What it's like . . . part 1

It's like finding your birth parents. Only you didn't know you were looking for them.

That's how I often feel about the past 9 - 12 months I have spent in the Orthodox church. Like I've discovered this whole . . . heritage, I guess is the word, that I never knew was there. All of a sudden I have 2000 years of family history and to be honest, I feel a little cheated that I didn't know about this sooner.

I am pretty much your typical Heinz 57 type American. A little of this, a little of that. Mostly Anglo with a little German and American Indian mixed in. The thing is, I know precious little of my family history. My paternal grandmother immigrated at the age of 2 (I think) from Germany. For much of the first half of the last century, being German was not something you particularly wanted to call attention to. The family stopped speaking the language or practicing any traditions, and today I don't know that my grandmother could string together a simple sentence. On the other side, my mom's mom was raised in Kellyville, OK by her Indian father and older sister. Her mother had died when she was 2 years old. We were always told that great Granpa Doty was full-blood Cherokee, but that has been called into question over recent years. Regardless, there was some Indian blood, they were poor, and things just weren't good in Oklahoma. (I still have my Grandmother's class ring that was the last thing purchased before the banks closed during the Great Depression.) It was another heritage that seemed to be viewed as shameful and one we know so very little of. Oddly enough, I know even less about the background and families of either of my grandfather's and they are the ones with all the Irish and English in them. Go figure. Both are/were wonderful men, but I know nothing of the world or ancestry that shaped them. No photos. No letters. No oral history. Nada.

My spiritual life seems to be very similar. I have spent the vast majority of my life in "non denominational" churches. Most of them were able to trace their roots all the way back, ohhhh . . . . . . 10 or 15 years. The really old ones could go all the way back to the 70's! Before that, I don't really know what there was. According to my upbringing, just sad, lifeless "denominations". My mom's family went to the Christian Church or Church of Christ or Disciples of Christ or something like that. My Dad's family didn't go anywhere. Several of the churches that I personally have attended were birthed out of the "Jesus Movement" of the early 70's in Southern California. I could probably tell you pretty accurately the story of John Wimber's journey to Christ and his foundin of the Vineyard (now known as the Association of Vineyard Churches.) Going back further than that I could also tell you the story of Oral Roberts and how his healing ministry was started after he came to know Christ. But I can't connect those two and it seems like since they are part of the same family - not just Christianity, but even very similar expressions of it - I should be able to somehow.

Now, however, I have this seemingly endless line of ancestors who have done all these amazing and courageous things, and most importantly have passed it on, reasonably untainted, from one generation to the next. Now I take part in some of the very same events that those ancestors did in the very first century. I hear/sing some of the very same hymns as St. John Chrysostom did in 4th century Constantinople. I see their pictures every week and am reminded that I am a part of something so much bigger than me. I am able to read their writings so I know what they felt and thought. I can know how they lived and how they died. This "genealogy" so to speak, is not without it's dysfunction or corruption, but there doesn't seem to be any effort to hide that. No one seems to be particularly proud or fond of Arius, but we still talk about him because his beliefs played a part in shaping and defining us and what we believe. And not just Orthodoxy with a big O, but really all of orthodox Christianity. I think it's kind of sad that I didn't know things like this before.

On more than one occasion I have said something to my husband about wishing I could be part of a Greek or Italian family. One reason is because they are just so passionate about everything they do. The other is because they have such a rich history and they treasure it. I grew up believing that "traditional" pretty much equaled dull and uninteresting, but I have an entirely different perspective now. Tradition can indeed be lifeless habit if you allow it, but what I have experienced of it over the past year is truly a beautiful thing and I am grateful to have discovered it.

Simple vs. Easy

This morning, while visiting a friend's blog that I rarely frequent, I read this quote. "Simplicity does not reveal the level of effort involved." It was said during a business meeting, and then the blog went on to sing the praises of the simplicity of using a Mac and some other technical things pertaining to his work. I found the quote interesting, nonetheless. (ht to Chuck) And then later this morning, in the book I have just barely started reading (Julie and Julia), there was a brief paragraph on how "simple" is not exactly the same as "easy". Hmmmm. . . . . . .

As much as I really hate to admit it, perhaps living simply does take a greater amount of effort than I would like to accept. When you really think about it, It is harder to prepare a meal than to go out, call for delivery, or grab something at a drive through. And shopping! I get frustrated enough trying to locate what I need in the merchandising disaster that is Old Navy, and shamefully have remained too proud to really make an effort at Goodwill mostly because I can't find any rhyme or reason to the order of things there. Even making the choices to NOT be involved in every activity, every form of entertainment, every distraction available seems difficult in our go go go culture. I'm actually getting pretty good at that one though, mostly because my children are still quite young, I moved far away from my social network, and quit going to church for awhile. As I branch out more and my kids start getting older and wanting to try new things, those choices will come again I'm sure.

It just seems like simple should equal easy, doesn't it? I really waaaant it to equal easy. I'm starting to think that is not the case, though. I believe I'm going to have to mull it over for awhile before I'm really certain. In the meantime, I still hold to the idea that regardless of effort required, the payoff for cutting the clutter - physical, mental, emotional, wherever it may be - out of our life is still worth it. Right?

Other people's children

When we decided to have children, we knew that we would have to establish boundaries, set limits, and dole out consequences. When the second came along we realized that somewhere down th road we would be involved in all kinds of various conflict resolutions. We would teach our children - hopefully - how to be kind, gracious, and all those "mannerly" type things.

Enter "the neighbor kid". Now, my kids have played with plenty of other children and I am well aware that they are far from angelic. But the thing is, up to this point they have always been playing with the children of MY friends. People who for the most part share some similar parenting philosophies. People whose children I already adored. This is my first foray into the world of new friends whose parents I have virtually no relationship with at all. I've seen my kids cry before while playing with other kids and I've seen my kids make the other kids cry, usually because they threw a block or got a little too rough with the wrestling or what not. But never had I heard any child speak those dreaded words "I'm not you're friend anymore!" or "if you don't stop I am just out of here and I am never coming back to your house again". Seriously. Here are just a few examples of conversations overheard or even spoken directly to me from said "neighbor kid".

Here's one from a few days ago . . .
Me (after hearing Adelaide wailing outside): "Quincy what game are you guys playing?"
Quincy: "Well, I don't really don't want to tell you cuz I don't think you're gonna like the answer."
Me: "Quincy, it's true I may not like the answer, but I will always love you no matter what. You need to tell me the truth."
Neighbor Kid: "Don't tell her"
(Quincy did tell me the truth and accepted the consequences like a man.)


Just yesterday . . .
Quincy: "Mommy, [neighbor kid] just slapped me on the belly."
Adelaide (crying): "Mommmmy, [neighbor kid] just hit me with their legs!"
Me: "Neighbor kid, why did you slap Quincy on the belly?
Neighbor kid: "Well, he was just being very rude to me!"
Me: What exactly did he do that was rude?"
Neighbor kid: "He is just telling me what to do and he is not the boss of me!"
Me: "Again, what exactly did he tell you to do that was bossy and rude? I need to know so I can explain to him what he did wrong."
Neighbor kid: "He was telling me to stop hurting Adelaide"
Seriously, as near as I can figure from the stories of 2 5 year olds and a 3 year old, Adelaide was accidentaly injured through the course of some game. Quincy says something in defense/protection of his sister. Neighbor kid slaps Quincy's belly. There was actually a face slapping incident a while back, but I can't remember the details of that one.

From early on in our relationship . . .
Neighbor kid (spoken directly to me upon leaving): "You need to give him a lesson on how to be nice because yada, yada, yada. . . "

Neighbor kid: "Do you have pop tarts?" (This one just happened as I was typing when the wrappers were spotted in the trash. Sure, not thaaaat rude, but still a little more forward than I would like my children to be at someone's house.)

As I said before, my kids up to this point have always played with children whose parents I already had a relationship with. We're all okay with correcting each others children and to be honest, none of my friends kids have ever caused any real trouble. Truth be told, it's usually mine who need to have their behaviour corrected. So what do you do when someone else's child is just flying in the face of everything you consider mannerly? You don't know how they are disciplined or if they are disciplined at all. It's really not my job to train someone else's child anyway, right? And another thing . . . Quincy and Adelaide ask plenty of questions, but neither of them have ever gotten into the whole "why" thing. Neighbor kid is the freaking mayor of Why town. It just makes me crazy. I have found myself getting so frustrated and realized I was getting rougher and sterner than I probably should have with 'neighbor kid'. So now I am just trying to regroup and focus back on my kids and their behaviour and just hope and pray that some of it rubs off or that we discover some new friends who live in the complex once school starts. It also makes me pray all the more that what we have planted in them is rooted enough that they will not be easily swayed by by what they see other kids doing all around them.

So anyway, that's my quasi rant for the day. Just needed to get it off my chest.

Good Tunes

Damien Rice. "O"

For when the kids are in bed and you just want to chill with a glass of wine or a good book. Tender and quiet one moment and then intense and passionate the next. I couldn't tell you what half of his lyrics are, I just love his music.

And now for something completely different, I've gotta go watch Rock Star: Supernova now.