Priest

We've recently moved to a new church, for many good and solid reasons, and are happy there. We're going through catechism, currently, and I am enjoying it. Our priest is slightly outspoken and decidedly passionate in his teaching, while staying true to the faith. Father Keith used to be a teacher so we've been given a fair amount of assignments and threatened with various forms of rigorous grading.

My sister (who would probably call herself agnostic if she was familiar with the term) recently visited and I attempted to explain catechism, and the following confirmation. She listened, and then commented how 'it was interesting but was it in the Bible that we had to do that?' I said, well, not exactly. She replied, 'I see, it's church tradition'. But to me, it's not just tradition. It's an intelligent expression of faith, a requirement of being members of the Body, a receiving of a very important succession, and an occasion to swear further devotion to Christ as Lord and Master. I probably should have tried to explain the strengthening gifts...

I'm going to listen to volunteer radio now and dance my infant daughter around the room, reminiscent of the poem I posted about a month ago.

Four years

My husband and I have been married four years as of the past Thursday. We have four children together. I'm blissfully happy with him, and I know I could not have a better father for my children or a harder worker to provide for our family.

I can't wait for anniversary number five.

Maybe it does matter

I asked my father in law what shall I do for the Lord, now, with infants and little children? I said I can barely some days drag myself through menial everyday tasks, how am I to go out and do God's work? He said God's work for me now is already in my hands.

Teach me to love your work, Father. Even the menial tasks.

Found this poem poignant...

I saw this, have never heard of the poet before. I read over it several times and it gave me pause.

Yellow Bowl

by Rachel Contreni Flynn

If light pours like water
into the kitchen where I sway
with my tired children,

if the rug beneath us
is woven with tough flowers,
and the yellow bowl on the table
rests with the sweet heft
of fruit, the sun-warmed plums,
if my body curves over the babies,

and if I am singing,
then loneliness has lost its shape,
and this quiet is only quiet.

The newly regenerated baby...

Elisabeth was baptized tonight, at St. James' Easter Vigil. I spent most of the service in the nursery with the babies and then after the baptism I was back in the nursery until communion.

After the baby was baptized, our priest sprinkled the congregation with holy water. He announced he would do this, but as I,distracted, was carrying the baby back to our pew, the icy cold water fell upon my neck and back and I flinched...but only for a moment. Then my free hand flew up to make the sign of the cross, and the words of the renewal vows rang again in my ears. The frustration I felt with my toddler throwing tantrums while prayers were read, the older two wiggling and whispering nonstop, the baby fussing, it all faded for a second. Is now and ever will be.

Taking the baby back to the nursery, I took the outside route, around the corner of the church to avoid walking all the way up the pew with my screaming girl. She was hungry and this baptism business was of no interest to her. But when the night air hit us she quieted, and cooed, and stared up at me as I whispered thanks to God for the sacrament of Ella's baptism. Her peach fuzz was still wet with holy water, and her forehead shiny with chrism.

I am exhausted, the day was long, the evening, vigil, and baptism were longer-especially when spent with tired and cranky children. Four of them under 7. I'm going to finally go to bed and pray that He grant us His peace.

HE IS RISEN!

Indeed.