Left Out

I saw wedding pictures online today. They were beautiful. I rarely see pictures of Orthodox weddings, and this one was unusually lovely.

I didn’t know the bride or groom. They’re a gorgeous young couple who look like wonderful people, but I’ve never met them. Many of my Orthodox friends know them well. I know one of their bridesmaids, and I know or have met many of the attendees.

I don’t…I don’t want to whine. I am not intending to whine. So please, if it seems as if I am whining, tell me. I’ll try and rephrase to make it clear that I’m only trying to understand. Understand what? Well. That’s a tricky one.

I suppose the question is, “Why don’t I know them?” The couple, I mean. If I were a part of the Orthodox youth clan, this magical national group of people who know each other through church camps and conventions and babushka’s-neighbor’s-daughter’s-birthday party, I probably would know them. I’m not saying I’d be invited. (Guest lists have to be slim.) But I’d know them.

I did not have social skills as a child. (Some would argue I still don’t.) I didn’t have siblings, I homeschooled sometimes, I hung out with adults too much, and I moved a lot. I didn’t like to be teased, but was I ever an easy mark! I was the littlest of the big kids, and I was annoying to boot. So I didn’t fit in much.

And yet…if there’s a single community anywhere that I want to be a part of, this is it. This has always been it. I don’t mean I want to be best friends with that specific circle of people, although I’m terribly fond of the ones I know. It’s just that I can’t think of a group of people I like more than the Orthodox youth clan I know. They’re kind, and trustworthy. I feel safe around them. Even at my college–which anyone can tell you I love fiercely–I don’t necessarily feel that safe. I love the people there. They matter so much to me. Still, I don’t trust my classmates to notice if I’m hurting, to steer me away from dumb decisions, to keep me accountable when I skip church. That’s not to say they wouldn’t. But I won’t depend on them for that.

So. Whether because I moved a lot and wasn’t around, or because I was a brat, or for some other unknown reason, I was never completely a part of that “magical clan.” Now I’m less of a brat, and I live in Chicago–where there has to be hundreds of Orthodox youth–and somehow I’m still left out. I don’t make it to OCF much. I have a hard enough time making it to church even half the Sundays. I still feel awkward talking with people my age or slightly older. (Hand me a toddler or introduce me to an adult and I’m probably fine.) I’m here. I have the opportunities. I’m no longer intolerable. Nevertheless, I am still not a part of that community.

So maybe the real answer is I’m just scared.

Thankfulness, and forgiveness

Today is Great and Holy Friday, and I feel so blessed, so loved. It is a sorrowful day, but––today I am given the greatest gift ever given. I cannot help but feel overwhelmed with gratitude and joy.

I keep a small book in my bag at all times. It is about one-and-a-half inches by one-and-a-half inches, a half-inch thick, and it is covered in a beautiful Guatamalan fabric with soft handmade paper inside. I got it in Wisconsin, I believe as a gift from my godmother, and since November of 2006 I have been keeping a list inside. I forget often, and then I pick it up again and am reminded of how blessed I am. The book is a list of things I am thankful for.

The things I list most often are variations on
friendship
paper, writing, books
beauty in nature
not getting exactly what I want (and the opposite, of course)
love, smiles
challenges, good and bad
forgiveness

The things that stand out to me now are
unreasonable happiness 
orchids
sunshine
loss, letting go, moving on
hope
prayer
looking forward
forgiveness

I am so thankful for forgiveness. It relieves guilt, it soothes hurt feelings, it makes it easier to survive in this crazy world. Forgiveness is love to your enemies. It is asking God to forgive those who have wronged you, including your own self. It is hard, and it is as necessary as air. When I forget to forgive myself or others, my muscles tense up. I hurt inside and out. I am unhappy, blameful, and bitter. I end up in physical pain after a few weeks of this severity. My neck and back begin to bother me, and my heart aches. Then I go to Confession, and I forgive myself. I remember how much I love the people around me. I feel alive again.

There is a Forgiveness Sunday in the Church, and there is a prayer of forgiveness my mother and I try to say every night we are together.
“O holy brothers and sisters in Christ, please forgive me if I have offended you in thought, word, or deed and pray for me a sinner.”
The response is, “I forgive you, may God forgive you.” 
And then the whole world feels as light as air. 

Please say a prayer for me, and have a blessed Paschal weekend. And please forgive me if I have offended you in thought, word, or deed, and pray for me a sinner.
-Brigid 

Great and Holy Friday

The Epistle reading is from St. Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians 5:6-8

BRETHREN, a little leaven leavens the whole lump. Cleanse out the
old leaven that you may be a new lump, as you really are unleavened.
For Christ, our paschal lamb, has been sacrificed. Let us, therefore,
celebrate the festival, not with the old leaven, the leaven of malice and
evil, but with the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth. (Galatians
3.13-14) Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law, having become a
curse for us – for it is written, “Cursed be everyone who hangs on a
tree” – that in Christ Jesus the blessing of Abraham might come upon
the Gentiles, that we might receive the promise of the Spirit through
faith.

Reading from the Synaxarion:

When Friday dawned, Christ was sent bound from Caiaphas to Pontius
Pilate, who was then Governor of Judea. Pilate interrogated Him in many
ways, and once and again acknowledged that He was innocent, but to
please the Jews, he later passed the sentence of death against Him.
After scourging the Lord of all as though He were a runaway slave, he
surrendered Him to be crucified.

Thus the Lord Jesus was handed over to the soldiers, was stripped of
His garments, was clothed in a purple robe, was crowned with a wreath
of thorns, had a reed placed in His hand as though it were a
sceptre, was bowed before in mockery, was spat upon, and was buffeted in
the face and on the head. Then they again clothed Him in His own
garments, and bearing the cross, He came to Golgotha, a place of
condemnation, and there, about the third hour, He was crucified between two
thieves. Although both blasphemed Him at the first, the thief at His right
hand repented, and said: “Remember me, O Lord, when Thou comest in Thy
Kingdom,” to which our Saviour answered, “Today shalt thou be with Me in
Paradise.” As He hung upon the Cross, He was blasphemed by those who were
passing by, was mocked by the high priests, and by the soldiers was given
vinegar to drink mixed with gall. About the ninth hour, He cried out with
a loud voice, saying, “It is finished.” And the Lamb of God “Which
taketh away the sin of the world” (John 1:29) expired on the day when
the moon was full, and at the hour when, according to the Law, was
slain the Passover lamb, which was established as a type of Him in the
time of Moses.

Even lifeless creation mourned the death of the Master, and it
trembled and was altered out of fear. Yet, even though the Maker of
creation was already dead, they pierced Him in His immaculate side, and
forthwith came there out Blood and Water. Finally, at about the setting of
the sun, Joseph of Arimathea came with Nicodemus (both of them had
been secret disciples of Jesus), and they took down the all-holy Body
of the Teacher from the Cross and anointed it with aromatic spices,
and wrapped it in a clean linen cloth. When they had buried Him in a
new tomb, they rolled a great stone over its entrance.

Such are the dread and saving sufferings of our Lord Jesus Christ
commemorated today, and in remembrance of them, we have received the Apostolic
commandment that a fast be observed every Friday.

Kontakion:

Come, let us all praise Him Who was crucified for us. Mary beheld Him
on the Tree and said, “Though You endure even the Cross, You are my
Son and my God.”

Wolves.

I’ve been reading a lot of Orthodox blogs lately, and I stumbled across this gem of a story on Ramblings of a Single Dad (donva.blogspot.com).

*

One evening an old Cherokee Indian told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people.

He said, “My son, the battle is between two “wolves” inside us all.

One is Evil. It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.

The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.”

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather: “Which wolf wins?”

The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.”

*

I’m sorry for not blogging much lately. I’ve been living, which is interesting. I go to classes, I read Aristotle & Homer & Hobbes (both Thomas and Calvin’s), I work about 20 hours a week, I feed my Doctor Who and Dexter addictions with friends, and I try to get myself to church at least every two weeks. It’s…nice. I like living. I always have, but with this complicated, bountiful schedule––I don’t even know how to explain it. I just feel happy.

I almost made a really stupid, big mistake because I didn’t stop to pray about it

Please pray for me.

—

Also, please forgive me for not writing for a couple months. I had highly limited internet access over Christmas Break.

On Parents

A conversation I had today. It worried me a bit. I once dated this fellow, and now I’m rather glad that relationship’s been over for a while. His views on parenting are…well, not mine.

We started out joking about parenthood, because he said he’d never shell out $10 for a half-hour swimming lesson.

*

D: I would LIKE to think that I’d be a fairly lax dude.

Me: I hope not too awfully so.

D: Eh, possibly. I mean, I believe in people making mistakes.

Me: Of course. It’s just, most kids of strict parents manage to break away. most kids of overly lax parents end up staying undisciplined and self centered. From what I’ve seen anyway.

D: This may well be true. But I prefer to think of it as independance

Ding-ding-ding, warning bells are ringing.

Me: Independence is entirely different. (pause) I’m not sure what you mean, to be honest.

D: Well, if they are undisciplined and self centered, maybe they just always will think for themselves rather than following any other standards. And maybe that’ll work for them.

Me: I doubt it. Lack of discipline often means being unable to meet one’s own goals, and self-centeredness is obnoxious and leads to inability to hold good relationships–which for most people is a part of happiness.

*

Am I wrong here? 

My mom has always been so different from the “lax dude” D aspires to be. I was always allowed to screw up without feeling like I’d failed her or some such nonsense, and yet certain things were expected. I had to keep my promises. The world didn’t revolve around me. She didn’t say “yes” all the time––and when she did, it was often a “yes, but wait.” I remember waiting a full year for a My Sized Barbie, and as for mixed vegetables…well. I’d always ask for gum at the gas stations, and she’d almost always say no. If she’d said yes more often, I’d have felt entitled to treats. Shoot, I already felt entitled. It’s funny; now, even though it’s been a decade, she still offers me gum most times when we stop. It’s cute. 

I could take the classes I wanted and the extracurriculars I chose, assuming it wasn’t a huge inconvenience–and mostly, she’d go out of her way to help me. But she made it quite clear that her job was not to ensure my happiness, and that the world didn’t revolve around me. she cared. she always listens–maybe doesn’t give in, but listens.

I always thought the kids with lax parents seemed to feel the world was their litterbox. I prefer my mom.

She has always treated me like a person.

Limbo

I hate this cycle. You know the one. Or, no, probably you don’t. It is somewhat unique.

“We’re moving!” Mom would announce––it happened regularly.

“We’re moving!” I’d tell my friends. I’d prepare for it. I’d separate myself, say goodbye, get ready to move on.

“We’re not moving!” Mom would announce later–this, too, happened regularly.

“We’re, um, not moving…” I’d mumble. It was embarrassing. It got worse.

I’d never again really feel like part of the community. It wasn’t her fault. But it sucked.

Right now, I still don’t have a buyer for my car. 

Right now, I want to sell Frank.

Right now, I know that even if I get to keep him he’ll never be my baby, my independence, mine again.

Cheer Journal: Etsy

In order to have a creative outlet and earn a little to help with my tuition, I started an Etsy shop–Philologia.etsy.com. I have one item listed so far, a “cheer journal”.

 

Front cover

And here’s why it’s a CHEER journal:

 

Inside cover

In case you can’t read it, the inscription reads, “Tribulations will come your way but be of GOOD CHEER: I have overcome the world. Jn. 16:33.”

That is the verse I live by. The reason I made the journal was that I’d had a terrible week, I’m having difficulty remembering to live by John 16:33, and my favorite necklace broke–you know, the one I’d worn every day for the last third of my life, the one given to me by my childhood best friend, the one I used to hang a pendant of the Theotokos…yeah, that’s what I mean by favorite. I thought I would cry.

But in a way I’m glad. I got to create something beautiful, something healing, and someone lucky will get a beautiful journal.

If this seems like the right journal for you or someone you love, it’s $12 plus shipping at Philologia.etsy.com. Someday I’ll make these just to give away, but for now I have to pay for college somehow!

Enough with the emotional roller coasters.

I cried way too many times today.

I’m okay–spiritually I feel much better than I did last week!

“Put not your trust in Reattas and cars of men, in which there is no salvation.”

On Selling My Car

My Reatta has been my pride and joy for the entirety of the two years I’ve had it. Maybe that’s the problem.

I have enough pride. I don’t need any more. I’ll sell my the car, sell my pride, and keep the joy.

Nothing can take away from the joy I had with Frank.

It was my car, my freedom, my independence. Granted, I didn’t pay for most of the expenses involving it, but I had the illusion of self-reliance when I was behind the wheel. I’m not even a particularly good driver (thank you, ADD), but wandering down highway 20 going just a tad over, playing country music…it was delightful. I’m going to miss it.

Sitting way too close to the wheel in that grey leather driver’s seat, so comfortable it feels like a back massage, I still have to stretch a bit to reach the pedals. The radio crackling sometimes since Scott accidentally pulled out the antenna, but somehow rarely during my favorite songs and more often during NPR programs than on the country station. That bit of dirt that never comes out of the change container near the cigarette lighter. A beep whenever I go over 75, that overspeed alarm I set to make sure I don’t accidentally drift up and up til it’s past 90–the acceleration’s that good. Watching the mileage go up and up as I pay more attention to my driving habits. The grey snow, grey road, grey trees with grey ice crystals, grey sky: And yet it’s so bright my transition lenses darkened as if the sun shone. Smooth fields, glorious sun, trees both bare and covered in leaves. Few other cars on the road, on the good days at least. Just me and my Frank, usually with a set of directions I check obsessively. But roadtrips were something I could do on my own, an achievement I was always proud of. I once drove about 15 hours in one weekend! It was an accomplishment.

And as much as I do, it sometimes feels like I have very few accomplishments.