Anam Cara

Incarnation of The Beloved...In Two Voices

 

Beloved,
Last time
When you walked through the city
So beautiful and so naked,

You left a thousand women crazy
And impossible to live with.

You left a thousand married men
confused about their gender.

Children ran from their classrooms
and teachers were glad you came.

And the sun tried to break out
Of its royal cage in the sky
And at last, and at last,
Lay its Ancient Love at your feet.

~A Hafiz (1320-1389)

One dark night,
fired with love's urgent longings
- ah, the sheer grace! -
I went out unseen,
my house being now all stilled.

In darkness, and secure,
by the secret ladder, disguised,
- ah, the sheer grace! -
in darkness and concealment,
my house being now all stilled.

On that glad night,
in secret, for no one saw me,
nor did I look at anything,
with no other light or guide
than the one that burned in my heart.

This guided me
more surely than the light of noon
to where he was awaiting me
- him I knew so well -
there in a place where no one appeared.

O guiding night!
O night more lovely than the dawn!
O night that has united
the Lover with his beloved,
transforming the beloved in her Lover.

Upon my flowering breast
which I kept wholly for him alone,
there he lay sleeping,
and I caressing him
there in a breeze from the fanning cedars.

When the breeze blew from the turret,
as I parted his hair,
it wounded my neck
with its gentle hand,
suspending all my senses.

I abandoned and forgot myself,
laying my face on my Beloved;
all things ceased; I went out from myself,
leaving my cares
forgotten among the lilies.

~St. John of the Cross (1542-1591)



Love poetry.  Sensual, to be sure.  But, Who is the Beloved?  Are you comfortable with this?  If not, do you wish you were?  What does your comfort or discomfort say about you and how you relate to the Beloved?  Is there a place in you for longing?  for reveling in the Presence?  What has this to do with Incarnation?  What has this to do with you?

*Paintings in the post by Georges Rouault

Generosity...

 
Generosity:

1. Liberality in giving or willingness to give.
2. Nobility of thought or behavior; magnanimity.
3. Amplitude; abundance.
4. A generous act.

What compels us to be generous with our "intellectual property"?  Perhaps we are grateful for all that we have received.  Perhaps we understand that we steward knowledge and discoveries; we do not own them.  Or, perhaps we appreciate the fact that adding our own unique contribution to the human conversation feeds the synergy that spawns new ideas, new dreams, new solutions.

Whatever the reason, an act of liberal creative generosity has made available to you and me a most compelling resource.  Seth Godin invited a few friends to contribute short, potent, precise essays to a new eBook entitled What Matters Now.  Some of the contributors were writers and thinkers I already knew I loved, but many are new and wonderful discoveries.  Outstanding innovators in diverse and fascinating fields write about their passion.  And they all did it for free.  Generosity.

You can view the eBook in Scribd above, or download it HERE.

Silent in the Widening Light...

 

Child, Light to my soul-shadow, my confusion,
Coming sweetly, and so small,                     
Growing within, a stealth, a mystery---          
I am moved by this simplicity.                      

Transfixed with thanks, folded in love,          
I cannot adore enough.  I cannot speak.      
Like trees and snow and stars and street,    
I too am silent in the widening light. 

Myrna Reid Grant

Nouveau Favori!

My fascination with the langue française began five years ago when we were planning to make our first trip to Paris.  Determined not to be one of those arrogant Americans who expects the whole world to speak English, I learned enough "survival French" to at least begin a conversation, ask directions, make simple purchases and, above all, be polite.

I have continued to study the language because I love it.  I love it for the beauty, the romance, and the fact that it helps me hear words differently.  For instance, when I first encountered the phrase that means "I'm sorry"--"Je suis désolé", it rolled around in my head for days.  Desolate.  It's the same word.  "I am desolate."  I suppose "I'm sorry" is used so flippantly sometimes it has lost something of its potency.  And perhaps "Je suis désolé" sounds as trite to a native speaker.  But for me, it brought new vitality to language and reminded me why I so love words.

Just this morning I was introduced to a fabulous, FREE foreign language resource provided by the BBC.  I got lost in there for a couple of hours.  It is fabulous!!  Videos, games, grammar lessons, vocabulary, recipes, holiday traditions, even a very helpful and entertaining introduction to "street French".  One of my favorite aspects is that beautiful French scenery and cultural conversation are key components of the teaching.  Such a practical and delightful way to learn language and culture!

By the way, French is only one of eight featured languages.  There is a placement survey in each to help you find the appropriate starting level.  Additionally, there are basic survival phrases in 36 languages.

Whether you are a student of languages or would just like to flirt with the possibility, I invite you to pay them a visit. 

Joyeux Noël!!

If On a Winter's Night....

Only one holiday album have I downloaded this season.  It is enough.  Musically rich and elegant, each selection fascinates and delights with its own mystique.  Drawn primarily from old ballads, carols, and lullabies of Gaelic and folk origin, these are not likely to be terribly familiar.  How perfectly wonderful to encounter lyrics of devastating grace wrapped in earnest, well-seasoned melodies!

Of course, it doesn't hurt that the principal vocalist is Sting.  How is it that a voice that seems to come from so deep inside has the power to penetrate into one's very soul?  And the harmonies! Wow!  I confess: I am a singalong girl.  These songs invite me.  In fact, they fairly dance over, grab me by the hand, and draw me up near the fire to join the circle of song.  And they are beautiful madrigal melodies made for lines that weave in and out creating delightful webs of sound.

The arranging and instrumentation are positively delicious.  Each instrument sings with emotion and pathos.  There is no separation between artist and medium.  All acoustic.  All traditional instruments; earthy and organic. 

For this exploration of the themes and emotions of winter Sting is joined by friend and long time colleague, guitarist Dominic Miller - and an ensemble of three remarkable musicians from Northern England and Scotland: Kathryn Tickell (fiddle and Northumbrian pipes) Julian Sutton (melodian) and Mary MacMaster (metal string Scottish harp). Additional guest artists include Vincent Ségal (cello), Daniel Hope (violin), Chris Botti (trumpet), Ibrahim Maalouf (trumpet), Stile Antico (vocal ensemble), Cyro Baptista (percussion), Bijan Chemirani (percussion) and the Webb Sisters (vocals). Together they've created an album with a wonderful, warm, and unique ensemble sound - an acoustic meditation on winter.

There are tunes that have me dancing round my kitchen, like the old begging song Soul Cake.  Christmas at Sea makes me cold.  Kelsey and I agreed that this acoustic, rubato version of the Sting classic Hounds of Winter is even better than the original.  And there are sweet, sacred meditations that pierce my heart like There is No Rose of Such Virtue, Gabriel's Message, and Bethlehem Down.  But the one that had me crying like a baby this morning at the gym was the innocuous sounding "Cherry Tree Carol".  Do not be deceived.  I was picturing the scene in my head as the words poured over me.  I saw the cherry tree bend its branches as the Father of the baby provided...  And, I was undone.

When Joseph was an old man, an old man was he
He courted Virgin Mary, the queen of Galilee
He courted Virgin Mary, the queen of Galilee

When Joseph and Mary were walking one day
Here is apples and cherries so fair to behold
Here is apples and cherries so fair to behold

Then Mary spoke to Joseph so meek and so mild
"Joseph, gather me some cherries for I am with child"
"Oh Joseph, gather me some cherries for I am with child "

Then Joseph flew in anger, in anger he flew
"Oh, let the father of the baby gather cherries for you"
"Oh, let the father of the baby gather cherries for you"

So the cherry-tree bowed low down, low down to the ground
And Mary gathered cherries while Joseph stood down
And Mary gathered cherries while Joseph stood down

Then Joseph took Mary all on his right knee
Crying, "Lord, have mercy for what I have done"
Crying, "Lord, have mercy for what I have done"

Buy it.  Listen...carefully.  Revel. 

Thank You, God, For Letting Me Run!

Thank you, God, for letting me run!

Thanks for health and strength. 
     I understand they are gifts, not rights.
          I promise, I will NEVER take them for granted!

Thank you for sunshine...
     so warm on my skin on a chilly winter day...
          so strong and fierce in July.
Thanks for warm summer rain
     for falling leaves
          and for runs through glittering snow.
Thanks for sweltering heat,
     and for air so cold that it prickles and stings.

Thank you for fragrance. 
     For honeysuckle,
          for passion flower,
               for decaying autumn leaves.
     And thanks for the scent of rain.

Thank you for water.
     For trickling streams...
          For quiet ponds...
               and for the Harpeth when it almost overflows its banks, vigorous and strong.

Thank you for wind
     sometimes gentle and soft...like a caress,
          sometimes wild and turbulent and violent and alive!

Thank you for songbirds, colorful and sweet.
     Thank you for red-tailed hawks, somber and proud.
          Thank you for Blue Herons, elegant and majestic.

Thank you for books "read",
     for language learned,
          and for music...of all sorts.

Thank you for SOLITUDE!

Thank you for every Glorious sunrise or sunset that I did not miss
     because a run compelled me to be out of doors.

Thank you for meeting me on runs.
     In prayer
          In beauty
               In silence

Thank you for the miracle of doing what seems to me impossible
     mile after mile after mile.
          It astounds me still!

Running has been to me, and remains, a beautiful gift.  I am truly blessed and profoundly grateful.  Thank you, with all my heart!!

Sacred Threshold...

sacred the power, being, or realm understood by religious persons to be at the core of existence and to have a transformative effect on their lives and destinies.

threshold any place or point of entering or beginning...

      I probably should not write this at all.  I know I will not say it well.  For every breath I help you breathe with me, there will be a thousand others unbreathed.  And yet, words brought me here.  I wonder how many of those who shared their words with me thought they did not say it well?  For every fragrance, every whisper of wonder, of holiness, on a page or across a table...how many others were left locked up in their hearts?  So I write.  I treat of that which defies explanation.  I invite you to peer with me inside a mystery...

      Sometimes life takes the most unexpected turns.  A couple of years ago I came to a place of crisis with God.  I felt I had pursued Him all my life, and that He had eluded me.  And I was angry.  Perhaps I had approached Him badly, in error, but it was not for lack of trying.  Funny how sometimes the very road we try to take to God is the one that perpetually leads us away from Him.  I felt compelled to prove myself to God, as though I must earn His love.  I would have told you I did not believe this was true.  But I lived my life every day as though it were.

      I came to a place of devastation when it became clear to me that I was incapable of being good enough...when I could truly see the blackness inside me.  I was in deep despair.  I felt that if I were to surrender my endless, futile attempts to find worth in myself that I would simply cease to exist.  It felt like death! 

      It was the best thing that ever happened to me.

      "When we are nothing, we are in a fine position to receive everything from God." ~Richard Rohr  God began to woo me.  I know He has done it all my life, but much of the time I was too busy doing things 'for Him' to take notice.  He met me on runs and in early, quiet hours when everyone was still asleep.  He met me in novels, in poetry, and in His Word.  I saw Him in His creation and in great works of art.  He spoke His healing words to me through friends.  You know who you are.  There will never be enough words to say to you how important you have been to me.  I love you more than I can say.

      Then came the most unexpected gift of all.  Up until about three years ago, I had never known anyone personally who was Orthodox.  My only encounter with Orthodoxy was purely historical.  But all of a sudden, I was ambushed.  Blessed Ambush!  A friend, then several aquaintances, then a circle of beautiful, wise women, and finally a family.  Books, podcasts, music...I couldn't get enough.  And worship!  That was the most compelling of all.  Orthodox believe that in the Divine Liturgy we literally enter the Kingdom of God.  I believe it.  I believed it the very first time.  There is a blessed otherness...such a profound sense of holiness.  Sometimes I can hardly breathe for the weight of it. 

Today, on Saint Nicholas Day, I crossed a threshold.  Today I became part of the Orthodox Church.  Mike and I have walked most of this last year with the congregation at St. Ignatius.  We have fasted together, celebrated together, struggled and learned together, and entered the Presence together.  My soul has been nourished in ways I could never have imagined.  And I am learning to live in God...to revel in His Presence...to come to Him honestly with all the best AND worst things about me, and to experience His joy in me.

God knew my heart so much better than I did.  He knew how to help me find Him.  My friend, Monte, tells me that when a lifeguard goes to help someone in distress, he will not engage the swimmer until he stops struggling, otherwise the distressed swimmer can drown them both.  But once the swimmer has exhausted himself, then he can be saved.  Once I was thoroughly exhausted, God helped me find the means whereby I could finally know Him. 

Yesterday, I made my first confession in preparation for today.  I began with a written prayer, then shared those things with the priest that weighed most heavily on my heart and those that present persistent challenge.  It was a solemn and weighty experience.  He spoke words to me that Christ would have spoken had he been there.  After this, I knelt and Father Stephen placed his stole over my head.  He told me that just as the stole covered my head, Christ's blood had covered my sins.  Hot tears flowed down my face as his words planted themselves deeply within me and forgiveness became a palpable reality.

This morning, after affirming that we accept and submit to the essential tenets of the Orthodox faith, we were anointed with Holy Chrism (oil).  As Father Stephen made crosses with the oil on our foreheads, eyes, nose, ears, chest, hands and feet, he said "the seal of the Holy Spirit" and the whole congregation cried out "SEAL!!"  I felt like my chest was a great ball of fire.  I could not stop the tears.  That God would be so kind to bring me to this place where I could breathe Him and wear Him when I had been so ready to walk away from Him is too much for me.  Receiving the Body and Blood for the first time with my dear sisters and brothers was a completely transcendent experience.  Heart pounding, knees trembling, filled with wonder.  May it ever be so.

At lunch today my dear friend and "godmother" (though she is way too young to be my mother!), Gail, said to my fellow celebrants, Giorgio and Mike, and me that today we only lifted the lid to the treasure box.  She assured us that there are enough treasures inside to last us a lifetime.  I believe her.

"You do not resolve the God question in your head...it is resolved in you when you agree to bear the mystery of God." ~Rohr

Photographs in the post courtesy of our friend Joel Smith.  At the top of the post, Mike and I with Father Stephen.  Above, with Mike and Gail Hyatt, dear friends who have been such an important part of our journey and today stood with us as our sponsors/godparents.  Also, Keith Coley and Giorgio Kemp.  Beautiful irony: Giorgio was in my third grade choir.  His mother Rhonda was my homeschooling mentor.  We have danced in and out of one another's lives for years.  What a blessed gift to be Chrismated on the same day.  Many years, dear friend!

The Butterfly Circus...

Herein, an artist tells a story...simply, elegantly, beautifully.  Glory given wings.  

Thank you, dear Iz, for sharing it with me.

Confessions of a Virgin Faster...

It's not like I've never fasted, you understand.  I have, for a day or so, when I had to have a diabetes screening during pregnancy, or when I was a teenager and just forgot to eat.  Sometimes I even fasted to pray.  Although, quite frankly, those times have been few and far between. 

Orthodoxy has messed with my non-fasting tendencies.  You see, whereas Protestants approach faith with a "once I understand something and can commit my mind and heart to it, then I will commit my body to it as well" mantra, Orthodox tend to live a practice in their bodies first and allow the mind and heart to catch up.  Hence, if you would not be a slave to your appetites (and I'm not only talking food here), practice saying no to them.

The Church is good to provide opportunity for this.  Every Wednesday and Friday are "strict fast" days, meaning no meat, dairy, wine or oil.  These days are set aside to help us remember the trial and crucifixion of Christ.  Additionally there are two minor (read short-a couple of weeks) and two major (40 days'ish) fasts in the liturgical year.  The specifics of each of these vary, with the Lenten fast being the most rigorous.  The Advent fast, which began November 15th and will continue until Christmas Day, is a "kinder, gentler" fast with only Monday, Wednesday, and Friday being strict.  Most other days wine, oil and fish are permitted, but no meat or dairy.

There is no fast police.  No one will interrogate you about your fasting practices.  In fact, part of what we learn in the process is how to show grace to one another.  But, as with all other practices of the faith, fasting has been provided us for our salvation.  So I choose to submit.  And, I should say, there is something marvelous about walking this practice out with my sisters and brothers.

So, what has it meant to me to "keep the fast"? 

I have seen how slavishly I provide for my stomach.  I find myself obsessing about certain foods in particular.  I even dreamed about it two nights ago.  In my dream I saw table after table laden with rich, decadent desserts.  My mouth was watering.  Alas, I woke up just before we were to eat.  I was tormented!  "I can't even have butter in my dreams!!" That is what I was thinking, if you want to know the truth.

Most of the time, I feel "not quite full".  Because I am at the peak of my training for a marathon (1 month away), I have been careful to get plenty of protein.  But, even with that, my largely vegan diet tends to break down more quickly.  This has actually been one of the more beautiful parts of the experience.  Both Nativity and Lent are times of expectation, times of longing.  To have a constant reminder in my body that something is missing, that something is not quite right, makes this more intense and more real.

Fasting frees my mind to think of other things.  This might seem ironic given my earlier confession about dreaming about food.  Let me see if I can explain.  Last night we decorated our Christmas tree. We have been purposeful over the years about collecting ornaments from places we travel, and about buying ornaments for the kids each year that say something about who they are at that moment.  Because of this, decorating the tree is always meaningful.  But last night, in the absence of the usual Christmas cookies and other culinary indulgences, I seemed to enter into this process far more deeply.  Almost as if I am learning to satisfy my physical hunger with spiritual things. Hmmm...

This weekend, the fasting moves to another level.  On Sunday, Mike and I are being Chrismated (more about this in another post).  We will receive the Eucharist for the first time.  I can not even tell you what this means to me.  But, Orthodox fast COMPLETELY before receiving the Body and Blood of Christ.  It is a very beautiful and reverent practice.  But I am a little nervous.

I have never done a cleansing fast, but I am told that your bodily fluids become rank and you have an awful taste in your mouth as your body disposes of toxins that have accumulated.  I would have to say that my experience with fasting has been similar on a spiritual level.  I can't say that I am pleased with everything I have seen about myself.  Some of it is rank and foul.  But, until it is revealed, it can't be expelled.  Until it dies, it can not live. 

"We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body." ~II Corinthians 4:10 

If Words Were Ornaments...

Yesterday, I shared with you old friends of the family who bring delight to our family during the Christmas season.  Today I would like to introduce you to two resources that are helping me prepare my heart for the coming of Messiah and are imparting a great deal of beauty and significance to this Advent season.

Incarnation.  It is a central component of all Christian theology.  But, never have I encountered a people who revel in the Incarnation, who embrace it in all its wonder and mystery, as do my Orthodox brothers and sisters.  Father Thomas Hopko is proving a winsome and able guide to my first Orthodox celebration of Advent with his lovely book, The Winter Pascha.  There are 40 meditations about life and image, about vision and worship, about Mary and saints, about God With Us.  He quotes Church Fathers as well as modern authors, and he shares Beautiful words from the Advent and Christmas Liturgies.  It gives me a great deal to wrestle with as well as sweet places of reverie.

If words were ornaments, they might be hung inside a book very like Watch For the Light.  This is a delicious lyric celebration of all things mystic and magical.  Forty-five selections by brilliant and diverse authors like Sylvia Plath, St. John Chrysostom, Henri Nouwen, Madeleine L'Engle, Bernard of Clairvaux, C.S. Lewis, Soren Kierkegard, T.S. Elliot, and Annie Dillard bring little pieces of radiance to each day.  They explore fear, danger, and revolution.  They probe the topics of light, miracle, and grace.  They invite us to know the Mother of God, the magi, and the Blessed Bethlehem Babe.  And they give us unexpected glimpses inside ourselves.  If words were ornaments, hand-painted, delicate, compelling, they would look like this.  

We Wish You a Literary Christmas!

Christmas stories.  I put them away every January.  Carefully.  Tenderly.  And I eagerly await Thanksgiving weekend when we will liberate them to once again weave their magic spell. As we pull them out, a flurry of memories fills my mind.  I see tiny faces and hear gasps and giggles...remnants of Christmas past. I fondly trace decorations added to the covers of a couple of the books by creative little hands so very many years ago.  And as I read the words, I know that, in their own way, my children are reliving pieces of their childhood.  I know also that these words are a part of what makes us who we are as a family.  Here are a few books that the kids are always as happy to see as I am:

"...He was dress in muskrat from his head to his foot an his clothes is all dirty wit' ashes an' soot.  A sack full o' playt'ing he t'row on his back he look like a burglar an' dass fo' a fack.  His eyes how dey shine his dimple how merry!  Maybe he been drink de wine from blackberry.....An' I hear him shout loud as a splashin' he go Merry Christmas to all 'til I saw you some mo'."

The Cajun Night Before Christmas is a lyrical delight.  My aunt introduced this one to us a number of years ago when she and her family lived in New Orleans.  We laugh at the clever colloquialisms and try to out-do one another with our accents.  Incidentally, we also have The Hillbilly Night Afore Christmas and The Redneck Night Before Christmas, both of which come a little to close to my raising for my comfort. but are hysterical.

"Every Who down in Whoville loved Christmas a lot, but the Grinch who lived just North of Whoville did NOT.  The Grinch hated Christmas...the whole Christmas season.  Now, please don't ask why.  No one quite knows the reason..." 

How the Grinch Stole Christmas is one of those deceptively simple stories.  I say deceptive, because it is, at the same time, quite profound.  It is about bitterness and loneliness, misunderstanding and revenge, discovery, understanding, forgiveness, and transcendence.  Which of us does not find ourselves somewhere in the Grinch?  Something amazingly restorative happens...something more than resolution or resolve.....healing.  He encounters something beyond his ability to comprehend, and in the process his desire is changed.  "And what happened then?  Well, in Whoville they say that the Grinch's small heart grew two sizes that day."

The Best Christmas Pageant Ever is a riotous adventure, alternating between hilarity and disarming truth.  The characters are believable, if somewhat fantastic.  We find ourselves viewing the Herdmans with a mixture of revoltion and sympathy.  Then, just when we least expect it, we find that the very people who seemed farthest from the essence of the Christmas story may, in fact, have experienced it at its deepest level.  I defy you to read it without tears.

"It was late on a bitterly cold New Year's Eve.  The snow was falling.  A poor little girl was wandering in the dark cold streets, she was bareheaded and barefoot..."

Hans Christian Anderson's compelling story of The Little Match Girl helps me remember that there are people who will walk through the holidays with heavy hearts and empty stomachs.  It helps me remember that if I will open my eyes to see them, they are all around me.  And...I might be the very one who is meant to help.

"External heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge. No warmth could warm, no wintry weather chill him.  No wind that blew was bitterer than he, no falling snow was more intent upon its purpose, no pelting rain less open to entreaty."

I read it for the beautiful language.  I read it for Dickens' remarkable insight into the human spirit.  I read it because it asks me questions I am afraid to ask myself.  I read it because it is a story of hope.  A Christmas Carol.  A Christmas classic.

Not an exhaustive list, obviously.  But a few favorites.  Merry Literary Christmas!

Gently...He Comes....

"Was there a moment, known only to God, when all the stars held their breath, when the galaxies paused in their dance for a fraction of a second, and the Word, who had called it all into being, went with all his love into the womb of a young girl, and the universe started to breathe again, and the ancient harmonies resumed their song, and the angels clapped their hands for joy?

"Power.  Greater power than we can imagine, abandoned, as the Word knew the powerlessness of the unborn child, still unformed, taking up almost no space in the great ocean of amniotic fluid, unseeing, unhearing, unknowing.  Slowly growing, as any human embryo grows, arms and legs and a head, eyes, mouth, nose, slowly swimming into life until the ocean in the womb is no longer large enough, and it is time for birth.

"Christ, the Second Person of the Trinity, Christ, the Maker of the universe or perhaps many universes, willingly and lovingly leaving all that power and coming to this poor, sin-filled planet to live with us for a a few years to show us what we ought to be and could be.  Christ came to us as Jesus of Nazareth, wholly human and wholly divine, to show us what it means to be made in God's image."

~Madeleine L'Engle

Glory To God For All Things

Last night at vespers we gave thanks using these remarkable words written by a remarkable man in remarkable circumstances.  At times I could hardly contain the feelings of deep gratitude swelling within my breast as stanza after stanza washed over me.  When I discovered the circumstances of its composition I was humbled beyond words.  I pray that it speaks to you as it has to me.

This Akathist, also called the "Akathist of Thanksgiving," was composed by Protopresbyter Gregory Petrov shortly before his death in a prison camp in 1940. The title is from the words of Saint John Chrysostom as he was dying in exile. It is a song of praise from amidst the most terrible sufferings.

Kontakion 1

Everlasting King, Thy will for our salvation is full of power. Thy right arm controls the whole course of human life. We give Thee thanks for all Thy mercies, seen and unseen. For eternal life, for the heavenly joys of the Kingdom which is to be. Grant mercy to us who sing Thy praise, both now and in the time to come. Glory to Thee, O God, from age to age.

Ikos 1

I was born a weak, defenseless child, but Thine angel spread his wings over my cradle to defend me. From birth until now Thy love has illumined my path, and has wondrously guided me towards the light of eternity; from birth until now the generous gifts of Thy providence have been marvelously showered upon me. I give Thee thanks, with all who have come to know Thee, who call upon Thy name.

Glory to Thee for calling me into being
Glory to Thee, showing me the beauty of the universe
Glory to Thee, spreading out before me heaven and earth
Like the pages in a book of eternal wisdom
Glory to Thee for Thine eternity in this fleeting world
Glory to Thee for Thy mercies, seen and unseen
Glory to Thee through every sigh of my sorrow
Glory to Thee for every step of my life's journey
For every moment of glory
Glory to Thee, O God, from age to age

Kontakion 2

O Lord, how lovely it is to be Thy guest. Breeze full of scents; mountains reaching to the skies; waters like boundless mirrors, reflecting the sun's golden rays and the scudding clouds. All nature murmurs mysteriously, breathing the depth of tenderness. Birds and beasts of the forest bear the imprint of Thy love. Blessed art thou, mother earth, in thy fleeting loveliness, which wakens our yearning for happiness that will last for ever, in the land where, amid beauty that grows not old, the cry rings out: Alleluia!

Ikos 2

Thou hast brought me into life as into an enchanted paradise. We have seen the sky like a chalice of deepest blue, where in the azure heights the birds are singing. We have listened to the soothing murmur of the forest and the melodious music of the streams. We have tasted fruit of fine flavour and the sweet-scented honey. We can live very well on Thine earth. It is a pleasure to be Thy guest.

Glory to Thee for the Feast Day of life
Glory to Thee for the perfume of lilies and roses
Glory to Thee for each different taste of berry and fruit
Glory to Thee for the sparkling silver of early morning dew
Glory to Thee for the joy of dawn's awakening
Glory to Thee for the new life each day brings
Glory to Thee, O God, from age to age

Kontakion 3

It is the Holy Spirit who makes us find joy in each flower, the exquisite scent, the delicate colour, the beauty of the Most High in the tiniest of things. Glory and honour to the Spirit, the Giver of Life, who covers the fields with their carpet of flowers, crowns the harvest with gold, and gives to us the joy of gazing at it with our eyes. O be joyful and sing to Him: Alleluia!

Ikos 3

How glorious art Thou in the springtime, when every creature awakes to new life and joyfully sings Thy praises with a thousand tongues. Thou art the Source of Life, the Destroyer of Death. By the light of the moon, nightingales sing, and the valleys and hills lie like wedding garments, white as snow. All the earth is Thy promised bride awaiting her spotless husband. If the grass of the field is like this, how gloriously shall we be transfigured in the Second Coming after the Resurrection! How splendid our bodies, how spotless our souls!

Glory to Thee, bringing from the depth of the earth an endless variety of colours, tastes and scents
Glory to Thee for the warmth and tenderness of the world of nature
Glory to Thee for the numberless creatures around us
Glory to Thee for the depths of Thy wisdom, the whole world a living sign of it
Glory to Thee; on my knees, I kiss the traces of Thine unseen hand
Glory to Thee, enlightening us with the clearness of eternal life
Glory to Thee for the hope of the unutterable, imperishable beauty of immortality
Glory to Thee, O God, from age to age

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Here's to The Crazy Ones...

Today my son Jake is 16.  Living with Jake has been, and continues to be, a wild and exciting ride, full of discovery, curiosity, creativity, provocation, and ideas...lots and lots of ideas.  For his birthday, we compiled a scrapbook filled with memories and blessings from friends, mentors, and family.  One of Jake's mentors, Tim, included this poem from Apple with his letter.  It could not be more appropriate.  So today, on his 16th birthday, I celebrate Jake and his glorious audacity.  Never stop dreaming my dear, dear son!!

Here's to the crazy ones.

   The misfits.
    The rebels.
     The troublemakers.
      The round pegs in the square holes.

The ones who see things differently. They're not fond of rules.
And they have no respect for the status quo.

You can praise them, disagree with them, quote them,
disbelieve them, glorify or vilify them.

About the only thing you can't do is ignore them.
    Because they change things.

They invent.    They imagine.     They heal. 
They explore.     They create.    They inspire.
They push the human race forward.

Maybe they have to be crazy.

How else can you stare at an empty canvas and see a work of art?
Or sit in silence and hear a song that's never been written?
Or gaze at a red planet and see a laboratory on wheels?

We make tools for these kinds of people.
While some see them as the crazy ones,
    we see genius.

Because the people who are crazy enough to think
    they can change the world, are the ones who do.

For My Daughter on the Occasion of Her Eighteenth Birthday...

 

Before I looked into her eyes,
Before I heard her voice,
Before I breathed her,
I loved her. 
As she grew in my womb
She sent out tendrils
That wound their way
Around my heart...
Inexorably. 
Flutters,
Flirtations
Made me increasingly aware
Of her presence. 
Most perfect secret!

When I held her
I knew something in me had changed...
Forever. 
The softness of her,
The fragility. 
Her dependence...
On me. 
The trust, 
The gentle confidence that
Whatever she needed,
I would supply. 
The Terror
Of failing her
Of not being enough.

The growing
The perceiving 
The gradual unfolding...
Of Her. 
The storyteller.
The singer.
The producer.
The one who sees...
    the unseen
    the forgotten.
Photographer, artist...
Telling new stories
Without words.

The struggle
The wrestling
The gradual unfolding...
Of Her.
From ashes...
Great Beauty.
From anguish
Great Joy.
Intimate,
Vulnerable,
True.
The one who sees...
    the broken
    the hurting.
Writer, poet...
Telling her story
    and theirs.
   
Before I Looked into her eyes,
Before I heard her voice,
Before I breathed her,
I loved her.
I could not know
What it would mean...
What it would cost.
I could not know
How often I would fail her,
How much she would teach me,
How many times she would forgive.

Because of her
Something in me has changed
Forever.
The struggle
The wrestling
The gradual unfolding...
Of Me.

Before I looked into her eyes,
Before I heard her voice,
Before I breathed her,
I loved her.
I could not know
How often we would laugh
How many secrets we would share
How I would treasure our friendship.
The sweetness
The ripening
The gradual unfolding...
Of Us....