Afternoon Light...

Where the Green Grass Grows...

Our backyard was a long stretch of patchy dirt with little tufts of grass and weeds sprinkled throughout...

It was ugly, dirty, and rough on little bare feet.

Since Pascha, Father John has been working to make our yard a more habitable place to be. After several truckloads of dirt, lots of grass seed, and many, many hours of work, here is our backyard this afternoon:

And here it is as Father John mowed it for the first time:

It looks so great and the baby grass is so soft! Good work, Father John!

Next up, some big leafy trees!

Water Play!

We received a wonderful gift this week (in honor of Sugar Plum and Button's birthdays) from my best friend and her family. I have often wondered if a water table would be a good thing to have, and I must say that this toy is really great! It occupied my little ones for quite a long time and was perfect for the scorcher that we had today! I foresee this toy being a favorite for all of the children for a long time! Thank you, Courtney!

Festal Learning Basket: Ascension...

Books

The Ascension of Our Lord
Jesus Ascends into Heaven (The Children's Bible Reader, Pages 267)

Activities
Set up a Feastday Shelf
Fly a Kite
Picnic on a Hill
Wear the Color White
Go Cloud Watching
Use recipes for the feast of The Ascension from An Orthodox Kitchen
Add a vase of flowers to the icon corner and/or feast day table
Set out an icon of The Ascension
Color an icon of The Ascension
Sing the Festal Troparion Before Meals
Look for Icons depicting The Ascension in church
Listen to the Audio of The Ascension of Our Lord

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Going Up, Up, Up into Heaven

Going up, up, up into heaven
Going up, up, up into heaven
Gonna ride that cloud on up to heaven
From the Mount of Olives
He’s going up to heaven.

from Gigi Shadid’s CD, Celebrate the Feasts

Learning Basket: Seashells...

Books
One White Wishing Stone: A Beach Day Counting Book
What Lives in a Shell?
A House for Hermit Crab
Seashells by the Seashore
The Seashore Book

Activities
Collect Seashells on the Beach
Play with Seashells during Bathtime
Snack on Madeline Cookies at Teatime
Listen for the Ocean Inside a Large Conch Shell
Glue Shells Together to Create a Picture or Sculpture

Learning Basket: Strawberries...

Books
Strawberries are Red
The First Strawberries
Flicka, Ricka, and Dicka and the Strawberries

Saving Strawberry Farm
Hedgie's Surprise

Activities
Pick your Own Strawberries
Make Strawberry Jam and Strawberry Shortcake
Observe the Strawberry Seeds on the Outside of the Berry with a Magnifying Glass
Select a Bowl of Strawberries to Give to Your Neighbors Anonymously
Grow Strawberry Plants in your Garden
Attend a Strawberry Festival (or Host Your Own!)

Learning Basket: Butterflies...

Books
Waiting for Wings
The Very Hungry Caterpillar
A Butterfly is Patient
Where Butterflies Grow
Monarch Butterfly of Aster Way
Sibley's Backyard Butterfly Folding Guide (for your region)

Activities
Grow Your Own Butterflies!
Hang a Butterfly Garland
Dress-up Like a Butterfly
Create Magazine Butterflies
Play with a Butterfly Puppet

Learning Basket: Birds, Eggs, and Nests...

Books
About Birds: A Guide for Children
An Egg is Quiet
Birds, Nests, and Eggs
Robin at Hickory Street
The Backyard Birdsong Guide
Sibley's Backyard Birds Folding Guide (for your region)

Activities

Set up a Bird Watching Station by a Window in your Home: Child-Sized Binoculars, Bird Guides, and Perhaps a few Audubon Birds
Take a Nature Walk to Search for Birds and Their Nests... Perhaps You'll Find an Eggshell from a Robin!
Create a Bird Haven in your Garden: Fill your Bird Feeders Regularly, Keep a Clean Bird Bath, and Add Plants to Your Garden that attract Birds
Visit Your Local Zoo to Catch a Glimpse of a Few Exotic Birds
Purchase a Wooden Birdhouse from the Craft Store and Have your Child Decorate it

Hydrangeas in May...

Geraniums...

We went to a fancy nursery a few days ago and bought four pots of geraniums: a perfect white, the palest pink, a magenta, and one that I think of as flamingo pink. There were so many other colors, too (scarlet, orange-y red, salmon pink, to name a few). Geraniums are my go-to summer flower since they can take a beating from a someone who often forgets to water them! I love how they look in some mossy green terracotta pots that I purchased last year just after I got off of bedrest. How long ago that seems!

Happy Little Ones...

I have decided that I am going to find a way to simplify beach trips as much as possible so that we can enjoy the next few weeks before the tourists descend. The joy that my little ones have the second that their little feet hit the sand is a pleasure to see and will make the endless trail of sand worth it!

Yum!

In lieu of birthday cake, Sugar Plum opted for ice cream cones on on the boardwalk. Little Man was particularly thrilled with his first cone of the season. He exclaimed, "Mama, this is my lucky day!"

Click!

Our camera went for a little trip this month with my brother-in-law to Kenya (he was there doing brain surgery with a few doctors from the hospital where he works). We missed it a lot, but it was fun to see photos of wild animals in their natural habitat on the memory card!

Five!

Happy Birthday, Sugar Plum!

Home...

My father is home from the hospital! He is going to have to take it easy for awhile, but I know that he is thrilled to be home! Thank you so much for all of your prayers!

Ask Father: 3 Questions/3 Answers...

Question: How should I respond to people’s questions about the Faith?

Answer: It is always good to remember the words of Scripture. The Apostle Peter says: “But sanctify the Lord God in your hearts, and be ready always to give an answer to everyone who asks you a reason of the hope in you, with meekness and fear; having a good conscience...” (1Pe 3:15-16)

St. Peter gives us three practical things to do: 1) to seek the Lord’s help; praying fervently to Him from the heart that He might inspire both us and those we are speaking with; 2) to have the courage to share the reasons why we believe; and 3) to speak, “with meekness and fear; having a good conscience”.

Why meekness, fear, and a good conscience? Meekness because the Lord Himself is humble and doesn’t force anything on anyone. Fear because we ourselves are mere human beings and the things of God are mysterious and beyond our full comprehension. And a good conscience because we ourselves must be seeking to do what is right, seeking to follow the way of the Lord, if we are going to lead others in the same. If we can pass along the spirit of meekness, fear, and a good conscience, to the person we are speaking with, then they will have all the necessary prerequisites to learning the true Faith. Without this spirit, even the most perfect teaching from the most perfect Teacher will not be enough. We recall how some even departed from the Christ because they lacked meekness, fear of God, and a good conscience.
Question: But how can I help the person, if I don’t really know what to say?

Answer: Even if we can’t fully answer every question (and really, who can?), we can still help people by referring them to someone who might know a little more than us or to some profitable book on the subject. By so doing, they will be assured that what we are telling them is not our own personal belief but the universal teaching of the Church. And even if they never speak with the person we referred them to or never open the book we suggested, at the very least they will know that Orthodox Christianity is not about personal opinions but instead a common and universal witness to the Truth.

Question: But what if the conversation starts to turn argumentative?

Answer: Arguments about the Faith seldom bear fruit; the Christian life is communicated better by example than by argument. And so, if the conversation seems to turn argumentative, it might be best to follow the above advice and humbly refer the person to someone else or to some pertinent material on the subject in question.

By humbly removing ourselves from the conversation, we can actually help the person more than if we continued to debate them. This is because the person will more easily accept the answer to their question if they don’t have to swallow their pride by “giving in”. We all know how once a conversation turns into an argument, it can be less about the question and its answer than about who is going to “win” the debate. We should try to avoid this at all costs. Even if we might full well know the answer to the question, it could be that the person needs to hear the answer from someone other than us. Humbling taking ourselves out of an argument is not losing; it is giving a chance for the other person to be won over by the Lord.

Getting Better...

We are still under the weather, but on the mend! Our get-well-tonic is a visit from Grandma (Father John's Mama), Parmesan Popcorn, and Peter Pan!

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My father is still in the hospital, but hopefully we'll be getting some more information on Monday... We are happy that he is being taken care of so well at Auntie Juliana's hospital.

Prayers...

.: Wild Daisies and Sweet Purple Clover Collected on One of Our Walks:.

Please pray for my dad, Father David. He is in the Emergency Room now and will likely be admitted for being septic. We aren't sure exactly what the problem is, but I will be sure to keep you posted.

UPDATE: My dad was finally diagnosed with cellulitus! Yikes. They will be keeping him for a day or two and my mother has calls out to clergy in the area to see if anyone can cover Vigil and Liturgy for him. Thank you for your prayers.

It has been a very hard day for our family. Besides worrying about my dad, we took Little Man to the ER at 5am for croup. He was given steroids and we were sent on our merry way. Button has been sick with cold-like symptoms (that are worsening) for five days, so I called our doctor for a sick visit and since he was booked up, he suggested waiting it out until Monday (this did not make Mama happy!) At about 4:30pm Sugar Plum began complaining that her ear hurt (she has been sick with a cold all week, too). I rushed her right over to the Urgent Care in our area and she was diagnosed with an ear infection. While we were there, I asked the nurse practitioner if she could look at Button, but she said that she couldn't since he was under 18 months old. When we got home, Father John and I decided that it would be a good idea to talk to the on-call physician about Button before it got too late in the evening. At 7:00 pm we were told to head to the ER "just to check things out". Father stayed home with the big ones, while I went off to the hospital. We are now home after 5 hours with a diagnosis of pneumonia! Yikes! Hopefully we will all get to rest tonight!

Thank you for your prayers!

The Story...

By Father John Oliver
from Touching Heaven

The curtains fill with faint breeze and tease away from the open window, then hang still again. I cannot sleep. In several minutes the clock beside my bed will ring as I have programmed it to do. I hear no sound but the soft rustle of swaying leaves. Time has passed unnoticed. It is night-one hour before the Easter Pascha Liturgy.

I dress, then move quietly through the house. There is nothing to take to the temple but the usual-joy from the astonishing events that will unfold this night, guilt from another Lent of scattered effort, and hope of meeting Christ, who welcomes the eleventh-hour people. Somehow, though, feelings are irrelevant. Indeed, something infinitely more interesting is moving toward center stage. The dark corners in every fold of the universe rumble in anticipation as the priest readies his vestments and the choir arranges the hymns.

I pat my pockets, listening for the familiar jingle of coins and car keys. The money is needed for a meal at an all-night restaurant; the keys for transporting my hungry body there after the Liturgy. I walk through the living room, brushing with my fingertips the wall holding the icon of the Mother of God. Traveling light, I open the front door and step into a humid Florida night. Faint blue-and-white shades of television screens flicker from nearby homes. It is the only evidence of life I can see, and I imagine that they shine upon the bodies of sleeping men and women.

Turning south onto 56^th Street, I roll down the window and inhale the warm air. The temple fills early and completely, so I've left home expecting to arrive with time to spare. Midnight is near and the streets are peppered with the flashy vessels of late Saturday revelers. Music and attitude spray from a few cars. We-all of us-are traveling toward our altars, to worship our gods, seeking relief from afflictions that feel personal and unique but are, in fact, common and everywhere.

I marvel at the ache of the soul, how it winds its way like water around the objects we place in its path. What a glorious thing. No dam of bounty, status, noise, psychology, or distraction is sufficient to protect us when the pangs of our true selves come calling. I have felt my share. And like my fellow night pilgrims, steering toward whatever they have constructed as their promised lands, I am simply trying to keep my eyes on the road and trust it takes me to a better place.

I have lived for a brief time in the warm fold of Valaam Monastery with men and women who are responding to the pangs of their true selves. They, and their spiritual ancestors, tell me that the true self is not the distorted, hollow construction of personal whim and cultural manipulation that so often meets our gaze when we look courageously into ourselves. No, the true self is the shining pearl beneath. It is the image of God that bears my name. And it is worthy of deep respect and vigorous celebration. It is worth rescuing.

As the years pass, my memories of Valaam will gradually be contained only in photographs. Even these will fade and yellow with time. The few artifacts I managed to slip past scrutiny at the border-icons, candles, an audio recording-will enter the cycle of display and replacement on mantles and shelves, and in recollections and conversations. But they will never fall out of favor. Rather, they will linger for a lifetime on the edges of my mind, fading in and out of consciousness like these streetlights that pass, one after another, through the corners of my vision as I drive through the night.

Pulling onto the highway, I settle into a legal speed. A police officer once told me I should give it a try, and tonight I am unhurried. Neon peeks through tree branches thick with greenery as I pass over twenty blocks of city streets. The breeze moves forcefully now through the interior of the car, and I reach over to move an old newspaper from the passenger seat to the floor. Resisting the urge to turn on the radio, I labor instead to listen to nothing more than rushing wind and random thoughts.

When I arrive at the church, the nave will be dark. We are still squarely on this side of the Resurrection. The stone has not been moved and many of us have only to look toward our chests to find it. We feebly commiserate with the disciples and their shattering confusion. You go through life placing your trust in anything that promises a decent return. Then, one Person appears in whom you invest every shred of your being. He gave eternal life; did they feel foolish for that brief time when He was dead and gone? At least we know what awaits on the next page of the story. Compared to that of the disciples, perhaps the intensity of our joy is dimmed because of it.

I have known the Story since childhood. That fixed point in spring-yes, shifting dates but always present and waiting-when flowers and clothing and sins turn white. The Story was recounted faithfully in the churches of my youth, in the wild variety of flannelboard figures, song titles, hymn selections, Sunday school handouts, real wooden crosses, and fancy dramatizations. Some years we awoke and celebrated before dawn. The Story was always told.

And always believed. The nave will be dark when I arrive but will not remain so. Even as the night set hard on my family when my parents finally chose fresh and separate lives for themselves, the darkness never lasted. Grace entered when I needed it most, in the form of a book or a friend or a movie or a walk in the woods. And I think grace entered my parents' lives also, as my sister and I emerged shaken but poised and resilient.

There were forays into cultures beyond the one I inherited. Shades of wildness and freedom colored my youth. Discovering that I could make music and be joyful, attend college on the other side of the country, sample life in its strange but exciting forms, visit other countries, appreciate other faiths-all this was powerfully shaping. A wider worldview was being forged from such exposure. And there in every shadow formed by new sights and new lights, the Story remained.

Then I entered Orthodoxy, and something happened to the Story. Or, rather, something happened to me: I no longer observed, I entered. I now walk with Christ in real time-day by day, through the Passion Week. The liturgical services contain the pious reflections of saints and hymn-writers, filling the biblical accounts with rich detail. I stand among His disciples listening to their thoughts. His Mother's heart opens and her anguish and hope are revealed. His cross is stained with fresh blood. I identify with Judas, even secretly respecting him because at least he held out for thirty pieces of silver, when I so often betray Christ for less. The liturgies vigorously discard sentimentality and explore real people in real events with real consequences.

Tonight, I travel toward my first Pascha service since returning from Valaam Monastery. The warriors there challenged me to keep the Story present and near. Do not trivialize its heroes by treating them as magical figures in a mythological sphere. No, they, and those since who have loved the Story, attained Christ by constantly grappling with the crude matter of their immediate circumstances. They were laborers whose redemptive scope included nothing beyond the simple materials-the persons, the tasks, the hour-before them.

I emerged from Valaam with this: I am not my own, but belong to God, who loved me into being. Moving through this evening, I imagine a different world. Not a pure and polished Planet of Eden, but simply a life closer to the prayerful one I encountered at the monastery. Monks are imperfect, as imperfect as any of us, and they fall as hard and as often. Still, there, a person lives not for himself, but for his Lord and his brother; there, to work is to participate with God in His creativity; there, sin is not as worrisome as not repenting; there, rest is a treasured part of the weekly routine; and there, they rise when fallen. Our culture needs plenty of all of this. We need the healing that these tedious, boring, difficult, but life-giving disciplines can bring. Valaam is an oasis of clarity for a world of confusion. Valaam is an island for America.

The details of my pilgrimage may fade, but the monastic experience has, by the grace of God, taken root; it will offer occasional nourishment for the journey and shade for the times when I feel like quitting. But it is only one step in that journey. It is a special grace among a host of mercies the Lord has granted to this pilgrim. The event will fade as it should, but the mysteries it imparted will grow and be fruitful. In that way, each of us has events and mysteries uniquely our own but drawing us toward a shared and holy communion.

And it is in Christ, after all, that we discover our true selves. Crushing our defenses, His cross; granting us abundant life, His death; illuminating every speck and sliver of creation with love, His Resurrection. I travel this highway tonight trying to turn from every thought that might drain the Story of its power over me. And they come as they always will come. But I drive with the winds of mercy, keeping my eyes on the road and trusting it takes me to a better place.

There, rising in the distance like a dim gray cloud, is the church. Palm trees line the road and sway gently under a black night sky hanging low. Scores of red taillights flutter, following their drivers as each finds a resting place. In a few moments, we will enter the Story. What we often consider to be the last chapter we will experience as the first breath of new life. I walk toward the door with my eyes to the earth, seeing only the ground that will hold my next step. Suddenly, the choir's pure song pulls at the wind, and in this moment everything I have been and ever will be does not resist, but turns and enters.

Enlighted By Actions...

My sister, Juliana, has decided to take up blogging this summer. She is a nurse and has decided to take a few months off to travel. The first stamp in her passport will be from Uganda, where she will help the people there on an OCMC trip. You can follow her wanderings at her new blog, I Want to Be Enlightened By Actions.