Showing posts with label Spirituality. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Spirituality. Show all posts

Tuesday, January 3, 2012





Today is the first time I get to celebrate a Name Day...or Saint's Day. In becoming Orthodox, with the help of my Priest, I was able to chose a Saint name. This was something that became very important to me as it allowed me to connect, in a personal way, with a far distant past. It brought to life the feeling a family with the Saints that have lived before me. Here is a link to an article that explains this in a little more detail http://orthodoxinfo.com/praxis/orthname.aspx


I definitely felt a connection with Saint Genevieve of Paris. From our shared French heritage, love of bread and wine, spiritual giftings, and bold personalities, there was a bond. I look forward to getting to know this woman more over the next year and learning to emulate her life.



Here is a bio from the Catholic Encyclopedia: 


          Patroness of Paris, b. at Nanterre, c. 419 or 422; d. at Paris, 512. Her feast is kept on 3 January. She was the daughter of Severus andGerontia; popular tradition represents her parents as poor peasants, though it seems more likely that they were wealthy and respectable townspeople. In 429 St. Germain of Auxerre and St. Lupus of Troyes were sent across from Gaul to Britain to combat Pelagianism. On their way they stopped at Nanterre, a small village about eight miles from Paris. The inhabitants flocked out to welcome them, and St. Germainpreached to the assembled multitude. It chanced that the pious demeanour and thoughtfulness of a young girl among his hearers attracted his attention. After the sermon he caused the child to be brought to him, spoke to her with interest, and encouraged her to persevere in the path of virtue. Learning that she was anxious to devote herself to the service of God, he interviewed her parents, and foretold them that their child would lead a life of sanctity and by her example and instruction bring many virgins to consecrate themselves to God. Before parting next morning he saw her again, and on her renewing her consecration he blessed her and gave her a medalengraved with a cross, telling her to keep it in remembrance of her dedication to Christ. He exhorted her likewise to be content with themedal, and wear it instead of her pearls and golden ornaments. There seem to have been no convents near her village; and Genevieve, like so many others who wished to practise religious virtue, remained at home, leading an innocent, prayerful life. It is uncertain when she formally received the religious veil. Some writers assert that it was on the occasion of St. Gregory's return from his mission to Britain; others say she received it about her sixteenth year, along with two companions, from the hands of the Bishop of Paris. On the death of her parents she went to Paris, and lived with her godmother. She devoted herself to works of charity and practised severe corporalausterities, abstaining completely from flesh meat and breaking her fast only twice in the week. These mortifications she continued for over thirty years, till her ecclesiastical superiors thought it their duty to make her diminish her austerities.

           Many of her neighbours, filled with jealousy and envy, accused Genevieve of being an impostor and a hypocrite. Like Blessed Joan of Arc, in later times, she had frequent communion with the other world, but her visions and prophecies were treated as frauds and deceits. Her enemies conspired to drown her; but, through the intervention of Germain of Auxerre, their animosity was finally overcome. The bishop of the city appointed her to look after the welfare of the virgins dedicated to God, and by her instruction and example she led them to a high degree of sanctity. In 451 Attila and his Huns were sweeping over Gaul; and the inhabitants of Paris prepared to flee. Genevieve encouraged them to hope and trust in God; she urged them to do works of penance, and added that if they did so the town would be spared. Her exhortations prevailed; the citizens recovered their calm, and Attila's hordes turned off towards Orléans, leaving Parisuntouched. Some years later Merowig (Mérovée) took Paris; during the siege Genevieve distinguished herself by her charity and self-sacrifice. Through her influence Merowig and his successors, Childeric and Clovis, displayed unwonted clemency towards the citizens. It was she, too, who first formed the plan of erecting a church in Paris in honour of Saints Peter and Paul. It was begun by Clovis at Mont-lès-Paris, shortly before his death in 511. Genevieve died the following year, and when the church was completed her body was interredwithin it. This fact, and the numerous miracles wrought at her tomb, caused the name of Sainte-Geneviève to be given to it. Kings, princes, and people enriched it with their gifts. In 847 it was plundered by the Normans and was partially rebuilt, but was completed only in 1177. This church having fallen into decay once more, Louis XV began the construction of a new church in 1764. The Revolution broke out before it was dedicated, and it was taken over in 1791, under the name of the Panthéon, by the Constituent Assembly, to be a burialplace for distinguished Frenchmen. It was restored to Catholic purposes in 1821 and 1852, having been secularized as a national mausoleum in 1831 and, finally, in 1885. St. Genevieve's relics were preserved in her church, with great devotion, for centuries, and Parisreceived striking proof of the efficacy of her intercession. She saved the city from complete inundation in 834. In 1129 a violent plague, known as the mal des ardents, carried off over 14,000 victims, but it ceased suddenly during a procession in her honourInnocent II, who had come to Paris to implore the king's help against the Antipope Anacletus in 1130, examined personally into the miracle and was so convinced of its authenticity that he ordered a feast to be kept annually in honour of the event on 26 November. A small church, calledSainte-Geneviève des Ardents, commemorated the miracle till 1747, when it was pulled down to make room for the Foundling Hospital. Thesaint's relics were carried in procession yearly to the cathedral, and Mme de Sévigné gives a description of the pageant in one of her letters.

                The revolutionaries of 1793 destroyed most of the relics preserved in St. Genevieve's church, and the rest were cast to the winds by the mob in 1871. Fortunately, however, a large relic had been kept at Verneuil, Oise, in the eighteenth century, and is still extant. The churchbuilt by Clovis was entrusted to the Benedictines. In the ninth century they were replaced by secular canons. In 1148, under Eugene IIIand Louis VII, canons from St. Victor's Abbey at Senlis were introduced. About 1619 Louis XIII named Cardinal François de LaRochefoucauld Abbot of St. Genevieve's. The canons had been lax and the cardinal selected Charles Faure to reform them. This holy manwas born in 1594, and entered the canons regular at Senlis. He was remarkable for his piety, and, when ordained, succeeded after a hard struggle in reforming the abbey. Many of the houses of the canons regular adopted his reform. He and a dozen companions took charge ofSainte-Geneviève-du-Mont, at Paris, in 1634. This became the mother-house of a new congregation, the Canons Regular of St. Genevieve, which spread widely over France. Another institute called after the saint was the Daughters of St. Genevieve, founded atParis, in 1636, by Francesca de Blosset, with the object of nursing the sick and teaching young girls. A somewhat similar institute, popularly known as the Miramiones, had been founded under the invocation of the Holy Trinity, in 1611, by Marie Bonneau de RubellaBeauharnais de Miramion. These two institutes were united in 1665, and the associates called the Canonesses of St. Genevieve. The members took no vows, but merely promised obedience to the rules as long as they remained in the institute. Suppressed during theRevolution, it was revived in 1806 by Jeanne-Claude Jacoulet under the name of the Sisters of the Holy Family. They now have charge of over 150 schools and orphanages.


Thursday, December 8, 2011

Of Trains, Christmas Trees and Orthodoxy

Yesterday morning was a gift, a very special gift. My 6 yr old son loves trains, I mean LOVES trains!!! The only thing that comes close to trains....is anything Christmas. I was doing what I normally do (sitting on the couch, drinking coffee and watching GMA) when I noticed my son industriously rebuilding his Geo Trax under the tree we had put up the night before. The perfect combination Christmas Tree and Trains!!!

This is my quiet, contemplative, youngest son whose nickname is "Stealth Baby". I loved the peacefulness the two of us were enjoying before his older siblings decided to grace us with their boisterous presence. I remember waking up early just to play with my She-Ra dolls and Trollz in the beautiful, prismatic branches of my own childhood trees.

With these fond memories, of Christmas past, warming my heart I glanced down at my little boy. The industrious building had stopped and he settled into a seated position right in front of his masterpiece. He just sat there, controller in hand. What was he thinking? What was going through is 6 yr old mind? Did he fear it wouldn't go?

There was a deep, deep breath and then I watched as he bowed his little head and crossed himself. He straightened, sat as tall as he could and pressed the, "Go," button on his controller. My heart melted taking in the sweetness of his glittering eyes on the train, "Choo Chooing," around the base of the Christmas tree.

Some of you may ask why this is so special. Well, my family is going to be baptised into the Orthodox Church in a couple weeks. Even though I have had a year to explore this branch of Christianity, sometimes fear creeps in. What am I thinking? Is this best for my family? Does it work?

....then I have moments like that morning. Catching a glimmer of Living Orthodoxy, through the actions of a 6 yr old boy!

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

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.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

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.