Well, Hello Again, Voices

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.


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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?

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!

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



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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

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

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.