 

O Eternal God, King of all creation who has kept me safe to attain this hour.

 

 

 

 

Forgive me the sins I've committed this day in thought, word and deed. And cleanse, O Lord, my humble soul from every stain of flesh and spirit.

 

 

 

 

Grant me to pass this night in peace, to rise from my bed and to praise your holy name all the days of my life.

 

 

 

 

And to vanquish the enemies, both corporeal and incorporeal, that contend against me.

 

 

 

 

Deliver me, O God, from the vain thoughts that stain me and from evil desires.

 

 

 

 

For Thine is the Kingdom and the power and the glory of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit

 

 

 

Now and ever and unto ages of ages,

Amen.

(an Orthodox evening prayer)

 

I'm putting my "the Way I See It" post up a day early because tomorrow morning, I'll be heading to the Women in Healing Ministries Conference  at Holy Dormition Monastery in Rives Junction, Mi. I'm so looking forward to soaking in the services and lectures.

 

 I found this theme to be challenging, what with the lack of sunlight available and all. It was a good challenging, though. I spent more time with my tripod than usual, that's for sure. Do you have any evening photos to share? If so, please link to your blog in the comment section below.

 Next week's The Way  I See It theme will be: Peace

Have a beautiful weekend!

 

 

How shall we greet him?

 

Truth

by Gwendolyn Brooks

 

And if sun comes

How shall we greet him?

Shall we not dread him,

Shall we not fear him

After so lengthy a

Session with shade?

 

Though we have wept for him,

Though we have prayed

All through the night-years—

What if we wake one shimmering morning to

Hear the fierce hammering

Of his firm knuckles

Hard on the door?

 

Shall we not shudder?—

Shall we not flee

Into the shelter, the dear thick shelter

Of the familiar

Propitious haze?

 

Sweet is it, sweet is it

To sleep in the coolness

Of snug unawareness.

 

The dark hangs heavily

Over the eyes.

 

I’m reading a riveting story for book club about an Olympic athlete turned army hero during World War II. It’s called Unbroken, by Laura Hillenbrand. I cannot put it down, nor can I imagine how utterly frightening it must have been to become suddenly immersed in a world war, where a generation of young men and women were drafted into active duty leaving those behind who adored them in a constant state of loss and worry.  All the big and little liberties you took for granted would become heart wrenching memories revisited over and over again in the dark of night, in the dark of day.  Everywhere you went, every plan you made would be accompanied by burning thoughts of your own, and your loved one’s, mortality.  You couldn’t escape death if you tried.

 

I’ve never been exposed first-hand to the horrors of war, poverty, a fatal illness or persecution, making it irresistibly tempting to postpone or muffle the difficult questions born of not assuming tomorrow is a guarantee. I’m in danger at every moment of becoming sedated by the luxury of freedom, to eat when I want, worship how I want, say what I want, entertain myself however I want, to hold my healthy children in my arms. My current unconstrained lifestyle easily lends itself to a “Christ and...”  mentality, meaning  Christ defines a part of me, as does motherhood, writing, photography, the Midwest, etc.  I am dedicated to all of those aspects of my person, like I am dedicated to good oral hygiene or eating a protein-rich breakfast every morning. What I’m missing you see is a sense of urgency  - the kind that culls the eternal from the temporal -  a sense of urgency  not concerned with reputation. 

 

Everything in this life passes away, wrote Father Seraphim Rose, – only God remains, only He is worth struggling towards. We have a choice: to follow the way of this world, of the society that surrounds us, and thereby find ourselves outside of God; or to choose the way of life, to choose God who calls us and for whom our heart is searching.

 

For a chronic people pleaser like myself, this greyless suggestion we draw a clear and permanent line in the sand is awfully hard to swallow. Most of us are leery anymore of that which seems too “extreme.” We like ourselves a little bit of wiggle room, to debate, justify our positions and reprioritize as our impulses see fit.  I squirm at the idea of aligning myself so completely and unapologetically with Christ, not only because that kind of commitment is very demanding but also because it pretty much guarantees I’ll be lumped in by society with those who’ve done and declared ridiculous things, unloving things, in His name.  I like your Christ, said Ghandi, I do not like your Christians. They are so unlike your Christ.

 

I’ve done my share of backpedaling, distancing myself from fundamentalism, and from various church scandals, explaining,  “Oh, I don’t believe that either... I’m Orthodox.”   Or “That’s not my parish, not my country, not my jurisdiction.”  Oh, goodness...how prideful of me to think it’s my duty to protect Christ from the various skeletons in Christianity’s closet  (especially considering all of my own shameful hypocrisies) or from Church teachings that fly directly in the face of what society deems as right and good. 

 

Jesus warned us upfront in the book of Matthew we will be despised simply because of His name...no matter how likeable or relevant we make ourselves out to be.  That’s part of the deal! Attempting to spin faith in Christ, for your sake, for my sake, for their sake, into something more palatable, less crazy sounding, is an utter waste of time – time I cannot afford to squander.  Look, and I know I must sound like a broken record with this but I swear to you I’ll forget if I don’t remind myself like every other second, I’ve got but one single job to do:

 

Love the Lord my God with all my heart and all my strength, and love my neighbor as myself.

 

 Only by living solely for loving and serving others boldly, as Christ did while on earth, thereby accepting meekly the disdain of this world, as He did, will I attain salvation (from death, vanity, fear, hatred) or ever possibly be a light in the darkness.   I’m not the Holy Spirit, it’s so not my responsibility to convince anyone of anything. But I will absolutely, positively be held accountable for forgiving and being merciful to others, expecting nothing in return, as God has forgiven and been so merciful to me.  Why is the truth, it would seem, revealed to some and not to others? wrote Father Seraphim Rose. Is there a special organ for receiving revelation from God? Yes, though usually we close it and do not let it open up: God’s revelation is given to something called a loving heart.

 

There is no making sense of the Kingdom of Heaven, no less invasive shortcut. It requires a big old sacrificial, uncomfortable leap of faith to risk everything for it regardless, discovering a mysterious peace that passes all understanding in the process. How then would I live if I knew my death or some other tragedy were imminent? How would I greet the Son if He came hammering on my door? Not like this, I hope - all scattered, self obsessed and only half paying attention. Lord Jesus Christ, son of the Living God, have mercy upon me a sinner.

 

Forgive me my snug unawareness. 

 

live each day with care

 

It's 12:45 pm and I'm still wearing what I slept in. Thus far my Monday has consisted of laundry. Period. Those nasty cobwebs taunting me from the corners, where they 've brazenly gathered to advertise like flashing billboards all I don't have to offer (domestically speaking), must be ignored. And the upstairs bathroom with the mildewing towel smell?  Oh good grief, don't even get me started.

No, today is laundry day. Laundry only. I can't trust myself to multi-task. For me multi-tasking too often ends up with yours truly searching for bargains in the overstock section at Landsend.com. How could that possibly happen, you ask?

Mmmm-hmmmm. Exactly.

 

Anyway, I was shoving t-shirts into the boys' dressers when I looked down and found a bright blue sheet of paper at my feet on which was typed the following:

Live each day with care...

as if it were your last on earth,

and with anticipation...

as if it were the first one of the rest of your life.

 

 
 

I have no idea where the paper with the quote came from, and sure, it's a bit corny - like slap it on a poster and hang it in a conference room corny - but nonetheless it felt to this grumbly mom like a much needed mid-afternoon pep talk:

You've still got hours to go until this September 26th, 2011 passes on, never to return again;  make them count. Even laundry (and jammie) only days can be infused with purpose and meaning. Pray for your friends/neighbors/family while folding those leggings. Pray for your enemies. Prepare yourself for the evening rush of dinner/homework/bedtime. Quiet your soul. Implore God now for patience. You're going to need it.

Count your blessings. 

 

And, ahhh, there's the annoying as heck dryer timer! errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

I'm off, my friends, to replenish our clean underwear supply,  hopefully a little more mindful now of my, yours, our salvation.

 Peace to you.  

 

The Way I See It: Autumn

 

 Autumn and me: a self-portrait

 

It wasn't the smoothest of mornings; let's just say I could actually feel my blood boiling by 7:15 am.  I'd cracked, and oozing out from the resulting fissures poured stress and anger.

  

 

apples from our Harvest festival

 

"How about we say our morning prayers," my daughter suggested on our drive to school, in an effort to cool the rising tension turning me all Dr. Jekyll-ish .

So that was humbling.

 

 

 Pumpkin spice lattes. Oh good gracious, those are delicious. Featured in this photo: my beautiful sister-in-law, Paige, and delectable niece, Annie.

 

But bless her heart, she knows exactly what her mama needs to refocus, to start over when I don't have the energy for starting over because I'm already spent from surrendering to, and flailing around directionless in, frustration. 

 

 

 

There's a cornfield across the street. Yesterday was the first time I ever saw it up close. Yep, it's full of corn alright.

 

 O Heavenly King, I obediently started aloud, O Comforter, the Spirit of Truth, who art everywhere present and fillest all things. Treasury of blessings and giver of life, come and abide in us and cleanse us from our sins, and save our souls, O Good One.

 

I laid my tired soul down, just as I was, on the sureness of my compassionate Christ.

 

 

 Crimson colored leaves never ever get old to me.

  

Then, after dropping the kids off, opened my driver's side window, cranked up some soothing Sara Watkins tunes (my fall soundtrack), marveled at the autumn glory settling in like an old friend and breathed in, then out again.

 

If you have any Autumn photos to share, I'd love to see them! My linky tool is acting up so please just paste a link to your blog in my comment section. Next week's The Way I See It theme will be: Evening.

Have a blessed weekend, my sweet friends.

 

You gotta know when to hold 'em

 

 

Taking Time to Grow

Mary Mapes Dodge 

‘Mamma! mamma!’ two eaglets cried,

‘To let us fly you’ve never tried.

We want to go outside and play;

We’ll promise not to go away.’

The mother wisely shook her head:

‘No, no, my dears. Not yet,’ she said.

 

‘But, mother dear,’ they called again,

‘We want to see those things called men,

And all the world so grand and gay,

Papa described the other day.

And – don’t you know? – he told you then

About a little tiny wren,

That flew about so brave and bold,

When it was scarcely four weeks old?’

 

But still the mother shook her head;

‘No, no, my dears, not yet,’ she said.

‘Before you see the world below,

Far bigger you will have to grow.

There’s time enough to look for men;

And as for wrens – a wren’s a wren.

What if your freedom does come late?

An eaglet can afford to wait.’

 

 

You gotta know when to park your tush on the sofa while the hours hurdle on leaving your grandiose plans for being all productive and such in the dust, that you might bring a little comfort to the hacking, feverish sprite of a daughter sacked out soundly in your arms. And conversely, you gotta pray (because it's not quite as intuitive) to know when to unlock those protective arms, answering "sure" when asked by your oldest two if they might stroll around town together (as in, without their dad and me) to check out the festival going on.

 

You gotta give thanks for the quiet down times, for the opportunities to become a soothing balm to your wounded babies, as well as for the triumphant grins of new found freedom on the faces of your independence-hungry darlings as they return home from that said festival,  now giggling together over sights and sounds I, as their admittedly anxious mama, was not privy to.

 

I gotta trust with all my heart that, if I seek first after righteousness, the wisdom I so  desperately need for unselfishly deciding, and courageously declaring: "yes," "go," "stay," "no," "I don't care what everyone else's parents in this whole neighborhood let their kids do, or have..." shall be given unto me.

 

 This whole mothering gig is really serious stuff. It's by no means easy to buck the system - to continue a cycle  in which compassion, resilience, creativity, sacrificial love is prized over wealth, popularity, even comfort -a cycle mercifully gifted me by own parents in the hopes such eternal virtues would trickle down to their grandchildren, great-grandchildren. Wouldn't it be something to raise human beings set on breeding, for generations to come, more, more and more light, mercy and beauty?

 

I gotta be patient with my children's progress (as Christ is ever patient with mine), and remain connected emotionally to them - which sometimes requires silliness on my part, sometimes silence, sometimes laaaate night heart to hearts.   I gotta squelch my expectations ( and put blinders on to others' expectations) and spend a little more time in front of my icon corner learning to let go: "Into Your hands, O Lord, I commend our spirits and our bodies. Bless us, save us, and grant us eternal life."

Amen.

 

What saves and makes for good children is the life of the parents in the home.  The parents need to devote themselves to the love of God.  They need to become saints in their relations to their children through their mildness, patience, and love.  They need to make a new start every day, with a fresh outlook, renewed enthusiasm and love for their children.

- Elder Porphyrios

a blast from the past

 

 

"Now this would have been the dining room," Betty the tour guide explained, "and over there was the living room. Their kitchen was out back." I was front and center, captivated, all caught up in the remarkableness of an era pre-dating washing machines and mega-stores,  asking follow up questions.

My kids, though, were not content to merely ponder an existence void of modern conveniences. To them the historic Bailley Homestead was a living, breathing time machine beckoning those with still intact imaginations to fully immerse themselves in the past.

Once they grabbed themselves some Laura Ingalls style vests and aprons from the dress-up racks on display, I vanished, right along with Betty and the couple beside me on the tour with their cell phones and fancy sneakers. Without an ounce of inhibition,  my daughter, son and niece donned their roles as industrious Bailley family members in the late-1800's with seriousness and gusto. 

"Honey, please go and milk the cows," my oldest girl requested (with a misplaced cockney accent) of my youngest boy, sounding tired, yes, but still stoic. There was so much work to be done! Oh the scrubbing that took place, and mending. I was exhausted just watching them from my where I sat in the corner, pleasantly resigned to the fact we were going be there awhile. 

 

 

 

And  I took in my ragamuffins with the shredded shoelaces and eclectic period attire, immune momentarily to the lures of Justice brand skinny jeans and iPod Touches, to being dictated by trends or a penchant for acceptance.  I ached with appreciation for their bold creativity,  and colorful idiosyncrasies. Despite my faults as a mother, they are flourishing, blooming like wildflowers - teaching me a thing or two about shaking off "if onlys" and societal expectations.  

 

What if I was in the regular habit of unselfconsciously getting my "just for the heck of it,"  why walk when you can skip because we only live once, groove on?   I think I'd shimmer down to my core; no more self-applied, surface level varnishing to make me "look" better. I would be better. I would love the skin I'm in, the house I'm in, the "now"  I'm in. I'd wear my smile like a top hat, and flash it generously.

The Way I See It: Joy

 

My "joy" photos were all taken at a wedding we attended last Saturday.

 

* (and the songs featured in this post are written and performed by the band Cedarwell, A.K.A Erik G. Neave, the ecstatic groom) 

 

 

It was joy-filled alright - a sweet amalgam of love, family, food, drink and music . 

 

 

 I can't help when I'm at a wedding but to think of my own. 

 

 

There I am, all of 22-years-old again in my mother's wedding dress, and high-heeled shoes too narrow for my feet, blissfully oblivious to the hurdles looming ahead. 

 

 

That first layer of love, the newlywed layer, is gauzy and delicate as a bridal veil. 

 

 

Then weeks turn into years and the bond between husband and wife is tested, that first layer torn by pregnancies, children, grad school, school loans, by two different personalities with two different methods of communicating, stretching and humbling a couple the hard way.

 

 

 Via the stitching together of a thousand sacrifices, compromises and apologies, however, a new sturdier layer is constructed, more durable (weatherproof) than sparkly - but sometimes still sparkly.

Sometimes, more sparkly than ever.

 

 

I am in love with love that "bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things (I Cor. 13:7)". 

 

 

I find great joy in looking back and realizing, with no small amount of wonder and gratitude, how far my darling groom and I have already come, since then when we were staring into the canyon preparing to hold hands and jump.  

 

 

 

 It's good to reflect on the lessons learned (what doesn't kill ya, makes you stronger), important to celebrate the milestones reached, despite the obstacles in our path.

 

 

And on we continue, more one than two...or six I should say. True love begets more love - loud, messy, "keeps you always on your toes" love. Love you rock to sleep and pray you can carry with an open hand.

  

 

 Congratulations to Erik and Meaghan! Cling tightly to one another, be ye bound up in Christ, in Whom love, perseverance and forgiveness is continually replenished! 

 

 

Peace and joy to you, lovelies! Live happily fully in the present ever after - where our merciful God and thus healing resides.

 

 

Our prayers, hearts and support are with you. 

 

 

Do you have a photo of "Joy" to share? Link to it below.

Next week's theme will be Autumn.

unshakable

my big kid in the big city

 

Well, I am finally awake. After one crazy whirlwind of a weekend, I pretty much crashed. I slept and slept and slept; it was exactly what my body needed. Too bad life doesn't pause when I need to pause. I've got lots of catching up to do. 

 

In a minute here, I'll take a walk with my iPod. I've been listening to podcasts from Ancient Faith Radio while I briskly stroll around town. It's good for me physically and spiritually. The podcast I've been listening to most recently is Mysterion: Words Homiletical and Poetical, Reflective and Narrative with Father Richard Rene.   I like it for the same reason I like taking photographs. Photography opens my eyes to a variety of ways of viewing one subject, one landscape. Father Rene has helped me take a fresh new look at ancient spiritual principles and practices, which keeps my faith from becoming stagnant. 

 

As you know, I've been working on purposeful parenting, purposeful living really, as opposed to being steered around aimlessly by my impulses and emotions. Father Rene's two podcasts on dispassion knocked my socks off. I'm still chewing on them - there is a lot to digest. The prospect of learning to live and love without fear, without the pesky ups and downs connected to pride and insecurity  - of becoming unshakable, anchored firmly in Christ - of no longer being a slave to my "feelings" -  is downright liberating. 

 

Here they are if you are interested:

The Principle of Dispassion

More on Dispassion

 

Happy listening! A blessed Tuesday to you!

 xoxoxoxo

 

The Way I See It: Work

 

When you have to speak, before expressing what has entered your heart and letting it pass to your tongue, examine it carefully; and you will find many things that are better not let past your lips.  Know moreover that many things, which it seems to you good to express, are much better left buried in the tomb of silence.

- St. Theophan the Recluse

 

After my last The Way I See It photo challenge, in which I attempted to capture my own personal definition of the term, Home, I randomly picked the word prompt of Work for this week. My assumption was that I'd be racking my brain for ways to make an image of me cleaning the hair out my shower drain somehow artistic. I thought the work  I'd be immersed in would primarily be physical in nature. 

Nope, I did not see the impending emotional/spiritual brouhaha a comin'! 

To make a too long narrative mercifully shorter, I'd gotten stuck in auto pilot mode as far as  mothering was concerned.  With so much on my plate this fall, I'd subconsciously lumped my kids in with my master list of to-do's. Were my children clean-ish? Check. Were they fed? Check. Were their school uniforms washed? Was their homework in their folders? Were their beds made (at least occasionally)? Check. Check. Check. I was a multi-tasking, "hmm-mmm," "That's nice," "Talk to me while I get this other stuff done" mom. If I listened with one ear, I could stay productive, I reasoned - like drivers who text behind the wheel can stay productive...o-o-o-r totally crash, hurting themselves and others. 

We had a bit of a crash over here when my default belief that I am always right, and in the know, because I AM THE ADULT collided with an adolescent burgeoning desire to be truly, fully heard and understood.  Hearts were broken - it stings to be categorized, summarized, only half listened to, and it smarts to be reminded that our children are not ours to force into a box of our own design. Parenting as an afterthought, where decisions are made based on what is least inconvenient or most likely to make me, as the mama, look good and in control, creates relational barriers. When we'd come to an impasse, I prayed and prayed for some kind of guidance (um...I don't know what I'm doing!), and here is the answer I was hit with:

 

Shut your mouth - examine your words, your criticisms before they escape your lips. Re-prioritize. Don't ever presume you can answer your child, discipline your child, negotiate with your child without praying first for wisdom;  you're hardly above falling prey at any moment to the parental pitfalls of defensiveness, pride and fear.

 

I've been working ya'll, laboring away at not overreacting, and staying mindful of my kids' distinct needs and personalities. I've been looking them straight in the eye, offering my full attention, which isn't easy! "This is more important than housework, more important than art, more important than me," I've been repeating like a mantra. I can't get these days, these crucial teaching moments back once they're gone. Now is the time to throw myself into pursuing Christ, at least for the sake of my family. How can I really love them unconditionally (expecting nothing in return) without Christ as my stronghold? How can I forgive limitlessly without a keen awareness of (and deep appreciation for) how often I've been forgiven by God? A one-size parenting system or formula does. not. fit. all. Only Christ can overcome my prejudices, my impulsivity, and only via constant communion with Christ can I possibly know when to compromise and when to put my foot down. 

 

I won't get into the nitty gritty of my particular circumstances, but I can attest, praise God, to the resilience of the parent/child bond.  I am wiped out from being knocked down and shaken awake: "Molly, let go of the dish rag, the camera, the Land's End catalogue and PAY ATTENTION! Your babies are growing and hungry - fill them with a sense of security, compassion, divine beauty and a firm foundation of faith." I am beat, but thankful for do-overs.  I am thankful for the work at hand. It is fulfilling work. It is holy work. The tears, the apologies, the olive branch offered and accepted,  new beginnings:  it's all good. It's all mysteriously necessary. I'm learning as I go. 

 

Do you have a work image to share? Please link to it below. Next week's The Way I See It theme will be: Joy. Happy picture taking! 

 

Blessed Feast of the Nativity of the Theotokos, my friends!

 

Have a wonderful weekend! 

 

 

I rest in the grace of the world

 

 

The Peace of Wild Things

by Wendell Berry

When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

 

 

I was thinking of this poem when I picked my kids up from school and, uncharacteristically, drove us all to the park.

 

 

 

 

I'd been worn and weary...empty. Truth be told, it's been a trying week. One of those phases designed to keep me in my place as a mother, I suppose - humbled,  flexible, prayerful. This middle-aged dog is learning a bunch of new tricks, out of necessity. 

 

 

 

 

Anyhoo, I was  craving a change of scenery, and the feel of the sun on my shoulders. Visiting a nature preserve, where wild things grow, was not really an option so I compromised, making do with perky annuals and a spattering of grounded autumn leaves while my younger three kids played on the swings, the slide, the monkey bars, and while my oldest read.

 

 

 

 

I had my camera with me, of course, and for over an hour I walked slowly, aimlessly, from one end of the park to the other keeping my eye out for interesting images to capture. I spoke to no one. I let my mind clear. And the sun...oh, it did not disappoint. It was a gorgeous afternoon - gorgeously medicinal. 

 

 

 

No, my circumstances didn't change, but I somehow did - just a little, just enough. 

 

 

 

And now onward, ever onward, I go.