Beast.

I've recently started seeing a therapist.

As an aside, I would recommend this to anyone everyone.  We can all benefit from speaking to a professional, even if just for one session.

I've been going to therapy for a few weeks now, due (in large part) to my anxiety.  I promise there's an anxiety blog post coming.  I just have to slog through some things before I can get there.

Yesterday my therapist and I were talking about romantic relationships and, more specifically, my fears surrounding them.  He asked me to identify something inside me that feels that fear.  Some people, he said, feel like there is a younger version of themselves, which suddenly rises up, hurting and angry, triggered by some sort of hurt/rejection/disappointment/whatever.  He wondered if I ever experience anything like that.

Folks, I knew what he meant by a "younger self."  More often than I like, I have had to talk to my 8th grade self.  When someone tries to cross boundaries I've set, 8th Grade Steph suddenly remembers what it was like to have boundaries crossed by a teacher.

(NOTE: This person no longer teaches.  Also, while there was no "officially" inappropriate touching in a sexual sense, there was a definite discomfort and ambiguity in his touch.  Also, I think hitting someone in the stomach and telling her to, "suck it in" on a daily basis counts as inappropriate touch.  Don't you?)

When this happens, when she rears up, I let my mind travel deep inside me and I meet 8th Grade Steph.  I wrap her tightly to me, the way I do to Little Sis when she looks angry or hurt or sad.  I hug 8th Grade Steph to me and tell her that I know, and that she is safe.  I ask her to forgive me for not taking better care of her, and I tell her that I have incredible grace and compassion for her.  I remind her that she was in eighth grade.  Of course it was confusing, and of course she didn't want to get herself, or anyone else, in trouble.  I know.

So you see, I knew what my therapist meant when he asked that question.  But 8th Grade Steph didn't come to mind yesterday.  Neither did 3rd Grade Steph, or Kindergarten Steph, or any other Steph.  What came to mind was the memory of a statement I made to Mary about 4 or 5 years ago:

Mary and I sat outside Starbucks as I cried about my relationship insecurities.  I summed it up by quoting one of my favorite movies.

"For who," I asked, "could ever learn to love a Beast?"

Ouch.

Now, I know my friends and family who read this are eager to tell me that they love me.  They'll feel the urge to inform me that I am not a Beast.  To them - to you - I say, "I KNOW."

I know that I am not a Beast (excepting, of course, the times I'm in total beast mode at the gym.)  And, to be perfectly honest, I'm embarrassed to admit I have ever felt this way about myself.  I wouldn't claim I feel this way now.  It's not an open wound; it's a scar, albeit a relatively recent and still tender one.

But I am afraid of that place in my past because it hurt so much.  I don't want to go back there, and in therapy I realized that I am afraid of relationships because I am afraid they'll send me back.

And, more importantly, I am worried by the fear, because the fear, I think, implies that it's possible to go back.  Which, in turn, makes me wonder if there is still a part of me that thinks so poorly of myself.

Of course, as is often the case, we stumbled upon this breakthrough? discovery? thought? with five minutes left of my session.

I left the therapist's office with a lot on my mind.  Where, I wondered, did this thought come from?  I have a few theories (being an overweight child/adolescent/adult with frizzy red hair that has garnered a lot of teasing comes to mind).  But more importantly, How can I remind myself that I'm not Beastly?  How can I recognize the Beauty within me?

So that's where I am.  Fun, right?

I think it comes down to self-care, self-love, and self-trust.  Which is not, as some may say, synonymous with selfishness, narcissism, and pride.  No.

It means recognizing my worth and not jeopardizing my mental/spiritual/emotional/physical health so as to be sure I don't make waves or cause others to feel uncomfortable.
It means treating myself kindly.
It means filling myself up with things that make me feel beautiful - sparkly, even.

Lots of ideas have danced through my mind.  Some are simple and straightforward, others are complex and out of my comfort zone.  Some will be done.  Others may not.  We'll see.

For now, in a terrifying turn, it means sharing one of my deepest hurts with the world.  It means trusting that you won't look at me with pity or disdain, but that you'll look at me the way you always have.  Like I'm Steph.

Because I am.

Artists, We Are Needed

Artists, we are needed.

I know. It's too hard to find it, to tap into that creative space and pull from it.  We are too vulnerable; with everything going on in the world and in our nation, it just hurts too much.  I know.  I feel it, too.  But we are needed.

It hit me today as I sat at my desk, humming the refrain of 'Hallelujah,' over and over again.  Cohen, I thought, was a poet.  He would have been able to make sense of this.  Because that's what poets do.  As Gwendolyn Brooks said, and my sister lives, "Poetry is life distilled."

I will (with all due respect) take this one step further: Art is life distilled.  It is finding the essential and extracting it.  You've felt it, right?  Something - word, song, photo, paint, animation - something hits you with a ferocity that leaves you shaking.  It makes you realize, as though for the first time, that true beauty is a jagged edge.  It tears you open and drives you to your knees, leaving you gasping and quivering, and somehow in need of more.  You are changed.  Tender, open.  Broken.

So we are driven to our craft, to our art.  We find it deep within us and we pull it out.  It may be loud, it may be soft.  It could be for the world to see, or the solace you find in your quiet garden.  But you create.  You recognize the need.

Artists, we are needed.

We need to show up and let the light shine through our brokenness.  Because that is our super power, our secret weapon: we do not cover up the hurt.  We use it.  We harness it.  We face it and direct it.  We are broken open time and time again, and it lets us see the world with a vision others refuse to face.

We breathe in hurt and breathe out love.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Artists, we are needed.

We are needed to take a step forward, even though the air is heavy and the bog hinders our progress.  One step, and then another, and then another - until the earth firms beneath our feet just enough for us to rest, for only a moment, before moving again.

I have been suspended this week, held in the air, frozen, unable to move as I looked all around me.  Looking through the words I have seen hurt.  Hurt all over.  I see it and I feel it.  It presses on my shoulders, my chest, my back.  Down, down, down.

I turned to look for the light, and saw in surprise that it shone through me, through my broken parts.  So I took a deep breath, and then another, and then I lifted my head.

I cannot promise it will all be okay.  I don't that it will; I am not a Seer.  I can look at the past and see what we've survived, and I can glean hope from that.  But empty assurances are not helpful, especially to those who feel fear and hurt and despair directly in their lives.  So I won't offer them.

Instead, I promise this: I will watch, and see what is going on around me.  I will listen and hear what those who are afraid and hurting have to say.  I will make certain my path is safe for any who come across it.  I will be the vessel for the Speaker: Come to me, He says, and I will give you rest.   The sun will rise and set, and I will let it shine through me.  The earth will turn on its axis, and I will mirror the dance.  The wind will arrive, sometimes drifting, sometimes whipping, and I will let it blow through me, sweeping away the darkness.

Artists, we are needed.

But what if - you ask - what if I don't create art?

I have a secret for you.  Come close, and listen.

Artists, I believe, are nothing more or less than those of us who still remember we are all human.  We live our art in an infinite number of ways: gardening, cooking, writing, painting, designing, dancing, animating, singing, composing, speaking, running, lifting...the list goes on and on.  The only thing that makes us artists is the recognition that we share a nature.  We see that the lines of connection have been covered, they have been twisted and stretched and even torn, but they have not broken.  We are still all connected; we belong to each other.

We see this and we live this.

Artists.  We are needed.

I Heard the Bells

Oh, what a day.

Fear, excitement, panic, hope, dread...the list goes on and on and on.  Sitting at my computer (at work...shhh) I felt it all rise up within me.  I became suddenly overwhelmed.  How on earth will we go on after this election day?  No one can deny that this campaign process has incited and ignited passion within people.  And not just good passion.  No.  Anger...hatred...vitriol...

I wondered how our nation could move on after all this.  Surely we are more divided than ever before.

Except -

As I let my mind spiral downward a song came on my Dave Barnes (Holiday) Pandora station.  (Yes.  Holiday.  Judge not.)  As I listened I felt tears come to my eyes and peace wash over me.  The carol was a song based on a poem written by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow on Christmas Day, 1863.

Folks, 1863 was the middle of the American Civil War.  A time when our nation was more divided than ever before, a time in which it seemed we could only splinter apart.  Longfellow, the widowed father of six children, had recently learned his oldest child had been severely injured in the war.  So he did what the artists and dreamers do: He put his pain and hope on paper.

I think it applies now, just as surely as then.

Here is his poem (emphasis mine):

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Till, ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;
"There is no peace on earth," I said:
"For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead; nor doth he sleep!
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men!"

Let's Talk About Guilt, Baby

I've been intending to post for...oh, about 2 weeks. I've had great experiences to draw on, too. Good things are happening with my writing. I just spent a long weekend at a conference in New Orleans. I'm currently in Nashville visiting my sister and her family.

Doin' the Nashville hipster photo pose

So, so much.

I actually wrote a little something about NOLA, but couldn't shake the feeling that it was off.  Not bad, but not the right post at the right time.

But really, how cool is NOLA?  I will write about it soon.  Promise.

And then - well, then something relatively minor happened and I became afraid that I had hurt someone I love dearly. Suddenly I felt guilty. Oh, so guilty.

You know the feeling: pressure in your chest, churning in your stomach, the inability to focus on anything else for long...that horrible assurance that you are truly the worst friend/daughter/sister/HUMAN in the history of the world.

You know. Guilt.

It's a crappy feeling.

However, I've learned Guilt is like any other uncomfortable feeling: it's kind of hinged in the middle.

Guilt lets us know when we've taken a misstep. It's our alert for when we act in ways that are incongruous with who we are. It lets us know when we are being selfish, careless, self-centered -- when we are in danger of wandering far and away from our Truth.

To understate it, Guilt can serve us well.

But Guilt has a much more sinister side. It often overstays its welcome.  It can keep us down. It can whisper dark lies in our ear, keeping us away from Good. It can call over its big brother, Shame, and convince us that we are not worthy.

To understate it, Guilt can serve us poorly.

There are some who would claim I feel guilt because of my religion, my faith. They state that I have been conditioned to feel this way anytime I step outside the accepted rules of the establishment. Keep 'em down, keep 'em in line.

I don't agree. In fact, to those who say my misguided guilt is put upon me by my church, I kindly and gently call BS.

Sure, sometimes people suck, and due to suckiness will try to impose harmful rules on us. But that's a people problem, not a God problem.

You see, my God straight up said that I don't need to be kept downtrodden by Guilt.
"It is finished."

That's what He said.
"It is finished."

Hanging on the cross, enduring the worst humanity could offer, being mocked and scorned for His sacrifice.

"It is finished."

There is no need to keep opening up the door to the past. No need to pick off the scab. No need to stay in the gutter of our mistakes. We are not too dirty, too broken, too ANYTHING to move on. We deserve forgiveness. We deserve love.

It is finished.

Thank you, Jon Acuff.  And Pinterest, for the photo.

So I know that when Guilt comes to visit, bringing along any of his family members - Shame, Fear, Despair - I can say hello, hear the lesson, and then let him know he is not welcome.

Guilt can drop off the road map, but he does not get to come on the journey back to myself.

Photo from crazytraveler.com

And that is totally okay.

Not Cinderella

I'm a shoe girl.

I.
LOVE.
Shoes.

I know, I know!  It's cliche.  But, hey!  I'm a redhead whose favorite color is red, and while I don't mind a margarita or glass of wine, I'm definitely a whiskey girl.  I'm used to being a cliche.

My shoe closet pretty much holds the spectrum of colors and patterns: glittery ruby slippers, blue suede wedges, black patent leather stilettos...heck!  I even have a pair of pumps that have The Avengers all over them.

And they glow under a black light!

I'm sure it comes as no surprise that a certain pair of glass slippers crosses my mind on a fairly regular basis.  Glass.  Slippers.  (Or possibly fur slippers, if you're sticking with the original telling.  There's some controversy over the translation.)  There's no doubt in my mind that if I had a pair of those suckers they would be in my regular rotation.  Because functional glass slippers?  Yes, please!

But even with my slight shoe obsession (fetish?  No...okay, yes) it hit me the other day that I am not Cinderella.

Now, before I get to the moment in which I had this epiphany, I feel the need to say something:  I don't hate Cinderella.  I don't dislike Cinderella.  I don't have anything against Cinderella.

I LOVE CINDERELLA!

In some ways Cinderella is a perfect symbol of fairy tale princesses.  I would love her for that alone, but there's more.  Whether we're talking the Disney version or the Perrault (and then Grimm) version, or even the Egyptian story of Rhodopis, I am a fan.  She has incredible grace under pressure, is an example of perseverance and kindness in the face of hardship and hatred, and it's great that those traits are rewarded at the end of the story.  I think, "Go back!  Go back!  There's blood on the trail!" is an awesome - if Grimm -  refrain, and "A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes" is equally wonderful.

And don't even get me started on statements like this:

Who says these ideas are mutually exclusive?  Why can't I love fairy tales and dreaming and whimsy and still be a strong, successful woman?  I will make it rain shards of glass while wearing glass slippers.  I will chase my dreams in my cutest pair of shoes.  When I have kids they will be taught to dance and dream and demolish that glass ceiling.  You do not have to sacrifice one at the expense of the other.

Honestly.





Anyway, all that to say: I love Cinderella.

But I am not Cinderella.

Some of you may know that I've been doing the online dating thing for a bit.  While it's cool to meet new people and I always enjoy getting dressed up, I'm not stoked on it.  The guys are nice enough (barring, of course, those who think it's alright to ask for naked pictures right off the bat), but I find I'm in a strange mindset about relationships right now.  I don't want anything serious - but I'm open to that if it happens - and I definitely am not looking for a one night thing.  So something casual and with no pressure, but with the option to explore more if there's a connection.  And no hookups.

See?  It's not fair.  It's kind of setting the poor guys up for failure.

A couple days ago I got a perfectly nice message from a perfectly nice guy who was wishing me a good day at work.  I suddenly felt very clearly and heavily in my heart that while he may be Prince Charming I am certainly not Cinderella.  I looked at my phone and sighed, "I'm not The One, guy," before I typed a short and cheerful response thanking him for the kind thoughts.

Cinderella is delicate and strong, persevering and gentle.  She is faith in good things and working solidly and steadily at the task that has been set before her, all while never giving up on the dream of something better.

I am a temper that is contained 96% of the time and fierce the other 4.
I am constant vigilance against the threat of bedbugs.
I am a laugh that is just a touch too loud.
I am bottles of kombucha abandoned with 1/4 of the drink left.
I am Christmas music year round.
I am lying on the floor when writing feels too hard.
I am SO EXCITED to go to Disneyland.  Always.
I am quiet moments at my grandma's grave, telling her about everything going on in my life, and listening for the little bell of her answer.
I am always going to laugh at a fart joke...and most raunchy humor.
I am a dirty mind (*ahem* sexy imagination) that hangs out behind an innocent face.
I am incensed when anyone implies - or states - that I need to dress in a more modest/conservative/ladylike/whatever way.  Incensed.
I am not quite afraid of the dark, but I sleep much better with just a little light in the room.
I am conversations with random strangers about what on earth it means that they dreamt about that weird thing.  And also they swear they saw their grandfather after he passed away.

I am not Cinderella.

And so when well-meaning people tell me to have faith, that my perfect Prince Charming, with his pristine background and white steed, will come soon, well...I cringe.  Because I don't have time for you, Prince Charming - for you or your perfect posture and bizarre insistence that you will marry a woman you danced one silent dance with.

No.  For as much as I love fairy tales, and believe in fairies (well, faeries), I'm not looking for a fairy tale romance.  I need someone who will suit up and show up.  Someone who will don his armor and step into the gladiator ring to fight alongside me.  Someone who will push me to try new things and who doesn't care that "delicate" is a word that has never been used to describe me.  Someone who will embrace and explore life with me, who will hold my hand when it's scary or hard, or simply just because.

Frank and Sadie from Beyond Belief (Thrilling Adventure Hour)...Relationship goals.

So, until I find him - until we find each other - I'll just keep putting one well-shod foot in front of the other.  And to all you Princes Charming or Fairy Godmothers, I will never turn down the gift of a great pair of shoes.

Never.





Any pictures that are not mine were found on Pinterest, and as such photo credit is not given.

Just A Story Written For LOG...

A few months ago I was asked to write a story for a LOG activity.  This is what I came up with.  Figured I would share it.

The Young Boy grumbled to himself as he stomped toward the well.  This was not a man's work, gathering water.  He hunched his shoulders against both his anger and the heat of the afternoon.  His mother had sent him to the well, too caught up in caring for the Boy's crying infant sister to gather the water herself.  She had yelled at him of the importance of water.  Would he rather them all die of thirst than swallow his pride and carry one jug?  And after all, he was still just a Boy, while she was his mother.  He must listen to her.

The Boy could not deny the importance of water for survival.  It was true that every creature, every living thing needed the water.  Living in the small, Samaritan town, the Boy was well aware of this need, even at such a young age.  The weather was harsh and unforgiving, and if a person was careless or lazy he would regret it greatly.  But at eight years old the Boy chose not to consider this.  He kicked a stone out of his path, cringing when he felt the pain in his toes.

As he approached the well he stopped abruptly – Photini was walking in the direction of the well, carrying a large jug.  Everyone in town knew of Photini.  The Boy's mother would be horrified if she thought he spoke even the shortest greeting to this woman.  He was stuck, unsure of what to do, when he noticed a Man sitting at the well.  The Man greeted Photini kindly, then asked if she would give Him water.  The Boy wondered briefly if this Man knew the kind of woman he spoke to, but then realized with shock that He was a Jew!  What on Earth was he doing speaking to a Samaritan woman, especially one like Photini?

The Boy inched closer to the well, curious to hear what the Man was saying.  “If you knew Who was asking you for water, you would ask Me for water, and I should give you living water.”  Living water? The Boy thought, amazed.  He had never yet heard of living water.  He stepped closer, eager to hear more.

Photini and the Man were speaking about her life – the Boy wondered if he should cover his ears – when she suddenly ran from the well, leaving her jug behind.  As she ran past, he heard Photini calling out about the Messiah.  The Boy looked back toward the Man, who seemed to be watching a group of men walk up the hill toward the well. 

“Come see me, my Boy,” He said.  The Boy jumped; he had thought he went unnoticed.  The Man turned toward him, and beckoned him to come.  The Boy nervously walked forward.  “What is living water?” he asked the Man.  The Man smiled gently, and reached out to touch the Boy's shoulder. 

“It is the water that I give.  Whoever drinks of this water will never be thirsty again.  The water that I give will become a fountain of everlasting water, springing up into eternal life.”  The Boy simply shook his head, not understanding what the Man meant, but knowing somehow that this was important, that this Man was no ordinary man.

“I'm sorry.  I don't understand.  How could anyone not need water again?”

The Man chuckled, and reached into a pack that was resting at His feet.  He pulled out a small, clay cup and a leather strap, and began wrapping the strap around the cup even as He spoke.  “Tell me, my Boy, why you feel water is so important?”

The Boy thought this was a silly question, but he answered anyway.  “It gives life.  No one can live without drinking water.  We would die without it.” 

“This is true,” the Man answered.  “You mother, your father, your baby sister – all of you need water to live.”  He looked up and smiled at the Boy, who was staring open-mouthed at Him.  “But would you like to know a secret?”  He leaned toward the Boy, who nodded and came closer to Him.  “Your soul,” the Man touched a finger to the Boy's chest.  “Your soul needs something else to live.  Your soul needs Me, and my Father Who is in Heaven.  And I will give your soul living water.  And it is through Me that you will find eternal life – life that far surpasses your life here on this earth.  Would you like to hear something else?”  The Boy nodded again.  He had felt power in the simple touch to his chest.  He felt as though his whole body was shining.  The Man looked at him as though He knew what the Boy was feeling.  “Whoever believes in me, out of his heart will flow rivers of living water,” He said.  “I give you My living water, and you pass that along to others, who can pass it to others, and so on.”  He handed the Boy the cup, which now had the leather wrapped around it in such a way that the Boy could wear the cup around his neck.  He did so now, feeling that the cup was somehow sacred.  He knew he would never lose it, even if only because it would make him think of this Man.

The Boy turned to face the group of men who had just reached the well.  They called out to the Man cheerfully – they obviously knew Him well – and the Man acknowledged them with a wave.  He turned to the Boy and placed His hand on the Boy's head.  “Go, my child, and let the rivers of My living water flow from you.  And remember, if anyone thirsts, let him come to Me and drink.  Anyone, my child.”  The Boy nodded and ran toward home.  He was almost to his house when he realized he had forgotten to gather the water.  He looked down at the pitcher he held in his hands and almost dropped it in amazement when he realized it was full.  He walked into his home, feeling lighter and stronger than he had ever felt in his life.  He took the small cup from around his neck and poured some water into it.  With that in hand, he went to his mother and said, “Mother.  Come sit, and drink, and listen as I tell you about the Living Water.” 

Tangled in the New Groove of Imagination and Family

I have been thinking a lot about Disney lately. 

I suppose that comes as no shock, considering that I absolutely adore Disney.  I saw Beauty and the Beast recently- one of my all time favorite Disney movies - and completely forgot there were other people in the theatre.  I laughed, loudly.  I cried.  I even hummed along with the music and clapped after songs.  It's true!  And as I watched, and thought about the lessons Disney has taught me, I decided to write the next installment of lessons I have learned from Disney.  So here it is:


- Love is family.  And family is love.  And that is a big deal.
"Ohana means family; family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten." - Lilo and Stitch
"There is nowhere you can go where love can't follow." - 101 Dalmations
"This bond between us can't be broken.  I will be here, don't you cry.  You'll be in my heart.  Yes, you'll be in my heart from this day on, now and forever." - Tarzan

It's amazing how amazing and life-altering the love of a child can be.

- True friendship means that sometimes you have to tell someone something they may not want to hear; you have to hold up a mirror for them to see the truth they may not want to hear.  But you never, ever give up on them.
"And above all, you must control your temper!!" - Beauty and the Beast.  The entire household supports the Beast, even though it seems that he must not have been a very good master at all.  They tell him where he has gone wrong, but never fail to encourage and support and trust in him, that he will be able to figure it out. 
The Emperor's New Groove.  Watch it.
"Once and for all we'll be dared to defend one another.  Once and for all every kid is a friend, every friend a brother!" - Newsies


- It's okay to be tongue-in-cheek and laugh at yourself, as long as you remember that what you do is spectacular, and that it makes you special.  And as long as you appreciate yourself.
Yeah, Enchanted was Disney's way of doing this, and it was still an amazing movie. 

And of COURSE it's okay to sing and dance in the middle of Central Park. 

- Whatever you do, do it with all you've got.  It doesn't matter if other people put you down, or scoff, because all that really matters is that you are true to God and yourself.
"I have watched constantly that in our work the highest moral and spiritual standards are upheld, whether my productions deal with fable or with stories of living action." —Walt Disney


It's okay to lead a life of fiction :)
"Fantasy and reality often overlap." —Walt Disney
"What seems real to the mind can be as important as any material fact. We live by the spirit and the imagination as well as by our senses. Cartoon animation can give fantasy the same reality as those things we can touch and see and hear." —Walt Disney

Just look at what leading a life of fiction did!

- Love is self-sacrificial.  Love means you put down your life for someone else. 
"You were my new dream." ... "And you were mine."  Tangled made me cry - sob - because while Rapunzel was willing to give up her freedom in order to save Flynn, he used his last bit of strength to cut her hair off.  They each gave up their life for the other.  When I saw it I knew - knew - that this was an accurate depiction of what love should be.  Strip away the magic hair and the extreme situation and the beautiful Disney ribbon that made everything okay and you have truth: Love means being a martyr for the other person.  It means putting your life down.  Wow. 

Love is beautiful.

Glory to God For All Things

This Akathist, or prayer service, is said at my church every year on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving.  It touches my heart every, single time and I wanted to share it with you all.  It's amazing how in every verse there was something that I felt to be directly relevant to me.

Happy Thanksgiving.  Glory to God for all things!!!

Kontakion 1

Everlasting King, Thy will for our salvation is full of power. Thy right arm controls the whole course of human life. We give Thee thanks for all Thy mercies, seen and unseen. For eternal life, for the heavenly joys of the Kingdom which is to be. Grant mercy to us who sing Thy praise, both now and in the time to come. Glory to Thee, O God, from age to age.

Ikos 1

I was born a weak, defenceless child, but Thine angel spread his wings over my cradle to defend me. From birth until now Thy love has illumined my path, and has wondrously guided me towards the light of eternity; from birth until now the generous gifts of Thy providence have been marvelously showered upon me. I give Thee thanks, with all who have come to know Thee, who call upon Thy name.

Glory to Thee for calling me into being
Glory to Thee, showing me the beauty of the universe
Glory to Thee, spreading out before me heaven and earth
Like the pages in a book of eternal wisdom
Glory to Thee for Thine eternity in this fleeting world
Glory to Thee for Thy mercies, seen and unseen
Glory to Thee through every sigh of my sorrow
Glory to Thee for every step of my life's journey
For every moment of glory
Glory to Thee, O God, from age to age

Kontakion 2

O Lord, how lovely it is to be Thy guest. Breeze full of scents; mountains reaching to the skies; waters like boundless mirrors, reflecting the sun's golden rays and the scudding clouds. All nature murmurs mysteriously, breathing the depth of tenderness. Birds and beasts of the forest bear the imprint of Thy love. Blessed art thou, mother earth, in thy fleeting loveliness, which wakens our yearning for happiness that will last for ever, in the land where, amid beauty that grows not old, the cry rings out: Alleluia!

Ikos 2

Thou hast brought me into life as into an enchanted paradise. We have seen the sky like a chalice of deepest blue, where in the azure heights the birds are singing. We have listened to the soothing murmur of the forest and the melodious music of the streams. We have tasted fruit of fine flavour and the sweet-scented honey. We can live very well on Thine earth. It is a pleasure to be Thy guest.

Glory to Thee for the Feast Day of life
Glory to Thee for the perfume of lilies and roses
Glory to Thee for each different taste of berry and fruit
Glory to Thee for the sparkling silver of early morning dew
Glory to Thee for the joy of dawn's awakening
Glory to Thee for the new life each day brings
Glory to Thee, O God, from age to age

Kontakion 3

It is the Holy Spirit who makes us find joy in each flower, the exquisite scent, the delicate colour, the beauty of the Most High in the tiniest of things. Glory and honour to the Spirit, the Giver of Life, who covers the fields with their carpet of flowers, crowns the harvest with gold, and gives to us the joy of gazing at it with our eyes. O be joyful and sing to Him: Alleluia!

Ikos 3

How glorious art Thou in the springtime, when every creature awakes to new life and joyfully sings Thy praises with a thousand tongues. Thou art the Source of Life, the Destroyer of Death. By the light of the moon, nightingales sing, and the valleys and hills lie like wedding garments, white as snow. All the earth is Thy promised bride awaiting her spotless husband. If the grass of the field is like this, how gloriously shall we be transfigured in the Second Coming after the Resurrection! How splendid our bodies, how spotless our souls!

Glory to Thee, bringing from the depth of the earth an endless variety of colours, tastes and scents
Glory to Thee for the warmth and tenderness of the world of nature
Glory to Thee for the numberless creatures around us
Glory to Thee for the depths of Thy wisdom, the whole world a living sign of it
Glory to Thee; on my knees, I kiss the traces of Thine unseen hand
Glory to Thee, enlightening us with the clearness of eternal life
Glory to Thee for the hope of the unutterable, imperishable beauty of immortality
Glory to Thee, O God, from age to age

Kontakion 4

How filled with sweetness are those whose thoughts dwell on Thee; how life-giving Thy holy Word. To speak with Thee is more soothing than anointing with oil; sweeter than the honeycomb. To pray to Thee lifts the spirit, refreshes the soul. Where Thou art not, there is only emptiness; hearts are smitten with sadness; nature, and life itself, become sorrowful; where Thou art, the soul is filled with abundance, and its song resounds like a torrent of life: Alleluia!

Ikos 4

When the sun is setting, when quietness falls like the peace of eternal sleep, and the silence of the spent day reigns, then in the splendour of its declining rays, filtering through the clouds, I see Thy dwelling-place: fiery and purple, gold and blue, they speak prophet-like of the ineffable beauty of Thy presence, and call to us in their majesty. We turn to the Father.

Glory to Thee at the hushed hour of nightfall
Glory to Thee, covering the earth with peace
Glory to Thee for the last ray of the sun as it sets
Glory to Thee for sleep's repose that restores us
Glory to Thee for Thy goodness even in the time of darkness
When all the world is hidden from our eyes
Glory to Thee for the prayers offered by a trembling soul
Glory to Thee for the pledge of our reawakening
On that glorious last day, that day which has no evening
Glory to Thee, O God, from age to age

Kontakion 5

The dark storm clouds of life bring no terror to those in whose hearts Thy fire is burning brightly. Outside is the darkness of the whirlwind, the terror and howling of the storm, but in the heart, in the presence of Christ, there is light and peace, silence: Alleluia!

Ikos 5

I see Thine heavens resplendent with stars. How glorious art Thou radiant with light! Eternity watches me by the rays of the distant stars. I am small, insignificant, but the Lord is at my side. Thy right arm guides me wherever I go.

Glory to Thee, ceaselessly watching over me
Glory to Thee for the encounters Thou dost arrange for me
Glory to Thee for the love of parents, for the faithfulness of friends
Glory to Thee for the humbleness of the animals which serve me
Glory to Thee for the unforgettable moments of life
Glory to Thee for the heart's innocent joy
Glory to Thee for the joy of living
Moving and being able to return Thy love
Glory to Thee, O God, from age to age

Kontakion 6

How great and how close art Thou in the powerful track of the storm! How mighty Thy right arm in the blinding flash of the lightning! How awesome Thy majesty! The voice of the Lord fills the fields, it speaks in the rustling of the trees. The voice of the Lord is in the thunder and the downpour. The voice of the Lord is heard above the waters. Praise be to Thee in the roar of mountains ablaze. Thou dost shake the earth like a garment; Thou dost pile up to the sky the waves of the sea. Praise be to Thee, bringing low the pride of man. Thou dost bring from his heart a cry of Penitence: Alleluia!

Ikos 6

When the lightning flash has lit up the camp dining hall, how feeble seems the light from the lamp. Thus dost Thou, like the lightning, unexpectedly light up my heart with flashes of intense joy. After Thy blinding light, how drab, how colourless, how illusory all else seems. My souls clings to Thee.

Glory to Thee, the highest peak of men's dreaming
Glory to Thee for our unquenchable thirst for communion with God
Glory to Thee, making us dissatisfied with earthly things
Glory to Thee, turning on us Thine healing rays
Glory to Thee, subduing the power of the spirits of darkness
And dooming to death every evil
Glory to Thee for the signs of Thy presence
For the joy of hearing Thy voice and living in Thy love
Glory to Thee, O God, from age to age

Kontakion 7

In the wondrous blending of sounds it is Thy call we hear; in the harmony of many voices, in the sublime beauty of music, in the glory of the works of great composers: Thou leadest us to the threshold of paradise to come, and to the choirs of angels. All true beauty has the power to draw the soul towards Thee, and to make it sing in ecstasy: Alleluia!

Ikos 7

The breath of Thine Holy Spirit inspires artists, poets and scientists. The power of Thy supreme knowledge makes them prophets and interpreters of Thy laws, who reveal the depths of Thy creative wisdom. Their works speak unwittingly of Thee. How great art Thou in Thy creation! How great art Thou in man!

Glory to Thee, showing Thine unsurpassable power in the laws of the universe
Glory to Thee, for all nature is filled with Thy laws
Glory to Thee for what Thou hast revealed to us in Thy mercy
Glory to Thee for what Thou hast hidden from us in Thy wisdom
Glory to Thee for the inventiveness of the human mind
Glory to Thee for the dignity of man's labour
Glory to Thee for the tongues of fire that bring inspiration
Glory to Thee, O God, from age to age

Kontakion 8

How near Thou art in the day of sickness. Thou Thyself visitest the sick; Thou Thyself bendest over the sufferer's bed. His heart speaks to Thee. In the throes of sorrow and suffering Thou bringest peace and unexpected consolation. Thou art the comforter. Thou art the love which watches over and heals us. To Thee we sing the song: Alleluia!

Ikos 8

When in childhood I called upon Thee consciously for the first time, Thou didst hear my prayer, and Thou didst fill my heart with the blessing of peace. At that moment I knew Thy goodness and knew how blessed are those who turn to Thee. I started to call upon Thee night and day; and now even now I call upon Thy name.

Glory to Thee, satisfying my desires with good things
Glory to Thee, watching over me day and night
Glory to Thee, curing affliction and emptiness with the healing flow of time
Glory to Thee, no loss is irreparable in Thee, Giver of eternal life to all
Glory to Thee, making immortal all that is lofty and good
Glory to Thee, promising us the longed-for meeting with our loved ones who have died
Glory to Thee, O God, from age to age

Kontakion 9

Why is it that on a Feast Day the whole of nature mysteriously smiles? Why is it that then a heavenly gladness fills our hearts; a gladness far beyond that of earth and the very air in church and in the altar becomes luminous? It is the breath of Thy gracious love. It is the reflection of the glory of Mount Tabor. Then do heaven and earth sing Thy praise: Alleluia!

Ikos 9

When Thou didst call me to serve my brothers and filled my soul with humility, one of Thy deep, piercing rays shone into my heart; it became luminous, full of light like iron glowing in the furnace. I have seen Thy face, face of mystery and of unapproachable glory.

Glory to Thee, transfiguring our lives with deeds of love
Glory to Thee, making wonderfully Sweet the keeping of Thy commandments
Glory to Thee, making Thyself known where man shows mercy on his neighbour
Glory to Thee, sending us failure and misfortune that we may understand the sorrows of others
Glory to Thee, rewarding us so well for the good we do
Glory to Thee, welcoming the impulse of our heart's love
Glory to Thee, raising to the heights of heaven every act of love in earth and sky
Glory to Thee, O God, from age to age

Kontakion 10

No one can put together what has crumbled into dust, but Thou canst restore a conscience turned to ashes. Thou canst restore to its former beauty a soul lost and without hope. With Thee, there is nothing that cannot be redeemed. Thou art love; Thou art Creator and Redeemer. We praise Thee, singing: Alleluia!

Ikos 10

Remember, my God, the fall of Lucifer full of pride, keep me safe with the power of Thy Grace; save me from falling away from Thee. Save me from doubt. Incline my heart to hear Thy mysterious voice every moment of my life. Incline my heart to call upon Thee, present in everything.

Glory to Thee for every happening
Every condition Thy providence has put me in
Glory to Thee for what Thou speakest to me in my heart
Glory to Thee for what Thou revealest to me, asleep or awake
Glory to Thee for scattering our vain imaginations
Glory to Thee for raising us from the slough of our passions through suffering
Glory to Thee for curing our pride of heart by humiliation
Glory to Thee, O God, from age to age

Kontakion 11

Across the cold chains of the centuries, I feel the warmth of Thy breath, I feel Thy blood pulsing in my veins. Part of time has already gone, but now Thou art the present. I stand by Thy Cross; I was the cause of it. I cast myself down in the dust before it. Here is the triumph of love, the victory of salvation. Here the centuries themselves cannot remain silent, singing Thy praises: Alleluia!

Ikos 11

Blessed are they that will share in the King's Banquet: but already on earth Thou givest me a foretaste of this blessedness. How many times with Thine own hand hast Thou held out to me Thy Body and Thy Blood, and I, though a miserable sinner, have received this Mystery, and have tasted Thy love, so ineffable, so heavenly.

Glory to Thee for the unquenchable fire of Thy Grace
Glory to Thee, building Thy Church, a haven of peace in a tortured world
Glory to Thee for the life-giving water of Baptism in which we find new birth
Glory to Thee, restoring to the penitent purity white as the lily
Glory to Thee for the cup of salvation and the bread of eternal joy
Glory to Thee for exalting us to the highest heaven
Glory to Thee, O God, from age to age

Kontakion 12

How often have I seen the reflection of Thy glory in the faces of the dead. How resplendent they were, with beauty and heavenly joy. How ethereal, how translucent their faces. How triumphant over suffering and death, their felicity and peace. Even in the silence they were calling upon Thee. In the hour of my death, enlighten my soul, too, that it may cry out to Thee: Alleluia!

Ikos 12

What sort of praise can I give Thee? I have never heard the song of the Cherubim, a joy reserved for the spirits above. But I know the praises that nature sings to Thee. In winter, I have beheld how silently in the moonlight the whole earth offers Thee prayer, clad in its white mantle of snow, sparkling like diamonds. I have seen how the rising sun rejoices in Thee, how the song of the birds is a chorus of praise to Thee. I have heard the mysterious mutterings of the forests about Thee, and the winds singing Thy praise as they stir the waters. I have understood how the choirs of stars proclaim Thy glory as they move forever in the depths of infinite space. What is my poor worship! All nature obeys Thee, I do not. Yet while I live, I see Thy love, I long to thank Thee, and call upon Thy name.

Glory to Thee, giving us light
Glory to Thee, loving us with love so deep, divine and infinite
Glory to Thee, blessing us with light, and with the host of angels and saints
Glory to Thee, Father all-holy, promising us a share in Thy Kingdom
Glory to Thee, Holy Spirit, life-giving Sun of the world to come
Glory to Thee for all things, Holy and most merciful Trinity
Glory to Thee, O God, from age to age

Kontakion 13

Life-giving and merciful Trinity, receive my thanksgiving for all Thy goodness. Make us worthy of Thy blessings, so that, when we have brought to fruit the talents Thou hast entrusted to us, we may enter into the joy of our Lord, forever exulting in the shout of victory: Alleluia!

Icon written by Daryl Cochran

Introducing...

Mortimer Mouse!!

Now mice are nervous creatures as a rule, but Mortimer - poor Mortimer! - he made the rest seem relaxed.

The latest love of my life, this little guy is completely occupying my mind.  I'm working on meeting his friend, Miss Suzie Sparrow, but she seems to be a little less anxious to be known.  They have, however, already completed a fun little adventure - which may find its way to the blog at some point.

I just love this little guy :)

The Case of the Invisible Mother

A few week's ago, at my sister's baby shower, I heard a story read about a mother who was suffering from a common problem (or I believe it to be common): the case of the Invisible Mother.  This mother went on to say that she had found peace from a book a friend had given to her about the great cathedrals in Europe.  In the story the (childless) friend had said that this mother reminded her of the builders of the great cathedrals.  No one knows their names, no one knows anything about who they were, but they built amazing places that to this day bring glory to God and wonder to people.  The "invisible" mother had found some comfort: she was building cathedrals for God through her children, even if no one noticed her work and sacrifice. 

I have been thinking about this ever since.  See, I know my mom suffers from Invisible Mother Syndrome.  Sometimes we talk about it - more often we don't - and I know there are so many times when a "thank you" or "I love you" would have gone a long way but instead I ran out the door with a "good-bye!" or an "I'll see you later." 

My mom and I have had our share of conflicts.  After all, don't all mothers and daughters feel frustrated with each other at some point or another?  But to be honest with you, I have far more good memories than bad with my mama.  Sure, maybe we argued the morning I was moving to college, but didn't she cry harder than I did when we said goodbye at my dorm room door?  And maybe I felt frustrated that she didn't seem to understand why I was so upset with my professor, but when the letter from home came a couple days later in the mail it was just what I needed.  Moms usually do know just what we need, don't they?

And when I think of how my mom must feel invisible so much of the time, it blows my mind.  Because to me, you see, she is very visible.  Every time my older sisters sing I hear Mama's voice.  When my brothers (and sisters, for that matter) talk about the desire for justice, I hear Mama's words.  When Ginny and Timmy talk about "my Jesus," or sing Gospel songs in the car - well that's Mama for you, right there.  My sister holding her arms out to those in need: Mama.  The random fascination with kind of gross, but really cool, medical issues or injuries: Mama.  Heck!  The pure stubbornness that I know has gotten my siblings and me through tough times that would otherwise be impossible to deal with...That's my mom, right there.  The heart for those who need a little extra love.  Well, that's my mama, too.

Let me tell you why I love this picture: It isn't because it's good of me (it's not).  It's because in it are 12 people who adore my mom and don't see her as being invisible at all - whether we say it or not.  You can see her smile on all of our faces.

Invisible?  No...I see her clearly everyday.  I feel her expressions on my face.  I hear her tones in my voice.  And that is an extraordinary thing, because as those of you who know my mom can attest to, my mom is a pretty extraordinary person.  And even though the lines of the song below are written for a Mama and a Daddy (and I have amazing love and respect for my Daddy, too), today I want to send them out to Mama.  Because when I heard this song the other day my mind shot straight to you.  I love you.

Excerpted from Heroes by The Isaacs:

"...Those who sacrifice to raise a child that's not their own.
They dedicate their time to make a difference in someone else's life.
And in my eyes

"He's a hero and she's a hero
It doesn't matter that nobody knows their name.
They keep on giving to make life worth living
It might go unnoticed, but they're heroes just the same.

"They might go unnoticed, but they're heroes."


Happy Mother's Day, Mama!!!  I love you.