No more babies in my home...

Bear, one spring not so long ago...

It's actually been a few weeks now. There have been accidents, of course, but they have been fewer and farther between. Bear is finally toilet trained! And with that, comes the realization that all my babies are now no longer babies. Children, yes. Adults, yes. But babies, no. Except in my secret heart, where no matter how old they become, nor whether they have children of their own, or even one far off day, grandchildren of their own, that unique individual whom I had a part in creating, will always and forever be "my baby". In my mind's eye, I will always be able to pull up those scattered moments of their babyhood, their childhood. I will always care, and I will hurt when they hurt. In the hurried distraction of a busy household, it is easy to forget this passing milestone. But for a brief moment, I honor it. I allow the tears to fall in the grief that comes with the realization that my body will not grow and pleasingly expand with a new life inside it, my breasts will never again nurse an infant, and my constant thoughts will no longer be turned to the newborn sleeping beside me.

More than grief; however, I am so grateful for the five opportunities that I have had to be a mommy to a little baby. What a wonderful gift that we had these younger three children, so that I could once again experience that joy. Appreciate it far more than I could perhaps when I was a new mother at age 20. Or appreciate it differently. So differently, when it was not easy to become pregnant that third time around. After loss through miscarriages. Truly, grateful.

Now, dry your eyes, Woman! And get back to the raising of children: the chaos, the laughter, the scolding and busyness that this stage of motherhood brings.
Erica Robinson

Lenten Journey, Day 2

It is the 2nd day of Lent for us Eastern Orthodox Christians, and I thought that you might enjoy a peek or two inside the "notebook" that I am compiling for the children to help them with all the extra services. It's probably too advanced for a seven year old and an eight year old. Certainly too advanced for a three year, but for some reason, they all love it, are excited by it. Read (at least parts) of it, so I'm using that as my cue to continue. 

It dawned on me that I'm good at compiling. Enjoy it immensely, actually. If you are not an Orthodox Christian, this may not make any sense, but to sum up this canon in a couple of short sentences: it was written by a very holy man as a personal reflection and a dialog with his soul. The canon draws heavily on the Old Testament, but also includes many gospel references. We use it as the starting point of Lent's first four days and then again in it's entirety one night in week 5. It is a call to repentance.

Ode 6:

With my whole heart, I cried unto the compassionate God,

and He heard me; and He lifted up my soul from the depths of hell

and from corruption. Have mercy on me, O God, have mercy on me. (bow)

----

Lent  Canon of Saint Andrew of Crete, Saint’s life

"My soul, my soul arise! Why art thou sleeping..." 

St. Andrew was born in the city of Damascus into a pious Christian family. Up until seven years of age the boy was mute and did not talk. However, after communing the Holy Mysteries of Christ he found the gift of speech and began to speak. And from that time the lad began earnestly to study Holy Scripture and the discipline of theology.

At fourteen years of age he went off to Jerusalem and there he accepted monastic tonsure at the monastery of St. Sava the Sanctified. St. Andrew led a strict and chaste life, he was meek and abstinent, such that all were amazed at his virtue and reasoning of mind.

St. Andrew wrote many liturgical hymns. He was the originator of a new liturgical form—the canon. Of the canons composed by him the best known is the Great Penitential Canon, including within its 9 odes the 250 troparia recited during the Great Lent.

Church historians are not of the same opinion as to the date of death of the saint. One suggests the year 712, while others the year 726. He died on the island of Mytilene, while returning to Crete from Constantinople, where he had been on churchly business. His relics were transferred to Constantinople.

Troparion (Tone 5)

Like the Prophet David

You sang a new song

In the assembly of the righteous.

As an initiate of the Holy Spirit

You thundered forth your hymns of grace

And the word of righteousness for our salvation,

O Andrew, glory of the fathers.

Kontakion (Tone 2)

You sounded forth divine melodies like a trumpet

And were a bright lamp for the world.

You shone with the light of the Trinity, O righteous Andrew.

Therefore we cry to you: Ever intercede for us all!

Source: http://orthodoxwiki.org/Andrew_of_Crete

Icon sources: three holy youths (in the fiery furnance), public domain; St. Andrew of Crete: come and see icons
Erica Robinson

My Journey into Orthodox Christianity

In days gone by, our forefathers gathered in ancient halls or around the campfires and told stories to each other to preserve the history of their families, their tribe, their people. Today, in our digital age, we have not lost our love of stories, and so tonight, as we celebrate our community’s 35th year, I humbly ask that you will sit back, relax and enjoy as I share with you my Orthodox journey.

Many years ago, in April of 1995 to be precise, in a far away land called “Seattle”, Hubbs had begun searching for a new church home for us. Over the last several years, we had become increasingly disillusioned with the “health and wellness” gospel that was at the time being playing out in the form of the “Toronto Blessing” and the “Brownsville Revival”. With our life in crisis, our two young children and I were planning to move back across the country, to Lillian, to live with my parents for six months while Hubbs made a last, valiant effort to carve a place for us in the great Northwest. One week before we were to move in July, a college buddy called Hubbs to say that he was in town and could they meet for coffee or a beer and catch up? (both of those beverages being extremely popular in a town full of baristas and microbreweries) :)

Little did I realize what chain of events that single visit would create, nor God’s Providence in allowing that meeting to take place. For you see, Brad, now called Patrick, had become an Orthodox Christian the year before and was full of evangelistic fervor, just like his Irish patron saint of old. And so while I waded back into the morass of charis-mania, my husband found himself falling down on the floor in his first prostration on the Feast of the Elevation of the Cross and asking Patrick, “what are we doing?” to which Patrick replied, “I’ll explain later”. Not knowing what was going on with my husband’s spiritual life, I began to try every church around. I stumbled upon some Messianic Jews and thought, “Ah! Here is the answer. They are like Jesus. They are like the early church.” So, I learned how to make challah and bought my husband a prayer shawl and a yarmukle and learned how to say, “la chaim”.

Suddenly one crisp October Sunday, out of the seeming blue, since there was no “real” internet and mobile phones were not common, I got a phone call from Hubbs, excited and eager to share the joy and relief he’d found in Orthodoxy. Orthodox? What is Orthodoxy? Does he mean Orthodox Judeaism? Greek Orthodox? “Do they believe in Jesus?” I asked him over the phone. “What is their stand on abortion.” I was the daughter of an Evangelical Pastor, who had been brought up under the charismatic chaos that included such figures as Jimmy Swaggart, Jim and Tammy Baker and Pat Robertson. I wanted roots. I wanted stability. I wanted something that would not change with every new doctrine, fad, diet, or personality-driven TV evangelist. He assured me that Orthodox Christians loved Jesus and that we would see for ourselves in a few weeks when we reunited and restarted our lives and our family in Jackson, Mississippi.

Email was very new, but Hubbs’s friend had sent out a request on an Orthodox forum asking if anyone knew of any Orthodox Churches in the Jackson area. Rod T--- replied back that not only were there three Orthodox churches in Jackson and another in Vicksburg, one of the best in the country could be found in Clinton, named Holy Resurrection. I have been told that you can still see the tracks, the heel marks were that deep, left by my husband’s feet as he moved our family’s possessions towards Mississippi, past Poverty Point and Toad Suck Hollow. Only the hope of a good Orthodox church and the chance to have his family again made him willing to consider relocating to such a place. But here we were and on Christmas Eve morning our little family walked past the clanging bells and opened the mini-windowed door of that little clapboard house that contained within it, a church.

 

How do I describe what happened next? Like an orphan who unexpectedly stumbles in on a family reunion, only to discover quickly that this was YOUR family... that is how I felt. Warmed beeswax, sweet singing, incense, sunlight and dust moats swirling in the air as the priest chanted “Lord have mercy”. You have all been to this place and seen with your eyes and heard with your ears and smelled those very smells with your little noses. So, you know exactly what I am talking about! This was a first to me: this great assault on my senses. Those pictures cluttering up the walls at every turn. I did not know their names, but I instantly knew who they were. I knew, without being told, that here, before my eyes, with names I could learn, was that “great cloud of witnesses” spoken about in the book of Hebrews. At 25 years of age, I had come home spiritually. The relief in my soul was, and still is, indescribable.

We were chrismated, our children baptized, and our life in this little community began. Marlene, of blessed memory, taught me to make prosphora/holy bread. I still have the little olive and tuna tins for cutting the bread that Ann F gave to her, and she passed down to me. Hubbs became a reader and took his turn a time or two as warden. We became godparents. We settled down to the business of being a family. To make our prayer corner an active place in our home. Once, during one of Archbishop Dmitri’s visits, he had a “question and answer session”. My question, “How do we keep our children in the Faith?” (I am always one looking for a pat answer, a formula that I can plug in, a magic pill that will make my life perfect.) He smiled his sweet, kind smile at all of us and said, very matter of factly, “Follow Christ, and go to Church. And do not be overly concerned with such things.” That, of course, was not the kind of answer I was looking for, but when I am tempted to sleep in and skip church on a Sunday, those words come to mind.

It was what at a sister church's woman’s conference in Memphis in the Fall of 2003 that I confessed to my friend Edie V--- my frustrated desire to have another child. She prayed. By January, to my stunned surprise, I found myself expecting a baby. His name means, “God is gracious” and his saint is an American Saint, John the Wonderworker. More prayers and more little ones followed. We have been truly blessed.

Today, my heart overflows with love for the people, the community of Orthodox Christians here in Mississippi, but especially you, my family at Holy Resurrection. For that is what we are: brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, friends. Following Christ. Together.

Source: image of Christ the Shepherd, public domain
Other photos: taken by Heidi R. Orcutt and Ashley M. Prewitt
Erica Robinson

Repost of Saint Valentine (from Wholly Roamin' Catholic)

On Saint Valentine

Last week I joined a Facebook group called “Keep the ‘Saint’ in St. Valentine’s Day”. For many years now, it’s been trendy for curmudgeons like myself to say that people need to “Keep Christ in Christmas” or even “Keep Mass in Christmas”. And I know some people who bemoan the drunken slobber of St. Patrick’s Day—which good Saint Patrick himself would not even recognize.

But Valentine is a bit of a lost saint. We celebrate his day by goading men into buying impossibly-out-of-season and overly-expensive flowers, boxes of chocolate candy, expensive dinners and heart-shaped jewelry that bears a strange resemblance to a person’s backside (Nota Bene: Gents, if every kiss actually begins with jewelry, then you might be in a relationship with a prostitute. I’m sorry that I had to be the one to tell you this). And none of it has anything to do with the actual Saint Valentine, whose day we celebrate today.

Yes, there actually was a Saint Valentine. Several actually—martyrs all, and all are honored on February 14. Back in the era of Late Antiquity, the name “Valentine” was a common name for boys. The name comes from the word for valor; a fitting name for Christian martyrs.

But February 14 is not a group-celebration for all the Valentine men; it points to one Saint in particular—St. Valentine of Rome. He was a physician and a priest—there is some evidence that he was also a bishop, but time has made his episcopacy somewhat unverifiable.

The 3rd Century Roman emperor Claudius II only reigned over the empire for 2 years, but those two years were bent on military power. Claudius II would lead attacks on the Goths and the Gauls, each with swift and decisive success. Claudius II believed that Roman soldiers should be unmarried men, since men with wives are distracted by their obligations at home. This did not, however, stop the Roman soldiers from falling in love—and wanting to marry the beautiful Mediterranean women of the Empire.

Father Valentine in Rome would perform weddings for the lovestruck couples, in bold defiance of the orders of the Emperor. He also ministered to Christians persecuted by the Roman government, defying the decrees of the Empire to do the Lord’s work, no matter what it cost him.

And ultimately, it cost him his life.

Father Valentine was arrested, dragged to a Roman court and threatened with his life if he did not renounce his Christian faith. Valentine, again boldly defiant in loyal service to the Lord, refused to abandon Jesus Christ. He was condemned, clubbed and beheaded, going to his eternal reward on February 14 in the year 269. He was buried in a roadside cemetery near modern-day Tivoli, where his body remained until 1836, when his bones were dug up and transferred to (interestingly and inexplicably) to the Whitefriar Church in Dublin, Ireland by the papal decree of Pope Gregory XVI.

Some historians and martyrologies separate St. Valentine of Rome and St. Valentine of Terni, others do not distinguish their stories. Truth be told, there is not a lot of verifiable data on either man other than the pious traditions that conflate their stories (and perhaps some of the stories of other Valentines), and scholars sometimes have a hard time sorting out who’s who. This doesn’t bother me a bit. From what I know of the Valentine martyrs of the era, they wouldn’t mind standing as examples that point people to Christ today, even if they do get a little mixed together. At least, I hope they wouldn’t mind.

Because of his unwavering work for the poor, persecuted, and the young-and in-love, Saint Valentine of Rome is the patron saint of young people, engaged couples, apiarists and married couples. He is a patron against epilepsy, against fainting and against plague. Valentine is also the patron saint of greeting card manufacturers, for understandable reasons.

A very old pagan celebration called Lupercalia was a Roman ritual to the god Lupercus, where sacrificing dogs, goats and vestal virgin priestesses while lining up young girls and women to be publicly whipped by essentially-naked men (covered only by strategically-placed goat skins)—all of which would ensure health and fertility for another year. During the festival, young women would place their names in a large urn. The young men would draw a name from the urn and then be romantically linked with that young woman for the following year in honor of the sex and fertility goddess Februata Juno. Lupercalia lasted for several days, beginning on February 15. The festival was Christianized in the 5th Century, with the pagan practices suppressed, while an emphasis on the godly lives of saints like Valentine replaced the carnal practices of Lupercalia.

There is also a belief arising in the middle-ages that mid-way through February is where young birds find their lifelong mates—an appropriate symbol for the lifelong love of Christian marriage, and a convenient tie-in for the feast day of a martyr who gave his life marrying young couples. So men would ask ladies for their love on St. Valentine’s Day. The oldest known Valentine’s Day card is a letter from the year 1477—a photo of the card and its text is reproduced on the Fisheaters website. Surprisingly, it does not accompany a lollipop or a small package of Lik-M-Aid sugar, and does not appear to be passed out at a candy infused eight-year-old’s school party, but is a breathy letter from a young woman to a man—both secretly in love. It implores: “Right reverent and worshipful and my right well-beloved valentine, I recommend me unto you full heartedly, desiring to hear of your welfare, which I beseech Almighty God long for to preserve unto his pleasure and your hearts desire.” Hardly the “TEXT ME” of those Tums-flavored heart candies that I love so much.

And let’s leave Cupid out of this (pretty please, waywardAmericanCatholic.org?). While it’s fun to think of fat flying babies, Cupid is a pagan god, not a Christian symbol of love. I hardly think St. Valentine would approve of how the false god got so intertwined with the day of his martyrdom. You understand, right?

Pope Paul VI dropped St. Valentine’s Day from the universal calendar in 1969. The canonical iconoclasm of the 1960’s had many calendar casualties, most of whom have been largely forgotten by the world in 40 short years. But the Valentine-Industrial complex of florists, candy makers, Hallmark cards, Italian restaurants and chain jewelry shops have preserved this saint’s legacy longer than others who have almost been totally forgotten in a single generation, like Saints Philomena, Ursula and Wilgefortis. *sigh*

Today is Saint Valentine’s Day. It is a day to celebrate the happy bonds of Christian love and service to the Lord. Take a moment to thank the Lord for the love in your life, or to as Him to show you the direction towards that love—be it married, single or consecrated religious, and to do it like St. Valentine did—in steadfast fidelity to Jesus Christ.

St. Valentine, pray for us!

http://whollyroamincatholic.com/?p=115

"Be careful little mouths what you say..."

We'd been running errands, Miss Muffet and I for the past three hours. The sun had set and her chatter had slowly quieted down. I looked back in the darkened car and thought she was asleep, so I made a phone call to a friend. R and I talked about life in general, our kids, etc. I vented a little bit about my "velcro" Miss Muffet, who has become my constant shadow these past few weeks. I shared the story about the closet doorknob and other things. It was not a mean or spiteful conversation. Pulling into the garage, I looked back at MM and there to my heart-sinking dismay sat my girl with big, silent tears coursing down her face.

Ah me! What had I done! What hurt had I caused this young one's heart? I wrapped up my conversation and pulled her to me and held her in my arms as I kissed her hair and wiped her tears. They kept coming, but she would not speak about why she was sad or crying. I apologized. I asked her to forgive me. What does a seven year old do with that statement from her mother? Nothing. It means nothing. How much had she heard? What had she heard? Whatever part of my one sided phone call she had heard, it had left her feeling inadequate or shamed. Left her feeling that she was not good enough or that her mother was upset with her. We went in my room, closed the door, and I pulled her in my lap again, telling her over and over again how much I loved her and that I was so very sad that I had hurt her heart. We picked apart my phone conversation: every sentence that I thought might have hurt or embarrassed her.

This child had done nothing wrong. Not now. Not really ever. Oh she's not perfect...as I'm (sadly) quick to tell anyone. And yet, she is perfect. She is perfectly herself: loving, bright, wide open, chirpy, bossy, eager, joyful, smart, on and on I could go. Hurting her is not something I would ever, ever want to do. That I had, so acutely, and that if I had not happened to look back and notice those silent tears. What if I had not noticed? How much time, how many years with that hurt, that feeling of inadequacy or unease?

Slowly, together, we bandage up all the wounds my careless words had nicked into her heart. We giggled together as we gave each other huge "velcro" hugs. Yes, Miss Muffet is my human velcro. My lovebug. My sweet child, who lives a life of trust. Who, at seven, forgives. I pray God she forgets the pain I caused her tonight. I pray God that I do not.

Erica Robinson

Waterfall: Routines, Day 2

Tuesday, February 5.
- alarm didn't go off, but still managed to get kids on the bus on time
- lunches not made/hot lunch money sent in ($10 = 4 lunches, so we have another day's lunch on credit)
- Hubbs great help in the a.m. Collecting trash; making beds; eating breakfast with Bear.
- Yes, I made a hot breakfast for Hubbs, which he loved, "Fuel for the day!"
- pot roast started in crock pot (still frozen, but it will have all day to cook on low, so should be fine)
- Bear to school on time
- I only 5 minutes tardy to work vs. 1 hour late

Left work late, so was not able to get to the grocery store and pick up milk and kitty litter, etc. Made the choice to be on time for relieving my sitter and not hold her up, due to my lack of managing my time. Her time is valuable too. The grocery store would just have to wait.

Once home, spent time chatting with the kiddos and then began alternating chores with the timer set on 15 minutes increments: unload my suitcase from trip this weekend; fold clothes; wash another load of clothes; phone call with Honey; dinner prep; etc.

6:10 Dinner is ready and we are able to eat together as a family. The mashed potatoes were not a hit, nor the carrots with the kiddos, but oranges, beef, and pickles certainly were.

6:40 p.m. What is this wonder? Dinner is done and Hubbs and I are actually able to sit at the table for a few minutes and talk. When was the last time we could do that? Did that? I can't remember, but we both enjoy it immensely. Hubbs found a funny You Tube with author Kurt Vonnegut on the "Shape of Stories". Really fun to watch. No TV for kids. No Kindle or Xbox or phone, just playtime or finish homework. Again, when was the last time that happened?

7:15 p.m. Bathtime.
7:45 p.m. Storytime (The Good Samaritan)
7:55 p.m. Kids put clothes out for school in the morning and put homework away.
8 p.m. bed for children
8:13 p.m. Grown up time. Hubbs lunch made. Clothes moved from washer to dryer. Children's lunches started. Part of my lunch made.
9 p.m. Quick grocery run. That milk still needed to be bought.
10:37 p.m. stop writing, Woman! It's time for bed!
Still to do:
- clothes for tomorrow for me
- bed routine
- alarm set (?)
- lights out 11 p.m.

~e
Erica Robinson
Source for image: Communication 4 All website

Evening Routines and the Morning After

 There is a waterfall effect to your evening routine. Take a few minutes to prepare for tomorrow morning and find yourself less stressed and on time. Take getting the proper amount of sleep to heart and there won't be a need to keep hitting the snooze button and the ensuing chaos that comes from not getting up on time.

As I drove to work this morning...terribly tardy, after dropping off Bear who was tardy, and BB and MM, who were also tardy an hour earlier. At my office, I'm paid only for the time that I work, so if I'm late or tardy or take a day off, I'm not paid for it. Pondering this reality, I added up what my tardiness has cost me in real dollars over the past few months, and what it will cost my family over the next few months, if I do not take the simple "waterfall principle" into serious account. It adds up to a HUGE amount of money that I am basically letting slip away because of my lack of discipline.

Starting today, that's going to change. Tonight, I get my evening routine started. Let's keep track of it together over the next two weeks. You guys will help keep me accountable. :)

Feb 4.
Evening routine =
   - kids in bed by 8 (they were by 8:30)
   - my lunch made (partially, eating out with MIL, backup prepared and in purse)
   - Hubb's lunch made (complete)
   - kids lunch made (not, decision = hot lunch if not made by 6:30 a.m. tomorrow)
   - food called in for tomorrow (complete)
   - kitchen cleaned (complete)
   - walk (complete)
   - bath/shower (quickie shower in a moment)
   - clothes picked out for tomorrow (done)
   - alarm set for 6 a.m. (done)
   - teeth and face cleaned (done)
   - lights out 10:30 (that's in 14 minutes!) (10:41)

Update: So, morning came, and though the alarm was set, it didn't go off. Still, we managed to catch the bus, get Bear to school on time and I was only 5 minutes late (much better than the hour late yesterday). Hubbs was a great help, but it cost him being late, so we'll try better this evening/morning!
Erica Robinson

Source for image: Clock