Authority

A friend of mine started a conversation with me about the differences in our faith. She is a life long member of the Church Of Christ. Here is my reply to her asking what I believe about church authority...I am sure the conversation will continue later:

First, let me tell you that Joe and I are inquirers in the Orthodox Church. We are inquiring because we believe, through personal study of the Church and the Bible, that the Orthodox faith is Christ’s Church. It is the New Testament Church, which Christ gave to the Apostles.
We look at what came first. The Bible was not first. Sounds funny? Let me explain why I stated it that way. The Church was the first thing God, by His authority in Christ’s Incarnation, life, and teachings, gave us. The Church is the pillar and ground of Truth. You can see how the Church was laid out in the Scriptures. Christ said He would build his Church. I must note here that the New Testament Church of Acts and the Epistles is practically identical to the Orthodox practices today.
The Bible was inspired by the Holy Spirit, then written and canonized by men. Those men were Orthodox Christians. There were not denominations at that point in Church history; the Church was only the One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church. The Bible cannot be interpreted outside God’s Church. The Bible is a important aspect of Holy Tradition. We don’t believe in a separation between Holy Tradition and the Bible, since the Bible came to us as it is today through Holy Tradition. Scripture includes the Old Testament, which is not merely historical text. In second Timorthy 3:16, St. Paul states, “All Scripture is inspired by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, for training in righteousness; that the man of God may be adequate, equipped for every good work”. In his letter to St. Timothy, St. Paul is not referring to the New Testament. This should be obvious since books such as Acts and Revelation had not yet been written. The first complete listing of New Testament books as we have them today did not appear until over 300 years after the death and resurrection of Christ.
Let me hasten to say that the Bible is all God intends it to be. No problem with the Bible here. But church doesn’t mean “the Bible, God, and me”. As the Bible says, "Therefore, brethren, stand fast and hold the traditions which you were taught, whether by word or our epistle. Now may our Lord Jesus Christ Himself, and our God and Father, who has loved us and given us everlasting consolation and good hope by grace, comfort your hearts and establish you in every good word and work" (2 Thessalonians 2:15-17). The Bible is meant to be read and understood by the illumination of God's Holy Spirit within the life of the Church. From the earliest period of the Church, going right back to the Apostles themselves, the teachings within the Church on Scripture have not changed. The Church is the mystical "Body of Christ," the Head of which is Christ Himself (see Eph. 1:22-23 and Col. 1:18, 24) and its composition includes not only priests but all who truly believe in Christ, who have entered in a lawful way through Holy Baptism into the Church He founded, those living upon the earth and those who have died in the Faith.

Christ is all-powerful and has authority over all…but to clarify; I’ll say that authority within the church lies completely in Holy Tradition and Scripture. But, again, I believe that these things are not separate from the Body of Christ (the Church), and cannot be separated. They can’t exist separate from eachother.

I might not have been entirely clear, and if you want to know more, here is a link to an argument against sola scriptura. It better states what I am trying to say, and more. Even if you choose to ignore the emphasis on Orthodoxy as the true faith, you cannot ignore that the given history and reasons for understanding the authority of Scripture are significant and intriguing. Especially if Scripture is your foundation and only place to go for Church authority. Maybe you will find this helpful in understanding what I believe:

http://www.orthodoxinfo.com/inquirers/tca_solascriptura.aspx

Now the way authority works within the hierarchy of the Church, in the men that carry on her Traditions and preach the Word of the Lord, is for us laid out in the New Testament canons. There are to be bishops, priests, and deacons. Philippians 1:1-5 says “To all the saints in Christ Jesus who are in Philippi, with the bishops and deacons:” 1st Timothy 3 speaks about the qualifications of overseers, again noting bishops and deacons as having authority.

A priest has authority over his flock…the priests and deacons have the job of giving spiritual guidance to the laity of the local parish. The priest is a loving guide and a righteous spiritual leader, as in Psalm 132:9 “Let your priests be clothed with righteousness….” They teach obedience to Christ, the Word, the Body. In Hebrews 5, “For every high priest taken from among men is appointed for men in things pertaining to God, that he may offer both gifts and sacrifices for sins. He can have compassion on those who are ignorant and going astray, since he himself is also subject to weakness. Because of this he is required as for the people, so also for himself, to offer sacrifices for sins. And no man takes this honor to himself, but he who is called by God, just as Aaron was”. In Luke 17:14, Jesus himself shows that the Law of Moses still has a place. He commands the lepers to go themselves to the priests for cleansing. By this commandment, He kept the Law of Moses, and showed the people that spiritual authority was present in the priesthood. Christ also states a few verses later that “the kingdom of God is within you”. Acts and Hebrews are full of verses I could quote. Esp. Hebrews 8-9.

Christ is the New Covenant, yet He did not come to abolish the law, but to fulfill it. Christ was/is/forever will be the sin offering God required in the Old Testament. He fulfilled our lives before God and gave us Himself as a Mediator and Advocate. He came as the New Covenant, addressing humanity’s sin by sacrifice as the High Priest of the temple had before offered blood sacrifice for just a few. The Bible says many times that a blood offering is required for redemption. Christ became that sacrifice, that required blood offering, that it need not be offered again, made only once to bear the sins of many. He gave a better sacrifice, one that wasn’t possible with the first tabernacle (being the tabernacle laid out under the Law).

Back to church hierarchy and authority. The bishop has spiritual authority over a diocese. The bishop’s primary authority is exercised in assuring that the priests and deacons within his diocese are preaching and teaching the Word, and correctly (as it has been done since ancient days) following the Holy Tradition and Canons of the Orthodox Church. The foundations of the Church were laid by Christ, and have been defended by many martyrs and saints so that they can be carried forth the same today.

From what I know, you are familiar with some hierarchy within the church, as you have elders and evangelists.

I was reading the Nativity story this morning, and two year old Elijah saw this icon beside the text. He asked who it was of, and so we went over it.

He was very worried about the little figure speaking to Joseph. "That is a bad guy." He also traced the figure of Mary, "That mommy is sad."

I showed him each character, and he came back the babe in the cave and asked, "Is that baby Gee-gus?" I had already explained to him it was.

I replied it is, that we are celebrating his birth, and that He came to be with us.

Elijah replied, matter of factly, "And to be with the cow and horsey."

Yep.

surety

"And he left there and went to the region of Judea and beyond the Jordan, and crowds gathered to him again; and again, as his custom was, he taught them." from the Gospel reading today.

Deep down, I ache for surety, for some ground of confidence. The one that is always living and breathing assurance, freely offered, is him that we call on as Emmanuel. O, come.

A friend of mine told me recently that she was (once again) astounded at the way God has revealed himself to us. I too cannot believe how anyone, upon hearing truth of the Incarnation, could not believe.

I don't know quite what other people think when they look up at an icon of the Pantocrator (which I recently looked up to find that it means "Almighty" or "All-powerful". In this understanding, Pantokrator is a compound word formed from the Greek words for "all" and the noun "strength") but I am humbled. How do you not acknowledge the awful state of your sinfulness; therefore at the same time the extent of the mercy of the Incarnation?

Zacharias

The picture above is of my eldest son, Zachary. He went hunting today with Dad on a friend's land. They shot a nine-point buck, and I am very impressed. It'll keep us in meat for a while!

Zach is a remarkable child. He's always been the quiet, shy type. His politeness and helpfulness cannot be praised enough. I love him dearly and wish I could adopt him. He's about to be gone over Christmas and I don't want him to go. You can't be around Zach and not love him and then miss him when he's not present. Everyone adores him. I pray I can be a better mom for him as each weeks passes, and when he has to deal with entering into adulthood I want to be there for him.

He was recounting his experience to me earlier, and I was watching him and seeing that sheepish grin, where he's proud of himself but unsure if that's the best thing to be thinking. He wants to do things right, and if he can't, it really irks him. He's a thinker. We're alike, in that...I was always quiet and observant as a kid, and didn't want to do anything unless I was successful at it.

Zachary's saint is, obviously, Holy Prophet Zacharias, father of John the Baptist. From wikipedia:

The Righteous Zachariah (or Zacharias), the father of the holy Prophet St John the Baptist is commemorated by the Church on September 5 along with his wife Elizabeth. He is also remembered, in the Greek tradition, on June 24 with the Nativity of St John the Baptist.
The holy Prophet Zachariah, a priest in the Jerusalem Temple, was the son of Barach, from the lineage of Aaron. St Zachariah was told by an angel that his elderly wife would bear him a son named John, but he doubted this prediction. For his weakness of faith, Zachariah become mute. When Elizabeth gave birth to a son, motivated of the Holy Spirit, she announced that his name was John. When Zachariah confirmed the name in writing, speech returned to him, and inspired by the Holy Spirit, he began to foretell about his son as the Forerunner of the Lord.
King Herod began to slaughter the children of Bethlehem after the Lord Jesus had been born. The king sent men to find and kill the son of Zachariah because he had heard all that had happened to Zachariah, and how John had been born. Elizabeth fled with John when she saw the soldiers. Herod was enraged that the child John had not been found and ordered Zachariah to be slain before the altar in temple.

Emotive

I do not have an affinity for the emotive things of the world. Probably, it's a failing of mine. Personally, I find emotional bursts to be, generally, a waste of time and effort. The one time I've cried wholeheartedly and with abandon in my life was when my first baby was born. That, however, wasn't just an emotional experience. It was a physical acknowledgement of a life- altering experience.



One place that I have never been able to see as a place for emotive reaction is in worship of God. I've felt awkward and displaced in many worship services. Seeking God has been a journey from denomination to denomination searching for Him. In that time I experienced many different styles of worship in many different kinds of churches. House church, Baptist, non-denominational, Methodist, Presbyterian, Episcopal, etc...they all had one thing in common in my observance: emotions were often more evident than a true worship of God. And God was too often the sweet Jesus who died for !you and me! and was there whenever and wherever YOU needed him. Feeling down? He's there for you, like an instant hot cereal to feed you and warm you when you're too lazy to go through the steps to boil the water, stir the oats, and fight to keep the heat low enough so it doesn't burn but still cooks...



I felt sure I believed in this Christ, and that I could know Him, but there was a separation between those things that I didn't understand and couldn't begin to assimilate.

I know now that one of the biggest problems confronting me was the separation of Christ, and the Church. After learning more about catholic faith, I understood this problematic divide to be a huge stumbling block. Overcoming it, and realizing that Christ IS the Church, and the Church is the Body of Christ has brought about a cataclysm in my faith.

Growing up, Jesus was presented to me as a situational ideal, which I saw used for personal comfort and gain only when all else was exhausted. The first place to turn in crisis was not to God. However, protective angels were nice, sweet baby Jesus was nice, the cross was sad but there were many sad things in humanity's past. God was not together with Christ, but instead some odd historical factor. I had no concept of the Holy Spirit at all.

The Orthodox church is, to me, swollen with stability and wisdom. There is an authority that realigns and defines within the Church, which has been as stable and wise for over 1500 years. Whatever inner uneasiness existed about the Christian life and what is it, what it means, what it will be, is dispelled through the liturgy. The Orthodox Church speaks through the Saints, Fathers, through the priesthood, through Christ's words and the Apostle's teachings...with surety and beauty that impresses and humbles.

I think I have found the true worship of the triune God, a worship from the heart. This is not worship driven by emotion, but instead something that overcomes emotion and trains it to be obedient and selfless.

When I heard said that Orthodoxy is the fullness of the faith, I was intrigued. Seeking her myself, I see the Church is full, a Body that is alive and speaks the Truth.

a visit

My family visited St. John Orthodox church in Memphis today. It was a challenging experience.

First, it was challenging because we are technically Anglicans. We have for a short time belonged to a small REC parish not too far from St. John's. Our priest is a good man, a loving priest, something we've rejoiced in since we started attending the REC parish about a year ago. My daughter was baptized at St. James (the Reformed Episcopal parish we've been attending). We have learned more about the Church than at any time in our lives while we have attended St. James. We continue to grow. But in that growth, we've come to many realizations that first made us say "Maybe we shouldn't be confirmed." and now things have come to a head and we've asked ourselves if we believe in the Anglican faith.

The answer to that question is that we don't. We don't affirm the change to the Nicene Creed. We don't agree at all with female or homosexual priesthood, but for us that's not the root of the matter. We don't want to be a part of a faith that is shattering at it's core, and that many people are only members of because the more Protestant and Evangelical churches they used to attend ordain women and homosexuals. Where is the communion in that? We don't understand why confession isn't done, or why the Eucharist is treated casually. We see no point in continuing to commune within this group.

I've even began to question what the Anglican church did when it broke away from Rome. I am not interested in any revolution, however neat and hip it may be, that is moving further and further away from the Church that came to us through Christ and the Apostles.

There is a loveliness within the Anglican faith that I find appealing. I will not miss it, but I am glad I experienced it.

At St. John's this morning, I couldn't exactly follow the liturgy. I didn't know the right words or actions, but there was a feeling of easiness about everything. I have a brother-in-law that has fussed at me for saying that we are begining to feel like the Orthodox way is what we're after, but yes, I felt that we should visit again, and again. And again. Not because the icons were beautiful (they were) or because the parishioners were welcoming and kind (they were) or because we liked the "service".

It was the utterly beautiful and complete worship of Christ.

My children even behaved.

A proclamation

I have decided I am useless at blogging seriously. Besides, no one reads this. So it will now become even more random, and pointless, and girly. A bit more like a tween journal, a lot less like an intellectual rant-space. I am not an intellectual. Just plain Jane barely legal.

I have had an entertaining and enjoyable Thanksgiving with family. Joe, the kids, and I made the family buckeyes (peanut buttery goodness dipped in choclate) and some peppermint bark together, and it all turned out really well. We took said candy to the family get together and shared. My six year old, Beth, learned from her uncle that Thanksgiving is really all about capitalism and genocide. Ella showed off her walking skills. Zach and Elijah thoroughly beat eachother with plastic bats in the backyard. I drank hard cider and ate honey ham. Life is good.

wisdom

If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. -A.I. Solzhenitsyn

http://fatherstephen.wordpress.com/2009/11/18/florovskys-limits-of-the-church-added/

This really answered some questions for us. Very interesting.

This goes along with what Jaroslav Pelikan said in the radio program I linked in a previous post, that saying yes to one thing is saying no to another, and vice versa. There is no inbetween.

Musing over beauty.

Disclaimer: another post of mine prompted by my musings lately, and catapulted onto my semblance of a blog by this excellent post on beauty...

The post above uses icons as an example of something we can see (not just look at) as beautiful, which I find interesting and agreeable, since in my experience those Protestants or non-Christians who are unfamiliar with icons usually don't first express what beauty they've beheld. I've heard several reactions that run along the lines of, "That sure is some odd artwork." Or, "Why does Jesus have a six-pack?"

I think I avoided this particular reaction partly by being introduced to iconography by osmosis. My brother and sister in law are Antiochian Orthodox, and more than four years ago I visited them in their home after their first daughter was born, and afterwards visited their church more than a few times. I found icons at first oddly fascinating, then pretty confusing, and with some self-education and careful, prayerful consideration, I now see the beauty Fr. Stephen alludes to in his post. However, it was not an instant constitution.

I suppose there is also the fact that I did not grow up in church, therefore I was not brainwashed that iconography is evil and blasphemous idolatry. I did not have a judgement that had been pounded subtly into my head to set me against veneration, either. I heartily thank God for that, no matter how I've regretted not being a Christian till adulthood.

The mass production of beauty, as something to be utilized, though...I don't think that is beauty, just something ugly with a pretty name and a convincing veneer. One cannot buy salvation, and one cannot buy beauty. Any front that promotes beauty as marketable, and by those means personally acquirable, is to be looked upon as falsehood and turned away from. It's not possible to gain beauty by trade or payment. A culture based on that falsehood is a culture fooling itself, twice over. First, by convincing ourselves that we see beauty when we're only looking at carefully engineered surfaces, and second by thinking we can reproduce it and profit from it.

True beauty is hard to describe, or recognize. Glossy veneers are easier to accept, easier to sell. Beauty is not what a crowd agrees is beautiful. Often, beauty is really downright hard to look at. So we avert our eyes. And our hearts.

Beauty is present in a martyr's death. It is in selfless and non-seeking sacrifice, which is not of this world, and therefore is not seen as important in a culture of glitter and glam and you just gotta be yourself and love yourself mentality.

Lord, have mercy upon me. I, a product of this world, am most familiar with the glossy version of "beautiful", and it doesn't feel nice to look upon God's beauty, something which is pure and unadulterated. It is not present in overwhelming emotion, but in quiet contemplation. Beauty is not normal, perfected, or exactly reproducible.






But what the hell do I know. I can say I know suffering, and the beauty that can come from it.

What's that mean? It means nobody wants to buy Britney Fears.

A link and age

Read a good blog post here.

Being twenty-three is no fun, really. Not old enough to be respected but plenty young enough to be rejected.

Elijah is two and gets insulted when we say he's not three yet. He's also very concerned about a return trip to St. Louis, because he had so much fun. Here is our daily (sometimes hourly) conversation:

"Mama, we go to St. Lou now?" (with an impish grin)
"Nope, not today. When you're three."
(pouting and frowning commences) "I am not two!"
"Yes, baby, you're two."
"I wanna be three! Go to St. Lou!"
"When you ARE three, we're gonna go to St. Louis. But not now."
"I am two."
"Yes, you are."
"I DON'T WANNA BE TWO! I AM THREE!"
"You are two, not three yet."
(sometimes bursts into tears here) "I am not two!"

and it can go on like this back and forth for as long as Mama will put up with it. Or until terrible two has a meltdown about the fact that I won't let him be three NOW. You know, so we can go to glorious St. Louis TODAY.

Poor Elijah has such a mean mommy.

surrender

In the end what you don't surrender
Well the world just strips away

-from Bruce Springsteen's Human Touch

I am learning from our goats. No, really.

Goats. Who would have thought we'd have goats, of all pets...and yet now we'd have no other animal and be so pleased as we are.

We have two nannies and a wether. They are half Pygmy, and half Nigerian. Smaller than the average full size dog, but just as heavy.

I just read that their dung was used by Neolithic peoples as fuel, their hide for water and wine bottles, even parchment. I am continually amazed by the place these cousins of the sheep have taken in history. But I've been around sheep. These are no mere sheep. They're smart, quirky, quick to attitude and rebellion. A lot of the stories I read to the kids (old, classic tales) include goats. Because, I believe, the authors took note of the extraordinary rascal that is so well defined in these creatures.

The goat has a four chambered stomach, which, really, makes more sense. They have horizontal slit-shaped pupils, an adaptation which increases peripheral depth perception. They are curious and intelligent.

Watching our goats grow and mature has been a wonderful thing. Now, it is fall, and they were born in the spring. They delight in the falling leaves, and their enjoyment of the cooler fall weather produces in the watcher a consideration of this delight, and then a consequent more avid appreciation of falling leaves, something that can become commonplace. I am also aware that they have never seen falling leaves before, and it reminds me of the puppies my family raised as a child, and their excitement over such things like leaves and snow. The goats take an ever more happy countenance, realizing how terrific it is that the leaves that were out of reach are now fluttering down in piles around them.

We have a sliding glass door and if you stand before it the goats are sure to come sidling up and press their curious faces against the glass to peer at you. They no longer call loudly, as when we first brought them to their new home, instead if they speak it's a gentle and affectionate "Baaa." Sit in a lawn chair in the yard and you are sure to have them surround you with snuffles and nibbles -and then one is in your lap nose to nose with you. They're not bashful, in the least.

Their sense of community is another beautiful thing to regard. They move in a herd, work together, sleep together, ponder together, frolic together. If they fight, it is for a reason, and they get the fight over with and decided quickly, then go back to their friendly ways.

We know already that they could be over our fence easily if they chose to go. There is a look in their eyes that clamours of wild ways. They would find a weak or low spot in the fence, if they cared to look. But they are content with us, and I know an appreciation of their choice to reside in our care.

If I've ever seen an animal I'd describe as happy, it'd be a goat. They are pleased with their simple existence, always on the lookout for a bit of adventure but constantly ready to return to habits that have been trustworthy without regret of the loss of excitement.

Makes me think maybe I have something to learn from them.

A mission

I am a person who cannot be idle. I'm always trying to get something done.

I think it is because I worked hard as a child and teen. I don't think most people would know it to see me now. My family of five had two big gardens, raised animals, hung out clothes on a line, and heated our home with a wood burner. My sister and I were the eldest, only 18 months difference in our ages, and our brother was significantly younger, so the hard chores fell to us. I hiked, fished, and backpacked my way through most of my early teens. I've helped build a barn, a chicken house, countless doghouses...we didn't play Wii. As a kid, I did the type of things that are formative to a young person, like jumping off barns just to see if you could do it without getting hurt. That means assessing that this'll probably hurt, but trying it anyway. And when you make it safe, you feel liberated. I spent long afternoons jogging in the country, stopping to pet the same horses that recognized me and came to chuff for an apple (if you were ever driving through N. Indiana and saw some crazy girl jogging with an apple in each fist, that was me).

Now, I lived in Northern Indiana, so it wasn't particularly strenuous hiking that I did, but I'd go for hours on end. Being outdoors so much taught me more than just how much water to bring, which animals to avoid, and how to find dry firewood. When you spend enough time at something, you learn more than you intially expect or can imagine. I learned how to listen, how to be still, how to breathe. When I didn't know it, God was there. His guiding love was most present to me in the quietness of His creation. Still is. I despise city life for this very reason.

I'm on a mission, currently, to find stillness again. But it's so easy to lose here, even when I can find it.

The need for creeds

http://speakingoffaith.publicradio.org/programs/pelikan/

Nine months old, my blue eyes.

Ella Sue is now nine months old. Nine months is a crucial age. They're moving on their own, talking nonstop (Ella says Mama, Dada, Zach, goat, cat, and banana, clearly, and also babbles all the time), taking leaps and bounds towards independance. But then, just when you are afraid baby is already grown up, she needs you and can't abide without you. She holds up her arms and cries for you, and when you scoop her up she fits just perfectly still in the crook of your arms.

Baby girl is still baby girl, and Mama's baby girl most importantly.

Her baby blues are heartachingly brilliant and clear.

The Anglo-Papalist plow

An apostolic constitution is the highest level of decree issed by the Pope of the Roman Catholic Church. There is one on the market now, yet unpublicized (at least to my knowledge at this moment) that has already drawn "continuing Anglicans" into it's lure.

I am not comfortable with an Anglo-Papalist entity. It seems silly to the extreme. If you want to be Roman Catholic, BE ROMAN CATHOLIC. I don't understand why any professed, steadfast Anglican would, if realizing RC was to them the good and correct way, choose to just blur the lines and muddy the waters. You should open the gate and walk into the other field, not dig a tunnel under the fence. While I understand BenedictXVI's gesture, and see no ugliness or ill will in his extension, I do not understand the Anglican acceptance of it. There is no graceful way to make such a change. Why must it be embellished? Either you have the guts to stand up and take your stance, or you stay where you are. We are so afraid to choose sides, we make ourselves all the more the fools.

When I see a fork in the path, I know one path must be chosen. You should not choose two paths, and instead of taking either one try to drag an ecumenical plow between the two so they just become one big path.

The definition of plow is interesting to note at this point: an agricultural implement used for cutting, lifting, turning over, and partly pulverizing soil.

How can one say they are trying to preserve the beauty of Anglican heritage, while they are at the same time gathering energy to push the heretofore mentioned plow?

My baby girl

Funny that this post should follow the last...

My two littlest have been sick this week. Today was the first day without fevers. I have great hopes that they are past the sickness.





I however, caught on with it, or something else entirely, and am down for the count. I found out in the past few days that I am interchangeable. My better half has managed to take care of all four of the kids AND me. God bless that man!





While Elijah was sick, Ella saw fit to steal his truck.
She had the greatest time giggling and making the tires buzz as she pushed it all around the living room. I watched for a while from the couch where I was fussing and whining.

Ella Sue makes my heart glad. I would not be getting better without her many slobbery kisses.

Squawk and Oink Flu

I was going to post a bunch of business about my protests against the h1n1 vaccine.



Then I thought I could probably sum it up in one word:


CONSPIRACY!




But really, with the mercury concerns* and whatnot, I think it's best for everyone to just tough it out.

This is coming from me, though, the person who won't even get the regular flu vaccine. What can I say, I'm a rebel.




*at some point, I promise to actually give factual, unbiased, credited information on this blog. Until then, I apologize. CDC.gov or something, alright?

fruitarian

She doesn't like peas. Or any other vegetables, for that matter.

Hold on, I take that back. She loves steamed green beans, broccoli, and other soft veggies. She just hates canned baby food veggies.

Which is understandable. I found some organic apple-sweet-potato stuff that she'll accept. But she's still not a happy camper without her pears.

It's final

I quit!

I am officially resigning from life in general. And, since it's my life, that means resigning from all domestic duties. I am done trying to homeschool and mother and parent and keep my house in order and cook...and it just goes on!







I know Joe isn't going to accept my resignation.

Finished.

It turned out pretty well.

A ruffled top

Been awhile since I knitted anything. I've been working on this top for Bethany, who is six. It's going well and easy. I just have a few rounds on the left sleeve and it'll be done.



The pattern is at moreknits.blogspot.com

I've been rescued

I was washing the mountain of dishes on my counter today-which frustratingly occurs each time our family eats, because it takes so many dishes-and Elijah was actually playing by himself (What?!? Instead of getting into something?!? Wierd!). I turned to around and he hollered, "Watch out, Ma! A dinosaur gonna eat you!" I looked around for said dinosaur that was about to eat me, and saw his little plastic triceratops (one of the toys he insists on sleeping with, and God forbid we lose track of it before bedtime) positioned by my feet. He then rushed over, carrying a plastic laundry basket, and clattered the laundry basket down over the triceratops.

Then, the little tantrum throwing, perhaps possessed, I'm-thinking-about-selling-him-two-year-old, grinned up at me and exclaimed, "I saved you, Ma!"




He's my knight in shining armor. Usually, he is wearing armor, and wielding a sword.



I will remember here cute things he does so when I am thinking of lowering the price on ebay so someone will JUST TAKE HIM, I will instead think of his cuteness.

O Glorious Saint James, you were our Lord's cousin and at the same time his friend and follower. You wrote that every good and perfect gift comes to us from the Father of lights, and that faith without works is useless. You preached the divinity of Jesus until your death as a martyr. Obtain for us from the Father of lights the great gift of a living faith in Jesus' divinity which will inspire us to unstinting labor in the service of God and our fellow human beings and enable us to reach our heavenly destiny. Amen.

I sat down and read a lot about my saint today, Saint James the Lesser. This isn't the usual icon for St. James but a good one nonetheless.

Psalm 13

I sat with a friend of mine today, holding my baby-while three other children awaited me at home-and listened to her relate her struggles with trying to have a baby. Even though I haven't had to struggle with the same issue, I can understand how she feels, acutely. It's strange to imagine the empty womb being your own, and knowing how terrible that must feel. For a woman, I imagine it is excruciating.


She said she'd been reading Psalm 13 a lot lately;

How long, O LORD? Will You forget me forever?
How long will You hide Your face from me?
How long shall I take counsel in my soul,
Having sorrow in my heart daily?
How long will my enemy be exalted over me?

Consider and hear me, O LORD my God;
Enlighten my eyes,
Lest I sleep the sleep of death;
Lest my enemy say,
“I have prevailed against him”;
Lest those who trouble me rejoice when I am moved.

But I have trusted in Your mercy;
My heart shall rejoice in Your salvation.
I will sing to the LORD,
Because He has dealt bountifully with me.

I pray that God have mercy upon K, and deal bountifully with her.

From the CIA World Factbook:
This entry gives a figure for the average number of children that would be born per woman if all women lived to the end of their childbearing years and bore children according to a given fertility rate at each age. The total fertility rate (TFR) is a more direct measure of the level of fertility than the crude birth rate, since it refers to births per woman. This indicator shows the potential for population change in the country. A rate of two children per woman is considered the replacement rate for a population, resulting in relative stability in terms of total numbers. Rates above two children indicate populations growing in size and whose median age is declining. Higher rates may also indicate difficulties for families, in some situations, to feed and educate their children and for women to enter the labor force. Rates below two children indicate populations decreasing in size and growing older. Global fertility rates are in general decline and this trend is most pronounced in industrialized countries, especially Western Europe, where populations are projected to decline dramatically over the next 50 years.

encounter with icons

St John used the term latria for the absolute worship reserved only for God, and the word proskinesis to describe the relative worship, or veneration, given to the Mother of God, saints, and sacred objects such as relics and icons.

Maybe an analogy from everyday life will help make these definitions easier to grasp.My father died in 1998. For forty-nine years my parents shared a strong Christian faith—an adoration of God—and a strong love and respect for one another. During the last few years of their marriage, they developed a morning ritual. Upon waking, they would greet each other with the Psalmist’s words, “This is the day the Lord has made,” and the response, “Let us rejoice and be glad in it.” After my father’s death, my mother continued the tradition, greeting instead his photograph—an image of her husband—often with a kiss, and would say both the greeting and response they once shared. The love and veneration she shows to the image is passed on to the prototype, in this case her husband, whom she sees as being very much alive and waiting for her in heaven.

So it is with the veneration of icons. A worshipper enters the church and approaches an icon. Maybe it’s the icon of the saint who is commemorated on that particular day, or of Jesus or the Mother of God. Making the sign of the cross, followed by a metania, a bow from the waist, the person then kisses the icon, passing on her love and veneration to the prototype it represents. She is not worshipping the image, any more than my mother worships a photograph of my father.

-from an excellent piece on iconography, here

Time changes you.

It's funny how time changes your perceptions.

I've been watching some youtube songs from a band called simply Live that I really loved when I was younger. They were post-grunge, alternative rock. I probably haven't heard them in 5 years. I was listening to a radio program on the local station here and heard the band performing, which brought back countless memories.

What the lyrics meant to me then- and what they mean to me now- is very interesting for me.

One song, called "Heaven", says I don't need no one to tell me about heaven, I look at my daughter, and I believe. I remember wondering about this particular statement, and trying to relate it to my perception of parental love. It didn't make sense to me.

Now, it does.

When one has no homeland

When one has no homeland, one must create a place to make pilgrimage to. I have no qualms about starting a family tradition of going to Land Between the Lakes. We must have someplace to call our own, and to return to fondly. I have not yet been to the places in Ohio that my husband claims. I have only been to Land Between the Lakes once. But I yearn for it as one yearns for a homeland.

Where I grew up is a dismal place, to me. I know now my eyes see differently and I know ways to love where I am from, now. There are many places I want to show my children and I know they'd love. I want to take them down the country roads I ran as a teen. I would not tell them that I hated it then, that it seemed boring and hidden from the world to me. I have come to an understanding that the world is in fact an ugly place, and hidden places are rare and to be treasured.

God has blessed my family immensely. And myself, more than I could have ever imagined. And in ways I could never have concieved. I've had my wisdom teeth removed lately and it was a horrible experience (the sleepy gas terrified me). Watching your pulse slow on a monitor is like giving in to death. I had a horrible time not jumping up and leaving and finding unspoiled air to breathe. Air that is pure and free of sedative. I stayed only by prayer, and that is frantic prayer. Repeating the creeds and the Hail Mary kept me calm as I could be. I know the nurse was annoyed I was not falling asleep quick enough. My pulse was at 65 the last time I looked at the monitor. I thank God that I had no bad reactions to the medications and came home ready to care for my dear sweet Sue (who is just seven months and crawling and saying Mama).

Being a Christian is not about "living for Christ". It is about dying with Christ, and being resurrected with Christ. If we are called to anything, it is not to life. It is to suffering and death, and at the same instance to peace and joy. This peace is not imperfect, by any means. It is perfect and holy. The more I come to understand this, the more I feel that God might someday say to me, "Well done."

Thinking of going to Land Between the Lakes again as a family (and driving for miles in hidden places), leaves me filled with hope.

Or maybe it's the Vicodin making me sentimental. Who can tell.

american idol.

I don't ever want to be famous. I've come to that conclusion.

I want to die without having done anything "cool" in the eyes of the world. I really would be content to be the named on an old, worn gravestone that someone dusts off someday and doesn't recognize at all. I just want to be buried on a hill in Ohio out in the country miles from everything. I want to be forgotten, someday, because I know I was not made to be exalted.

Before I got married or had children, I had many silly dreams. I was going to be this or that. But I never had a deep need to be on a stage or to be somebody. I have come to hate the fact that every silly dream a youth has is encouraged in our society. You can do it! You're awesome! You're something special! I detest this propaganda. If you can shake your behind and sing like a wounded buffalo, you're famous. It isn't that hard nowadays. It helps that everyone is a winner (and woe if you are not!), everyone can be famous. Reach for the stars, right? It seems to be taught (brainwashed?) that you should just Be Who You Are! Don't Change For Anyone Or Anything! There doesn't seem to be a consideration of growth being good. If you're 30 and still act like a juvenile, it's more power to you. If you're an idiot, but say something arrogant once in a while, you're suddenly a genius!

It doesn't matter anymore where you come from or what your family is like. Ancestry is lost. Who are we- if we have no past, and want to believe we can live our entire lives in the present?

American idols are no longer hard working folks with talent that wrought their own way. It's every other angsty teenager who sings about their broken heart. I do not ascribe to the idea that great art comes from broken-heartedness. The human heart is so much stronger than that. What I can understand is a broken spirit, and spirit is much harder to regain than another person's love. Emotion is not talent. Let's get that straight. If talent comes from a broken and contrite spirit, it comes with a whole lotta heart to back it up. The two are not exclusive. When we celebrate them exclusively, we celebrate nonsense.

I might just be bitter because I haven't been one of the few (many?) who have been destined to a life of greatness.

Nah.

I couldn't be me, if I was Somebody Who Is Everybody.

vision...

Perhaps a tender heart comes, in part, from a dichotomy of vision: one must be able to see that the world is beautiful and God-filled, and one must be able to see the horrific and sorrowful state of its fallenness, and one must be able to see these two things at the same time.

from here.

contemplation, and Αγία Σοφία

My husband and I moved to the REC (Reformed Episcopal Church) earlier this year, after several visits as we were seeking to learn more and be more exposed to the historical and traditional aspects of the Anglican faith. We were also seeking a church that hadn't followed a majority of the Anglican world in ordaining women and homosexuals.

It felt like a breath of fresh air for a minute. Then the REC joined the ACNA, and many questions lept up, not only from us but from many Anglicans.

Now, again, I go to church with that lingering feeling in the pit of my stomach. A feeling of unrest, of distraction, not at all how I would like to be thinking as I enter God's house.

For me, as a woman, a mother, a Christian, I already have distractions at church. It is already a struggle to focus on Christ. Are my clothes right? Is my hair right? What do the other women think of me, as a woman, a mother, a Christian? These are things I shouldn't struggle with but do. I fight them down, and stand before Christ. I can fight that battle. As a mother, I'm always back and forth between keeping an eye on the children and trying to pray. I can deal with this as well, because I know God blessed me with children and it is my duty to raise them up to know Him. As a Christian, I struggle as well. Struggle to be holy, struggle not to sin, struggle to learn, struggle to love God as St. Matthew teaches-with my heart, soul, and mind.

I don't need further distraction keeping me from worship. I don't want to have questions when I receive the Eucharist.

My heart is with God. My soul seeks Him. My mind falters when I enter the church. Is this Christ's Church? Is this where I may know him most fully? Sometimes I wish that God did not allow man to create denominations. Though, at the same time, I know we would not be free, and we could not love Him as he created us to.

I've been asking God to forgive me for anything I've done or am doing to impede His guidance in this area. Shouldn't standing before God be a simple thing? Now my family must struggle to find out if we stand on solid ground, or sinking sand.

On another note, the kids and I studied Hagia Sophia today, which is a former patriarchal basilica of the Eastern Orthodox Church, later a mosque, now a museum in Istanbul, Turkey. Famous in particular for its massive dome, it is considered the epitome of Byzantine architecture. It was the largest cathedral in the world for nearly a thousand years, until the completion of the Seville Cathedral in 1520. The name of the church is from the Greek Αγία Σοφία, or "Holy Wisdom". It is the third church built on the site, as the other two were destroyed by riots. The church was the focal point of the Eastern Orthodox Church for over 1000 years, and the Church contained a large collection of holy relics and featured, among other things, a 50 foot silver iconostasis. In 1453, Constantinople was conquered by the Ottoman Turks and Sultan Mehmed II ordered the building to be converted into a mosque. The bells, altar, iconostasis, and sacrificial vessels were removed, and many of the mosaics were eventually plastered over. How very sad. A church once dedicated to the Holy Wisdom of God (as the full Greek name implies) now stripped and defaced. There's a testament to the destructive fruit of mans' choices.

Come on, December.

On waiting in the dentist's office...

I need to have my wisdom teeth removed. I have hopes that I do not lose what little wisdom I have gained in the few years I've been around. I don't understand why they are called wisdom teeth if they do not fit and must be removed. I try not to think about the surgery because it is just plain unpleasant.

While sitting in the dentist's office reading endless magazines and text messaging my husband ceaselessly, which probably annoyed the other waiters in the room, I overheard a conversation between a mother and son who were also waiting. The boy was a teen, I thought. He spoke in an annoyingly soft and feminie tone, waved his hands about as he spoke, and had silly piercings (such as a shiny stud in his nostril, one through his eyebrow, top of his ear, etc). I must note it was also obvious beneath his tight t-shirt that he had nipple piercings. He was reading through home design catalogs and loudly exclaiming over things that were "darling" and "precious". I immediately understood his sexual identity. There was no if, an, or but about it. He was talking loudly about his father in Alaska, who works for a transportation/tourism company. He talked proudly of his father, until his mother sputtered, "Alan, he's a lousy bus driver, for Chrissake." I cannot stand people taking the Lord's name in vain nonstop, but that's another story.

I didn't completely gather that the mother and father of Alan were divorced until Mom got up to give the receptionist her insurance card and then rifled through her purse to get another card, and said, again loud enough for even the guy in the back of the office getting his teeth ripped out of his skull to hear her (and this guy was unsconcious), "Here's my other card. Hopefully his father has some coverage on him still. He could help somehow!" She said this with obvious derision. Alan kept his mascara covered lashes lowered and became even more engrossed in his fashion magazine. Mom then announced his birthday, and he interjected, "Mom, I'm not 20, I'm 21." She rolled her eyes, "Oh, right. You were with him over that birthday."

They went on to discuss fashion, which the mother was obviously pleased to be able to discuss with anyone, even if it were her MALE child. She also pointed out in her loud and extravagant way how at least Alan had gotten that scholarship (how many other kid's mothers' had pushed them to get good grades so they could get a $5,000 scholarship??) to offset her expenses. Alan agreed with her heartily, while he was crawling around on the floor searching for the back to an earring for at least 15 minutes.

I have step children. I will never speak ill of their mother in public.

But that's not my point. I was observing Alan, and realizing I am only two years older than him.

I think something has been lost in our culture, something to do with the sanctity of human life. I see sanctity in the Church, and I see love, care, and humility in the Church. I see people bowing to their Lord and taking their places with gentle and quiet manners. I see holiness uplifted, and sin vanquished. I see humanity, in place of vanity.

My final thought in this post is this: I was thinking, rather terrified, that the young man in the dentist's office will probably grow up to be an Anglican priest.

I'd rather be a lady.

Reading Victorian novels makes me wish I was born a long time ago, and was living out my life in an entirely different generation. Having an English accent would not have been so bad, either, though that has nothing to do with my favor.

I am currently a homemaker, raising 4 children and homeschooling. I had intended to stay at home and homeschool for a while, then slowly go back to school and eventually when the children were middle schools work so that they can experience an expensive private school education. That while was extended when we had another child. And could be extended again, as we do want another baby in the future.

When I was younger, I wanted to be a zoologist or a National Geographic photographer. Largely, my childhood was isolated and these interests came from the abundance of National Geographic magazines and videos handed down to me by my great-grandparents (whom I have mentioned in a previous post were very important to me). I remember sitting in the colossal barn where my grandfathers last horse-the others had all been sold-and the huge tractor he was too-aged to use sat, unused but obviously loved. Cobwebs extended from the stall of the old mare, up to the ceiling and then down over the mechanical beast, swaying in the breeze like threadbare flags of surrender. Surrounded by farm tools that were no longer in use, and showed it in thick layers of blood red rust, I poured over pictures of African women shirtless and working in fields, their faces full of piercings and tatoos, fascinated by their huge smiles. Stories of Jane Goodall living with gorillas spiked my interest. My small town Indiana upbringing, where life revolved around the RV and double-wide factories, seemed all the more abysmal as I considered articles that spoke of the vast world of which I had never heard. Going back home from the farm in Ohio, I dreamt of life beyond cornfields and country lanes.

Now the things I couldn't wait to leave and thought lacked all grandeur call me back. I've long since realized I am not cut out to be a zoologist. I've seen enough zoos. I don't want to be a field photographer, I'd rather be settled with my husband and children and take their portraits occasionally.

With childhood dreams seen unrealisitic, I don't know where to turn. I want a degree, but there seems so little left in the world to do that I think is at all important. I don't want to be in business, technology, or politics. Real trades don't seem to exist anymore. It's all corporate, bigger than life, reality show ugliness. I want to teach, but where? I am stuck in indecision.

I just want a big garden (without my neighbors fences tight against our property on all sides, so close they're all visible from the back door), a horse or two to whinny at us as we pull into our long dusty drive (no more cement driveway!), and to see my children running through fields of wildflowers. I don't think they'd understand that flowers sometimes grow by themselves in vast, colorful swatches along rolling hillsides, and that you can pick as many as you want. My children understand plants in pots, from seeds bought at K-Mart, and flowers aren't to be picked because they're so scarce here that one just wants to let them flourish for the few weeks or months they'll bloom.

I don't like this city life, this busy idea of life. I want idleness.

I could be a lady of old, sitting in my drawing room sewing, or strolling through the gardens, without retirement and insurance and college degrees to comtemplate. I want neighbors who don't avoid eachother out of fear.

Do you know the feel of cobblestone beneath your shoes? Whatever happened to cobblestone? I hate blacktop.

A thought

From a blog my brother in law and sister in law set me unto:

The Church existed before the New Testament was written – thus to name it by something that was created through it would be absurd.

Assumption

Newly Anglican, my family and I have been discovering the rich beauty of our faith together. Recently, my husband and I became aware of a Catholic and Orthodox feast, that being the death and Assumption, or Dormition, of Mary.

This feast celebrates the death of the Mother of God, Mary, and also that her body and soul were assumed into heaven.

I accept this, heartily. After reading many blogs and wikipedia snippets, and after examining the biblical examples (i.e Revelations 12, Psalm 132), I can very well see why it is possible and very worthy of celebration.

I am not speaking of an ascension, but of an assumption. For anyone who isn't familiar with the history of this celebration (I had never heard of it, growing up unchurched and then having been barely dabbling in the Church) might at first balk. There is a general disgust in the evangelical Protestant world for the veneration of Mary, one that is widespread. I have heard too many, "They worship Mary when they should be worshipping Christ!" That's just, to be blunt, stupid. Anyone who would spend five minutes looking up Catholic or Orthodox veneration of Mary should, if they are at least slightly intelligent, understand that prayers "to" Mary are prayers asking the Holy Mother to intercede on our behalf. Her holiness is recognized, and venerated, but there is no worship involved, other than worship of her Son.

Real quick, to venerate means to be in awe of, to respect, to revere. I think anyone who would deny that Mary deserves veneration also denies that she was "the ark of thy strength" (Psalm 32).

If we can as Christians readily agree that it is a matter of divine revelation that Enoch, Elijah, and possible Moses were assumed into heaven by God, then why not agree that Mary was assumed as well? The mother of our Lord, who was holy, favored of God, was not held by the grave. She died, and then, bound by the Commandment "honor thy father and thy mother" given to all men (being both Man and God) Jesus honored her by not allowing her to decay. I read an argument on another blog that read, 'Christ would not see Enoch and Elijah assumed into Heaven and then allow His very own mother to rot. The woman that bore Him, nursed Him, and stood by Him during His passion and death on the cross.'

The blog I linked to above also stated, 'Christ ascended by His own power. But Mary was passively assumed into Heaven by Christ. His power accomplished the honor. And thus in Revelation, Mary as seen as being "in Heaven."

Amen. If anyone actually reads this, I welcome comments that might further my knowledge here, and bring me to a greater understanding.

Sleep deprivation drunkeness

It's funny how when you're exhausted, it's like being drunk. Thoughts formed in your mind come out differently from your lips. Like drinking, you also learn to behave while under the influence, eventually. After having two kids so close together, I know when I'm going to be too tired. When I'm likely to trip on things and fall, I know then to walk slower, and be more observant. I mostly know when to talk carefully, so that I don't really say what I'm thinking, or so I can actually say what I'm thinking and remember what I wanted to say. It's like you have to force your natural senses into overdrive. I guess it's a survival instinct, in some way.

It's not as fun as being drunk. But interesting to observe.

hope for the future.

I heard a band on 89.9 WEVL and looked them up. They are The Abrams Brothers, and the band members are three Canadian boys aged 18, 18, and 16. I was impressed that they are so young, their music is impressive, and it's not Britney Spears pop garbage. Far from it, in fact.

From their bio on the website: In 2008 The Abrams Brothers recorded, Blue on Brown, a tribute to folk legends Bob Dylan and Arlo Guthrie. The album of bluegrass and gospel covers features an all-star cast of Canadian artists such as Bruce Cockburn and Amy Milan (Broken Social Scene) and demonstrates the groups deft musicianship as they keep up with Dylan and Guthrie’s fast rhythms and intricate guitar finger-work. They even got the nod of approval from Arlo Guthrie himself when the man heard them playing his songs and said, “these guys are way too young to be that good.”
One of the boys is named Elijah. Like my boy, which further endears me.

Up yours, Jonas Brothers.

Should be folding laundry...

I like this form of poetry a lot. It is called the villanelle. It has specific, intentional meter and form, and I think it has more substance than free or blank verse. Someday when my kids are older and I have more than a half hour to myself a day, I'd like to learn a whole lot more about poetry.

Here's a poem I came across a few years ago, supposed to be from the perspective of Mary Magdalene. It's odd, but thought provoking.

and with that, he bowed his head

Your turn of neck has summoned up my grief;
the coma curvature of words you leave,
my lungs heave past their desire to cease!

Past habits float, reanimate belief;
hands tremble over table settings, weak,
Your turn of neck has summoned up my grief.

These laden counters seek a slight reprieve:
your unused rations build my sorrow's pique.
My lungs heave past their desire to cease.

(P)Reparations should be made: the rude thief
of morning comes again, with warmth oblique.
Your turn of neck has summoned up my grief!

I only found an empty, perfumed sheath,
your body gone, ardor becomes antique-
my lungs heave past their desire to cease.

I followed on humblest terms, however brief,
yet now it would be me: the first you'd seek.
Your turn of neck has summoned up my grief,
my lungs heave past their desire to cease.

Hospitality room.

We've been visiting in St. Louis. I think this city is well organized, the parts I have seen, and certainly well policed. Cops everywhere. Which is good for the crime rates but rather unsettling when you're driving back to your hotel room after an Anheuser-Busch tour. But I don't like it here. I could not live here...it's too big and busy.

The Anheuser-Busch tour was terrific. It's the most fun I had here. I'm not just talking about the free beer. Did I mention FREE BEER? And, the tour was free. Which, of course, is always good when you have kids. Out of the zoo, the mall, pool, and playgrounds, the kids were best behaved at the brewery. Maybe it was the delicious scent of yeast in the air. Or the massive Clydesdales. Perhaps the energetic guide helped keep their attention. Maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that Mama and Daddy were anticipating free beer and were in especially good moods. One never can tell.

I can say I am now endeared to Anheuser-Busch. Especially after noting that the company is the importer and distributor of Becks in the United States.

The tour was great. The hospitality room at the end of the tour offered free pretzals (very good ones, too) and free beer. They didn't have the Michelob Irish Red that I wanted to try on tap, but nonetheless the two free beers were cold and crisp and lovely. There were pretzals, like I said, which the kids loved, and also soda and water for anyone who didn't want beer.

That's hospitality, folks.

You know what?

I don't even like blogging, really, I don't think. It's rather useless and meaningless in the grand scheme of things.

hmm....

Either my blog needs more pictures, or more posts about breasts.



My husband took my son shooting for the first time today. Elijah shot a nine millimeter. I was a little scandalized because I think generally a nine mil is seen as a gangster gun. Look, it's true. But Joe said Eli was too little for the .45, too much recoil. I guess that makes sense and is a good excuse.

I just don't think a nine mil sounds very knight-worthy. My son is a knight, from Narnia, as he insists. He's quite good at fencing with a wooden sword and shield. He also gets wounded well; he falls to the ground with a groan, grimaces and grasps his pretend gaping wound, and calls for his older sister to come and use her healing-dragonfly-blood-magic-tincture on him. It's quite entertaining. I am proud that he plays fair and takes his licks.

To continue, my son shot a gun today. The type of gun (gangster or otherwise) was of no nevermind to him. He was ecstatic that he shot a tree. A big tree, too! I acted very impressed and asked how big. Apparently, the tree he shot was "big as sky".

He did say the boom of the gun was scary. I think he just says things like that to warn me that certain things are scary, because he doesn't seem actually scared of anything that he calls scary. He said the fireworks on the 4th were scary, but he was very happy and not afraid when we were there. It's nice to think he's trying to look out for Mama. Because, as Daddy says, women are little and scared and need lots of kisses.

Whatever gets me a kiss from a sweaty little boy with big blue eyes, I'll agree to.

Breasts: More than just look-pretties.

While giving a new mother advice, I said, "BREASTFEED!" She basically said, "Huh?"

Thank you, past generations, for leaving my generation without any instruction on the perfection of God's design when He created woman.

I've heard one two many times, "Well, if I do breastfeed, I'll pump. It's gross to have the baby suck on my nipple!"

Lord, have mercy.

Icons

I woke up today a little groggy, and our internet homepage is Yahoo. The news headline said, 'Two great icons lost'.

I have some kind of priorities because my first thought was of iconography.

I'm also facing some bitterness from a few folks because I have no feelings over these "horrific and startling" celebrity deaths. I'm neither here nor there on the subject. I didn't follow their lives, didn't watch their movies much or listen to their music. Anyone titled King of Pop who looks like a woman is certainly not going to be played in my household. Fans, forgive me. The more years I can boast the more of a snob I'm becoming. Seems to me stuff like this gets more front page status in American than anything else does. Now there's something to be depressed about.

Intelligence.

I really don't know what it means to be an intelligent person. One day I think it means this or that, the next I haven't the faintest idea. I don't even think it matters much if you are or aren't.



Is an intelligent person well-read, book smart, has traveled, knows-so-and-so (who knows-so-and-so), has gone to college, knows good beer and wine, etc, or is an intelligent person he or she who knows people, hasn't read much but has so much experience with actual life living that book snob's repertoire pales in comparison, has dirt-worn sun-worn everything, drinks beer and cheap beer, and doesn't give a flippin' hoot about "Hollywood"?



I am most endeared to people who are hard working, in whatever fashion. It's the weathered old man on the side of the road selling tomatoes, who knows dark, black muck Ohio farming, fly fishing, breaking horses, raising barns, has milked his share of livestock, can drive a nail straight in one hit, knows what language the sky talks when it's about to storm... it's that intelligence that I can most understand. My great grandfather was that type of man, and he was a great man. He died when I was eleven, but his impression upon my life was strong and lasting. I am still drawn to people that have lived close to the earth. It's the sort of thing you know you know, it's in your bones and in your breath. It's not intelligence in the sense that it is something that automatically makes you smart or knowledgable. But it's real. There's a difference between working the earth and living on it.



There's another facet of hard worker, and that is the sort of person that does the best with what they have. Maybe they didn't finish high school, or they dropped out of college. Public education is not the save all. Gosh, that's hit me hard. I thought you went to college and grew up and got smarter all in one go. I thought those with a college education were gonna go out and be great people. Intelligent people, if you will. There's another kind of intelligence, the kind that comes from tough experience and spoiled fantasies. The kind of smarts that keep what matters close and learn to pick and choose just like that old man whose callused hand knows the feel of a ripe tomato without looking. When a person looks at the world and understands good and evil, through whatever glasses they look, and resolves to work for good and against evil, they're intelligent in my book. Even if it's just I did my duty or I raised my kids up or I stood up for what is right. If they choose the Church over the world, one better.



Then we have the people who go to college, are smart, coast through. They have money, affluence, nice everything. They don't have to work too hard to get anything. Their parents were great. Still are. Their families are old and held together by dollars. I'm not saying this type is always stuck up and spoiled, but they can't understand the hard earned man's intelligence just as he can't understand theirs.



I think society is much to blame. There are stereotypes and rank systems that I cannot begin to detangle or explain. I just wish there was a happy medium. Sounds like some can't we just get along and love eachother hippie BS, doesn't it? Not exactly what I mean.



I do not consider myself an intelligent person. I am gaining knowledge in a lot of areas, but I don't desire to describe or credit myself as "smart". If anything, I'm stupid. I don't know television characters of shows. I haven't finished college. I grew up poor and unchurched. But I can mesh pretty well with people that aren't like me.



It sounds assinine and arrogant, but I think I know life pretty well. I understand it. I'd rather I understood than that I was polished and presentable. Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy upon me.



A sinner!

Forte

A few minutes ago, I was sitting on my son's big wheel bike and thinking about life.


Let me explain.

He insisted I "try ride, Mama!" after I commented how fun that looks and how I wished I had a fast bike like that. He's just gotten the hang of pedaling and darts around at alarming speeds. I wasn't trying to say I was jealous and wanted a turn, but he's two and that's all he heard. I am way too big for his bike, and really had no desire to ride it, but he was trying to share and looked so pleased to be able to share with Mama.

So that's how I ended up on the bike. He pushed me around a few times then exclaimed, "OK, me turn!" When he actually starts using correct grammar I am really going to miss the baby talk. It's the only thing left of his babyhood. Sometimes I don't mind when he scrapes up a knee because that's the only time he wants me to hold him.

I was thinking that it was the best thing I did all day, accepting this offer to ride my son's bike. It is not the everyday tasks that make me happy at home, it is these moments with my kids. I know it's silly as hell, but I really enjoyed being pushed around the garage on the big wheel. Who cares if I looked completely ridiculous. Who cares if he tells Daddy later and I get laughed at. I know my husband would have ridden the bike, too.

Lately, considering going back to school and possibly working in a few years, I've really been looking at my children and I can't imagine not being with them constantly like I am. Sometimes it's frustrating to no end, yes, but they're also the best times I can recollect.

No, I'm not posting a picture of me on the big wheel. Sorry.

Freebirthing

A show on DHC caught my eye as I was walking the baby to sleep. It's called "Freebirthing", and the description of the show is "Women opting to have babies without drugs, midwives, or medical support". It's interesting to me, even though I haven't given birth at home.

Home birth is great. I very much agree with it, and think it's not a bad thing at all. I have two beautiful nieces that were birthed at home, and it was a rewarding and wonderful experience for their mum. One came before the midwife even arrived. However, there were no complications, the babies were full term, etc. I don't think that home birth is for everyone...especially those whose babies will require more care. Also, women with problematic pregnancies shouldn't risk it, in my humble opinion.

The show on DHC is toting a party line, all about having unassisted childbirth (no midwife even), and the most often repeated line is that they're doing this to have pain-free, laughter filled childbirth. Several of the women they spotlighted are completely opting out of any medical "intervention". That not only means no drugs or anything during childbirth, but also no prenatal care. I really think the latter part is insane. Why wouldn't you have prenatal care when it's available to you? Women should never have to have any test done against their will, but an experienced medical professional examining you, and your baby...I just think it's something we have and should take advantage of. Not that it's going to make the pregnancy perfect, but why not? And having a midwife is something I think is essential as well. For first babies, at least!

The thing I do agree with is the natural birth. And women need to know the facts, instead of just following the advice of their doctor without any thoughts of their own. My first child was born in a hospital. I was terrified, told all sorts of things that were very unhelpful by the staff, and the birth was long and hard. My first birth was induced a week early with Pitocin. After having my second child, I'd never induce again unless absolutely necessary. Having my second only two hours after arriving at the hospital, without drugs or any intervention, I know it's better. I am sure I would have been fine staying at home, because my pregnancy was problem-free, and my baby was full term and healthy. I was told all kinds of things with my first pregnancy that I just politely did not listen to with my second. With my first I was told my baby was too big, and I was too small. I was told I would probably need a c-section. It seems to be a disclaimer in the hospital and with doctors not used to natural birth. My husband and I chose to have our child in the hospital in case something went wrong. But we insisted on our wishes being of foremost importance. We chose a hospital that advocated natural childbirth.

A woman on the show gave labor at home, and one thing she said afterwards stands out, "My labor was pain-free. Really, because I was comfortable, it was quiet, there was no one I didn't know coming in. I knew what was going to happen, and I did not work against it. Pain comes when you work against what your body is supposed to be doing. Women scream and thrash during labor when they are scared. If you know what each stage of labor is like, and what it involves, you understand how this is all OK, it's all something normal and natural. It is not pain you experience then, it is childbirth. And yes, I was laughing. Bringing forth a life is a reason to laugh."

Of course there is all this natural talk but then the commercials between are all about the benefits of formula. There are too many mixed messages in this world.

Worth taking a gander

Came across this blog: http://www.internetmonk.com/archive/random-thoughts-about-the-internet-what-im-doing-with-it-what-its-doing-to-us-how-its-changed-me-etc

Very interesting. Social networking is terrifying. But it's not like we know our neighbors or the neighborhood kids play together or anything like that nowadays, anyway. I'm not quite sure if social networking is one step forward or one step back.

Education in the home, first ideas.

I want to write a series of posts on homeschooling. This'll be the first. That way, if someone asks me about homeschooling, I can direct them here. Hopefully, I can get some kind of concise ideas down and share my experiences without going off subject too much.

History, first. I've been homeschooling "officially" for 2 years. I've just completed 1st and kindergarten with my 5 and 7 year old. I started teaching my 7 year old when he was two, things like colors, numbers, and letters. So if you want to count those years (I do), I've been homeschooling for about 4 years. I now have kids aged 7, 5, 2, and 4 months, which makes for an interesting day.

In this first post, I am going to address early education, before kindergarten. Don't make the mistake of thinking homeschooling starts when your child turns five and is "school-age". If they're already 5 or 6, don't sweat it. They've probably picked up more than you think, and will do fine.

If you're planning on homeschooling your kids, and they're 2 or 3 or 4, that's where homeschooling starts. Before you try to start homeschooling in kindergarten, try to make things easier on yourself. Getting your kids into habits and teaching them the basics first is essential. Learning to read before kindergarten will really enable them to take off with a head start. Both my kids were reading well before starting kindergarten. Trust me, teaching is much easier when your child can read simple directions and the like by themselves. It also helps when you're trying to manage multiple children's lessons at one time.

So start when they're toddlers. The beauty of homeschooling is that everyday life is just as much a learning experience as serious, sit-down-at-the-desk time. It starts with talking to your child. Ask them questions. "What color is that?" "Is that big or small?" "How many do you see?" When you talk to your child, talk about what they need to learn. Don't just say, "You can play outside now." Instead, say, "The yellow sun is up in the blue sky. It is above the tree. Do you want to play under the tall tree with green leaves?" It's much easier to live and learn than to try to sit a toddler down and get them to pay attention. Get some colorful blocks and play, while asking "What color is this block?" ""Can you give me the green block?"

My daughter learned her letters at 3 when we put up the alphabet in her room and sang the ABC song (while pointing at each letter) before bed at night. It was great fun for her, and she learned to say the letters and recognize them without any trouble. Eventually, we started taking about three letters a night and talking about their sounds. We pointed out the vowels, too, when she was a little older. We invented a game she begged to play, too...we had a stack of alphabet flashcards, and we'd have her stand across the room from us, and hold up a card. If she got it right, she could jump forward. If she got it wrong, she had to take a hop back. When she got several right in a row, she'd make it over to us and either get a hug and kiss or a treat. This same game worked with numbers and shapes. In addition, if your child is dexterous, start writing letters. My kids loved chalk boards and wipe off boards.

Teach them gently, and don't worry if they don't get it right away. Or even if they don't seem to get it at all, or they don't care. Keep showing and talking. They're listening, and listening more closely than you realize. Don't get mad. Don't be too frustrated when they wander off or want to play trucks or dolls instead. Everything a child does at this point is a possible learning experience.

I recommend teaching your child to read early. However, do not push them too hard. Reading needs to be something enjoyable. You don't want them to hate reading, or they're gonna have a heck of a time doing any schoolwork. Reading must be a joy, and you can set an example by reading to them, and letting them see you reading and enjoying it. I used two guides when my kids were ready (it's great if you can teach them letter recognition and letters sounds, first). This book, by Siegfried Engelmann, is a great place to start. I eventually moved on to The Ordinary Parent's Guide to Teaching Reading, but the 100 Easy Lessons was better for my kids at first, because it has big print and age appropriate stories with fun illustrations. We did many lessons over and over, as many times as it took for them to catch on. That's normal, too. I've seen a few friends who think they have a very bright child become devastated when their kid doesn't take to reading easily. It's best to expect them to be confused at first. In my experience, kids can learn letters and sounds easily, because those are individual rules. Reading requires the child to put a lot of rules together, which is a big step forward in cognitive development. It's not easy. But you can make it fun, and they'll love to keep trying.

I had no idea what I was doing when we started homeschooling. There are great books out there, read a ton of them. Pick and choose what you think is the best method for your child, and jump in. When something clicks, and you see that light bulb flash on, it's going to be as exciting as your baby's first smile, first steps, etc. It's something I'm so glad I didn't miss by sending my kids off to school at a very young age.

I might continue this post later, or choose to move on. Best of luck, reader.