I have issues!

Yes, if you haven't already noticed, I have issues. That said, I wanted to take some time and flesh out some of my initial issues with Eastern Orthodoxy and how I over came them. The first one starts last summer when I gave Eastern Orthodoxy a first glance. Immediatly, I noticed something, MARY (and I had some issues with Joseph)!

Ummmmm, this was a bit of problem for me. I got that she was special, she was chosen, and she was a beautiful example of humility and godliness. But that was i,t right? What was this Ever-virgin thing? Jesus had brothers, right? At first, I really grieved and was a bit angered by the thought of her ever virginity. Already there was so little of Mary in my Protestant faith and now I wouldn't even me able to relate to her as a wife. It was like I didn't even know her.

Months, went by and I refused to look at EO. But, some of the arguments where working in my heart. Could it be that Joseph was an older man when he married her? That he stepped up as her protector and the protector of Jesus? That Jesus "brothers" really were cousins or step-siblings? Maybe, just maybe, I wasn't losing Mary so much, as gaining a deeper and more complex understanding of her and Joseph.

What about her "ever virginity?" Was I really supposed to believe that Jesus was not born in the way of normal babies? I had to approach this one backwards. After his death, Jesus appears to His disciples in the upper room, by walking thru a door. A miracle, right? Well, if He could walk thru walls, why couldn't He be birthed thru a wall of flesh? I don't have an answer. If I believe the one, by default I can believe the other is possible. It is a very foreign concept to me, I grant you, but not as outrageous when viewed in light of His other miracles.

In the end, I didn't lose anything. I gained a ton! My respect and admiration for Joseph. My awe for what it must have been like for Mary. And Jesus, somehow I had fallen into the thought that He started being God-like at the age of 32. Now, there was so much MORE!!!

I won't gloss over this and say it all sits perfectly, sometimes I still struggle, but what it really comes down to is: I can't compartmentalized when or how God gets to demonstrate Himself.

An orthodox view of salvation.

A new Spring!

My last post was actually drafted 2 months ago!

          Much has happened in the past 2 months, and it is time to write it out. After much exploration and research, I shared with my husband my desire to look into Eastern Orthodox Christianity. My husband is an amazing man, who loves me dearly. We complement each other. Without me he would live a very boring life, and without him I would live like a butterfly, flitting about from pretty flower to pretty flower.
         At first, he was cautiously supportive. In fact his words were, "That's fine, but I am not converting!" Although he said that, he bought me my Orthodox Study Bible and began doing some reading on his own. Eventually, we agree to attend our Protestant church on Sat. nights and an Orthodox church on Sun mornings. The first few Divine Liturgies were difficult experiences. This was so foreign. Yes, it was beautiful. But, how could this be church? How was it going to teach me about God? Didn't I need someone to preach AT me? To tell me how to live? Why did I need to be a part of this Liturgical Service? Wouldn't it get boring, week in and week out? Would I grow in my relationship with God?

         These questions did not have immediate answers. I couldn't look up the answers, I had to experience the answers. To do that, let me tell you about our last night in a Protestant Church.

         We went to church like normal. The kids went happily to their children's classes and we walked into the auditorium in preparation for praise and worship. The music started and it was wonderful. We were very fortunate to have a phenomenal worship band with many very talented musicians. Yes, there was something spiritual in the experience, but the thought that rose in my mind was, "I would pay money to see these guys in concert. In fact, that's where I feel I am at. At a really good concert, but something is missing." There was nothing wrong with the music, it was both beautiful and organic, it was everything a praise and worship service should be. And yet, something was missing.
         Then the Pastor started his message. He is a wonderful Pastor, with a genuine love for his congregation. You can feel it as he speaks. He begins talking about the research he has done into the ancient paths of Christianity, and about His desire to learn from them. In fact, he goes on, "Many of the Monasteries had a 'Rule' that they lived by. A prayer schedule and routine that guided their day." We could look at their example and come up with our Rule. In that moment, I leaned over to my husband and said, "But we already have all of that over at the Orthodox church."
         After service, I asked my husband his thoughts on the Pastor's message. His response was something likes this, "Have you noticed that when we leave an Orthodox service we never ask 'How did the Priest do?' Our church experience does not revolve around a man's ability to preach a message. As a result, our spiritual life has little to do with 'How the sermon went?" In fact, when we are in a Protestant Church we are the audience, but when we go to the Orthodox church we spend the entire service smack dab "in the middle" of an act of worship. Every moment, every action, every word is a deliberate act of worship, rich with meaning and tradition.

         So, we found home. I will be honest. I still have some questions, I'm still disoriented at times, but this is where I feel safe. It's where I have come to be able to rest in the arms of the God I love. I can read the Bible again and pray.

The Fog disperses....

As a wife and mother I couldn't stay, I wanted to...but couldn't. I learned to dread the sun light...reality. I didn't want to see the foreign land I had traveled to. Gone were the things I knew. The church, the people, the bible which I had sucked up so much nutrients from...those wells were now poison to me. I couldn't drink without tasting my tormentor.

But, thru the fog I would hear an occasional whisper of something greater, something grander than what I already knew.  A couple of chance encounters, a brushing of minds, the gentle quickening of my heart and I am curious. Could it be? I wonder. Is there a path back to the God I love? Is there a road, strong and true, to guide my feet? Are their guides, old and wise, to hold my hands? And, most importantly, will I once again be able to rest in the arms that brought me so much comfort?

Truthfully, I sit on the thought for quite a while. First off, it's just too foreign to contemplate. So many things I refused to consider,  would need to be looked at. And what about my family? My "pastor" husband, and my kids?

For the first time I have hope!

Between the Waves

"We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, unremembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always—
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one."

-TS Eliot, Little Gidding



What a beautiful poem. "To arrive at the place where we started, and know the place for the first time." This is the longing in my heart. To go back to the place where I first knew Jesus, before man's religion strangled the newborn shoot.

This was both a place of confidence in God, and adventure for myself. The Great Adventure of getting to know Him. Of hope and possibility, of transformation and refinement.

For years I have lived grieving what was lost. Grieving things I had no say over. I remember when we were first forced to resign our staff position, I would go on these long walks wearing my "celebrity in hiding" sunglasses....and cry. The tears would roll down my face and I would sing this song my Grandfather taught me, "Don't cry for me Argentina. The truth is I never left you. All threw my wild days, my mad existence, I kept my promise, Don't keep your distance."

"The truth is I never left you...." "I never left...." "I didn't want to go."

When my Grandfather passed a few months ago, my mother reminded me of how he taught me that song as a child. I wonder if he had any notion that it would become a coping skill...a survival tool, when I was in the throes of deep grief and trauma.
The trauma phase was rough, it's like living with an exposed wound...you feel everything. After it comes "the fog." It's like walking into a field and having a heavy fog roll in. It's calm, numbing, and disorienting. The road signs that had been directing my life are no longer visible. Points of reference are gone. The world gets bigger and smaller all at the same time. There is space for meandering, and space to get lost. It is in the mist that I discovered grace. In fact in many ways it was grace. The fog, the numbness, the lack of striving, the just being had a grace quality to it. It was healing, comforting in many ways. Like being wrapped in a warm cozy blanket on a misty Puget Sound morning.

The only problem was getting lost there. Getting lost between the waves.

I'm not really living

I'm convinced of that. This isn't working, (how's that for honest?) There has to be more. There has to be way to navigate life in a semi-healthy manner. Something to inspire and direct my artsy personality. Something to inspire my role as wife as and mother.

I used the think I had the answers. I had an encounter with God in my teen years that was life changing. I knew I had found something worth living for. And it worked for quite a while. I went to Seminary, married a Pastor and went into ministry. In many ways "I" was fulfilled. I had a growing brood of kids, my art was thriving, and I took great pleasure in my domestic career.

Then disaster struck. Some betrayals are easier to recover from than others. infidelity is devastating, but I would put forth that there is something worse....

When all your eggs are in the basket of church, of serving God and serving others, when that basket is ripped from your grasp and dashed on the ground....life as you knew it ends.

The death of relationships...
The death of dreams and hopes...
The death of inspiration and hope...

...and most devastating of all, the death of Faith!

I could have forgiven a husband, gone to counseling, healed a marriage...
...but how do you forgive God? He could have stopped what happened? I was His servant, why didn't he protect me? Why does an All Powerful God allow "Wolves in Shepherds clothing?"

When someone you trusted as Shepherd rips you to shreds, and leaves you to die...how do you ever trust God again?

These are some of the questions that have been running thru my mind for the last few years. Some I have found answers to. Like this....yes, there are wolves who rip apart sheep, but there are other shepherds who bind up wounds.
Yes, horrible things happened to me, but God never dropped me. There was a cool cup of water right when I needed it, there was a soothing balm placed on my wounds, and protective wings encased about when the attacks continued. Yes, God took very good care of me after the tragedy, but could I trust Him again?
Could I trust myself? No longer would I blindly follow anyone...innocence was ripped away from me.

It is good to be strong. To take care of ones self, but it is lonely and scary at times.

It is good to be safe and have boundaries, but what happens when they become prisons?

...and so, I'm not really living. I'm caught in limbo, somewhere between spiritual death and life. I hunger for God, for the hope of a life I once knew. I fear God, religion and church life.

...and yet this isn't living. Going thru life in response to a tragedy is good for a season. It protects and helps you face things about yourself you may not have had to before. Eventually, though new questions arise...

Who am I really? What do I need to live life abundantly? How do I move on?

and...Was everything lost, or are there a few eggs that didn't break?

This is my Journey. The journey beyond faith and to faith. A going deeper. A hope.