The Odyssey of Samwise Gamgee

Are We Surprised?

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Gamgee) — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 20:03:00 +0000

Last night I had a rotten dream. It could have been a nice quiet happy dream, full of good friends hanging out at the usual Starbucks. But then someone else walked in and started yapping at me.

David*, your mouth is talking. You should see to that.

First, who invited him into this dream?

Second, why am I dreaming in Firefly?

One of my friends steered him away from us as another muttered a choice comment.

Yeah, but he's right, I responded.

That's where it got me. In the dream, I went outside and assaulted the nearest light pole until my commenter friend stopped me and let me cry on him.

The dream ended there.

I forgot about it, and the day went fine for a couple hours, until something reminded me. Then his words kept echoing, and I very quickly reached the point of wanting to scream and beat some inanimate object.

The thing is, if the comment in the dream hadn't had such an appearance of truth, it wouldn't have mattered. If it hadn't hit directly on a spot that's already raw, it wouldn't have mattered. If it hadn't come in such an entirely plausible manner, it wouldn't have mattered. But the whole scenario could absolutely be played out in real life, and the comment, which looks awfully true at this point, hit a very raw spot.

It didn't take long before breathing became difficult. I posted to Twitter.

GRAR!!!!!

Almost immediately, Counselor popped up with a direct message. (I heart Trillian and its new Twitter client!)

Problem?

Stupid dream last night is getting to me. I'll live.

And a few minutes later I was fine. I know she was praying for me. I also know that dream was somehow a result of my decision to end the counseling.

The offending comment was a new twist on one of the voices that's been in my head for a while. It's one that Abbess Michaila at the monastery told me might speak up. I didn't expect it to speak up in a dream, but there it was, and it rattled me pretty good.

But there were a few things that voice wasn't counting on. My friends, for example- the ones in the dream as well as Counselor. Two in the dream responded in rather helpful manners. Yes, I know it was a dream, but there are things to take from this. For one thing, my dreams have not always been quite so benevolent. Also, I could see them both doing the same thing were this to actually happen.

Once I made all these connections, the whole thing made so much sense that I had to laugh. Of course if I think I'm ready to wrap up counseling, something's going to go wonky in my mind. Of course I need to watch out for these voices. Even in my sleep I can be aware that they only have power if I let them, just as, apparently, even in my sleep I know I'm not fighting them on my own anymore.

There are still some monsters in my head, but maybe there will always be. I have the tools I need, though, to fight them.

Yes, I am ready.

*This may or may not be his actual name.

May It Be

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Gamgee) — Mon, 14 Dec 2009 23:49:00 +0000

When I started this post, I was sitting here, looking at a blank box, and my iPod, in the middle of the soundtrack playlist, played "May It Be" from the end of the first Lord of the Rings movie. I immediately got the mental image of Frodo and Sam looking out over Emyn Muil.

                FRODO
          Mordor!   I hope the others find a safer road.

                    SAM
          Strider'll look after them.

                    FRODO
          I don't suppose we'll ever see them again.

                    SAM
          We may yet, Mr. Frodo. We may.

                     FRODO
          Sam? I'm glad you're with me.

I'm not sure why that picture seemed so appropriate, but it nearly brought me to tears.

When I lost my job in August, several expenses had to go. I have not maneuvered myself out of all of them yet, but I cut counseling to twice a month immediately. So it has been for the last four months, and when I see Counselor again this Thursday, I'll cut it back again to once a month. I'll see her once in January and once in February, and then I'll be finished.

So a four year chapter draws to a close. It has been a very beneficial chapter. When I started, I could barely function through the constant panic attacks. Even as late as a year ago, I could not believe I'd ever be ready for this. But here it is, and yes, I am ready.

But that doesn't mean I'm not going to cry.

Best Laid Plans

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Gamgee) — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 16:43:00 +0000

My Godmother and I recently discovered the movie Arranged. It is the parallel stories of two young women, one Muslim, the other, Orthodox Jew. They work together at a school in New York, and they share with each other the frustrations and excitement of their specific cultural matchmaking processes. While I would not want to have to function in either of those systems, exactly, I can certainly appreciate the safety net of working these things out within the context of one's community rather than individually!

I had intended to start writing regularly through the Nativity season, but the first two weeks seem to have gotten away from me.

I had expected to write about a certain young man who was rather intriguing, but that was also not to be.

A few friends and I went to a monastery in Arizona for Thanksgiving. I was hoping to have some reflections from that time, but it turned out to be not the most reflective environment. Still, perhaps there is a story here worth remembering.

It all began at the beginning of November. There was a message from some new someone on the Orthodox dating site I had joined. His message and his profile did not send up any red flags, and his picture was rather nice to look at, so we started conversing.

We had so much in common in some ways, and in other ways, we were enough different to keep things interesting. He was easy to talk with, and he seemed to really like me. Were the memory of the last guy not so clear, it would have been ridiculously easy to fall hard for this one. However, that memory is still clear, I seem to have learned those lessons well, and Fr Patrick helped with the occasional kind reminder that things online are not always quite as they seem.

I was thrilled when Fr Patrick decided to call my friend's priest to see if this might be a suitable arrangement, and when he reported that it would not be, I was fully on board. At first. As the next two days went by, though, I became confused. My friend wanted to pursue a resolution to what he perceived to be a miscommunication. I wanted to follow my spiritual father's advice, but I also wanted to not miss what looked like a very good opportunity.

God is merciful. I was handed a good amount of time to sort things out. Fr Patrick left for a pilgrimage two days after hearing from the other priest, so there was no way to pursue anything without cutting him out, which both my friend and I were unwilling to do. Then, for Thanksgiving weekend, I made my own pilgrimage with some friends to a monastery in Arizona.

It was an eight hour drive to get to St Paisius Monastery. We arrived on Thursday afternoon, just as vespers was letting out. We went directly to dinner, then to compline, then, finally to our lodging for the weekend. After settling in, I spent the next hour reading the book I had brought along.

I received the book Dorotheos of Gaza for my birthday from some very special people, and for various reasons it spent the summer and most of the fall being preempted by other reading. This turned out to be fortuitous, for I began reading Dorotheos at the monastery that first night.

The book had things to say to me, even before I finished reading the introduction. There was an anecdote on the subject of obedience and humility, the telling of which reached right into the middle of the confusion I had regarding my friend and my spiritual father.

I continued to read a bit each day we were there, in between other activities, and the decision I arrived at that first night was reinforced each time I picked up the book.

Before we went to the monastery, Fr Patrick had directed me to make time to talk with Abbess Michaila about the situation. I made my request to one of the sisters early in the day Friday, though by then we knew what was in store for Saturday, so I was not at all sure the meeting would happen.

Saturday. Wow. So, one expects a trip to a monastery to be a quiet, reflective time. One does not necessarily expect to accidentally arrive the weekend of the monastery's patronal feast. When the liturgy thereof is to be celebrated in the new church for the first time. Which prompted nearly two hundred people to show up for the occasion. Many things were on the schedule for the day. Quiet was not among them. However, there was a good dose of Slavonic in the liturgy, and during the ginormous lunch afterward, there were many people speaking Slavic languages, some Russian, others Serbian, or with good strong Slavic accents. Mmmmmm. This did make for a happy spider. Adding to the noise of two hundred people, and at the same time quieting it, was the dust storm that lasted most of the day. The winds were loud, but they encouraged the crowd of visitors not to linger, meanwhile driving us into the shelter and relative solitude of the trailer we were staying in. I continued my reading.

Finally, I received word that the abbess would meet with me during vespers Saturday afternoon. We had decided to head home at four Sunday morning, so I had nearly given up on seeing her at all. As it turned out, I got to spend about an hour talking with her. She managed to affirm my decision and even gave an answer to my last internal argument on the subject at hand before I had asked the question. This is most excellent. Much was said in that time, and when we wrapped up, she sent me to the class that Fr Dorotheos (the priest, or at least monk- not so clear on that- at the monastery, whose patron I had been reading all weekend) was teaching in another part of the building. She told me to introduce myself to him and let him know that she would be speaking with him regarding me.

It would seem that I, inadvertently, now have the abbess and the monk thinking in matchmaking terms.

In addition to a number of people in my own parish.

There is still a fear-of-the-unknown factor.

This is somewhat alarming.

And a bit unnerving.

And fantastic.

On Journey and Destination

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Gamgee) — Tue, 29 Sep 2009 17:58:00 +0000

The 2003 Russia team decided that rather than break the thirteen hour flight from LA to Moscow into two pieces with a layover, we wanted to try the direct flight. We mentally girded ourselves for a thirteen hour non-stop flight across eleven time zones and all the fun physical and psychological adventures that would entail. One never reaches a destination unmarked by the journey.

Two weeks before departure, we found out that the lovely, trustworthy, and incredibly reliable airline had neglected to actually book our tickets. Two weeks before departure, we were unsure whether there would be a departure, but through a bit of fancy footwork, we managed to secure alternate arrangements. One never reaches a destination unmarked by the journey.

We did not have our non-stop flight. In fact, the flight home was a two day tour of five airports in four countries. We left Moscow for Frankfurt, spent the night there, continued to Heathrow, then Dulles, then LA. The layovers in London and Washington were three hours each. By the time we boarded the plane to leave England, not one of us had a filter remaining between brain and mouth. By the time we took off from DC, we were emotionally fried. One never reaches a destination unmarked by the journey.

My journey to Orthodoxy was no different. Bumps in the road left dents and scratches. Various forks in the road, in retrospect, pointed me in this direction. Series of dramas forced me to evaluate things. Three specific friends directly influenced my thinking toward the Orthodox Church. I did not come to Orthodoxy as a blank slate. One never reaches a destination unmarked by the journey.

Except it turns out there were more than just the three. This morning, we had a visitor in matins. It was Big Brother Pastor, from the church I used to go to. It had been way too long since he and I had had a chance to hang out, so he came to visit. We- everyone present- were talking after the service, and some of the thoughts coming from my brother were somewhat surprising to me. Had he not made his comments as one in the Protestant milieu, he could easily have been mistaken for Orthodox. I have known this man in a pastoral context for over sixteen years. It was surprising to hear him expressing so many things that I had discovered as I first encountered Orthodoxy. But was it really that surprising? Not so much.

I have talked before about disconnects between belief and teaching. I'd like to come at that again, though from a different angle. I suspect that some of the training I received growing up was many of the right thoughts packaged in the wrong words. This is not necessarily the fault of any of my teachers; the cause of this mispackaging lies deep in history.

Neither is it merely a question of semantics. Words have power, and the words we use to speak of God things shape our beliefs regarding those God things. Yes, we use words to give expression to what we believe, but the reverse is equally, if not more, true. So truth, expressed in the wrong words, can be missed or misunderstood or confused in the hearing.

I suspect that there are people outside of Orthodoxy who have a very Orthodox understanding of things, but they are unable to rightly give that understanding expression. It would be like trying to speak Latin with a Spanish vocabulary. The languages are related, indeed one came out of the other, but languages change over time. Words that look the same may sound wildly different or carry very different meanings. Juan down the street is going to have trouble expressing what he reads in Virgil unless he first learns to understand Virgil's language and context.

So there I was, hearing an Orthodox understanding on certain things being spoken by my friend, the Protestant pastor. But, as I said, I knew him as my pastor for a very long time. I am fairly sure I had never heard him give voice to many of those thoughts, but I am absolutely certain that they have long been present in the subtext of who he his. And in fourteen and a half years, I could not help but pick up on these ways of thinking.

It may be that, with him as my pastor, it was nearly inevitable that I would become Orthodox. After all, one never reaches a destination unmarked by the journey.

Catching Up

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Gamgee) — Tue, 22 Sep 2009 19:47:00 +0000

I wasn't expecting September. I tried to keep up with the summer as it marched along, but a few weeks ago -THUD- I ran headlong into September.

First there was June, with Nora the Exuberant's wedding. It was my first Orthodox wedding experience, and my first time inside the Greek church just a few blocks from where I grew up. And I got to be part of the choir for the wedding! How cool is that?

Before the wedding, I discovered that Nora's new parish in Pennsylvania is the same parish where my good friend Why has been attending since Pascha. So my two friends are now friends with each other. How cool is that?

July was particularly determined to outdistance me. I started and ended the month house sitting, with several other jobs in between. I was rarely sure whether I was coming or going or where I was going or even where I lived! But it was a bit of an adventure, and in the process, I learned a few things about myself.

Somewhere in the dust of August was a reunion with my two bestest friends from grade school days. We went to church together. Two of us went to school and celebrated our birthdays together. The third was homeschooled, so when we had events, we tended to bring her along. Our parents liked each other and our brothers were similarly aged, though the youngest boy was and remains fairly anti-social. We were the inseparable trio until we were ten, and we got the three of us together for the first time since the early 90's.

There was a road trip a few days later. The day after I lost my job, I drove to my aunt's house in Central California. After a couple days there, I headed north again to my grandpa's relatives in the Sacramento area. My great uncle, his wife, two of their kids and their families live within a half mile of each other. I knew no one from my generation in that branch of the family prior to that trip, but now I've met several of them.

Yes, you read that right. The job, it is gone. As a result, August closed with this spider relocating once again, this time to her Godmother's place. Whee! That makes four moves in three years, for those who are keeping track. But this time around, it really has turned out well. I won't be here long, and I have no idea where I'll be next, but I do know I'll be fine.

September has been interesting. I built a web site for my priest. It's not quite done, but nearly. There is another web site for another priest in the queue, though I have not heard back on that one yet. There has been some discussion regarding what I want to do with my life, and I think I finally know.

In fact, I need to make the phone call that will give me a starting point for that direction...

Well, Hullo There, Samwise Gamgee

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Gamgee) — Mon, 13 Jul 2009 14:11:00 +0000

I have a sneaking suspicion that summer has arrived. I really have no idea where I get these crazy ideas. I mean, it's only 100° F in the afternoons, and sure, half my parish is off on various trips, resulting in the situation in which I currently find myself. I have been living in multiple locations for the last several weeks. But really, two consecutive house sitting gigs for a running total of three and a half weeks... This is not a sign of summer, is it? ... Oh...

So, house sitting. It has been fun. First there was the nice house that is way too big for one person, even with two cats and a dog. That's right. Two. Cats. Jumping on me in the middle of the night. Cats running across the bed at three in the morning. I swear they were playing tag. What the...?!? No worries. We have ways of dealing with these things.

The dog was great. She's a yellow lab, a little needy, or perhaps demanding, but very friendly and obedient. And hairy. She sheds enough on any given day to make another dog. I found myself accessorizing with dog hair on a daily basis.

The day I came home from there (with cats still intact and dog no less hairy... how does she do that?), I was handed another house to watch. This one is a condo with no animals, but there are plenty of plants to water.

Except, this morning, there was an animal.

As I made my way through the house closing windows, I noticed one window had grown an appendage or eight. I attempted to take a closer look, in order to decide if I needed to do something about it or not. The spider's hindquarters had a distinctly reddish glow.

Ugh. I hate dealing with bugs. I really hate dealing with spiders, and this one had a rather nefarious look about her, what with the reddish glow. Everything in me wanted to ignore her out of existence, but that, of course is unlikely to happen. Now, I cannot say that this was the variety of spider that I sincerely hoped it wasn't, but I certainly did not want to chance anything. Good grief, what kind of issues would I inflict on myself if I left her alone and her bite turned out to be venomous?

No, Sam Gamgee, once again, you have to buck up and deal with it. If you don't, well...

It was me and the spider. The face-off was epic. Time bent into something like a pretzel, which, interestingly, is about how my insides felt. Seconds became minutes. Minutes turned around and stuck their tongues out at me, waggling their fingers in mockery.

I moved here, she went there. I tried this, she answered with that. Ten minutes- or, perhaps one. I have no idea- we danced around each other. Finally, though, I had her outside. In the garden. In a jar.

The flower bed got a really good watering this morning.

Well, Hello Again, Voices

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Gamgee) — Sat, 09 May 2009 21:39:00 +0000

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?

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Gamgee) — Mon, 27 Apr 2009 05:39:00 +0000

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!

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Gamgee) — Sun, 19 Apr 2009 07:01:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Gamgee) — Fri, 17 Apr 2009 05:54:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Gamgee) — Sun, 15 Mar 2009 23:11:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Gamgee) — Mon, 09 Mar 2009 02:17:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Gamgee) — Sat, 07 Mar 2009 01:31:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Gamgee) — Thu, 19 Feb 2009 04:30:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Gamgee) — Tue, 20 Jan 2009 02:23:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Gamgee) — Sat, 10 Jan 2009 18:52:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Gamgee) — Fri, 09 Jan 2009 21:46:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Gamgee) — Thu, 08 Jan 2009 21:38:00 +0000

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!

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Gamgee) — Tue, 06 Jan 2009 06:09:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Gamgee) — Mon, 05 Jan 2009 02:01:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Gamgee) — Sat, 27 Dec 2008 06:34:00 +0000

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.

*****************************
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.

*****************************
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.

*****************************
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.

*****************************
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!

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Gamgee) — Thu, 25 Dec 2008 08:13:00 +0000

Catching Up

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Gamgee) — Tue, 16 Dec 2008 06:42:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Gamgee) — Sat, 22 Nov 2008 19:53:00 +0000

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!

noreply@blogger.com (Sam Gamgee) — Wed, 19 Nov 2008 03:52:00 +0000

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!