community…

For whatever reason several of the local people I’ve approached about Orthodoxy have been less than accessible. I get it, I do. I’m busy too. I have not returned phone calls and emails because I’m overwhelmed. Overwhelmed is not my middle name…it’s my first name. Cranky is my middle name these days. Obviously I’m narcissistic enough to think it’s about me. I hope I grow out of this soon. I’m in my…

desperation…

I prayed this morning with no lack of desperation. At first I stepped into my regular morning prayers from my prayerbook. I gripped the pages and felt the desperation whisper to me, “not now..” and “you’re busy…” and “do this later…” I nearly threw it to the ground. I was not angry. I don’t think I was angry. I was overwhelmed and I was tired and rushed but not angry. The prayerbook…

anger…

What rises up in me most these days after praying, surprisingly, is anger. When I asked my priest about this he told me that this is to be expected. When we get into a habit of prayer, a turning away from sin, this is all part of the process of cleaning the “nous” as it were. This ought to be comforting I suppose. It’s not comforting. I’m not comforted. It just makes…

surrender and the independent spirit…

Dave and I had a short courtship and a short engagement. I knew when I met him that I should marry him. It wasn’t that I was head over heels…I mean, I was, of course. It was that I knew this is the one I needed to marry. It was as if God spoke it in my ear. My response to God was a stop sign palm. I really did NOT want…

words…

After all the media frenzy and extended rhetoric about rhetoric from the last week I find myself moving away from all news sources. I get overwhelmed, saturated with opinion and fact checking and engagement. Even my spirit needs distance from all the voices. I found myself falling into the Jesus Prayer again last night. I have a retreat coming up this weekend which I am leading and am struggling with a few…

watching…

At this point when I attend services I sit in the back, next to  my favorite icon of the Theotokos and I watch, a lot. I love watching. It might be the writer in me or maybe it’s the introvert. Introverts and writers are watchers, after all. It’s fascinating the see the various levels of interaction and action. When entering,  some people move quickly to a seat, others make a quick run…

entering in…

I know what it is that gives me such pause whenever I attend Orthodox services. I feel so much like an outsider and at the same time, I cling to my identity as outsider.  Being an outsider has some value in that I’m not committed, not given the heavy responsibility of showing up and being engaged. If I have a misstep it’s easily forgiven, because I’m an outsider, because I don’t know…