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.
29 September 2009
28 September 2009
22 September 2009
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
19 September 2009
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.
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.
17 September 2009
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.
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.
15 September 2009
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
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
12 September 2009
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.
09 September 2009
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.
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.
03 September 2009
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.
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.
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