“Six years! Can you believe it!” or, “Happy Anniversary to She who’s saving me!”

A happy couple carving pumpkins for Halloween 2002.

I know I can’t believe it. Nevertheless, as difficult to believe as it may seem dear reader, the beautiful woman you see in this picture deigned to consent to be my wife six years ago this very day, on a blisteringly hot and humid South Dakota day. We were wed in the Lutheran Church in Dell Rapids, where her family have been members for generations (the pictures from the various confirmation classes throughout the 20th century prove this). It was a blessed day, that 23rd of August 2003, one that in spite of all the challenges and joys we’ve faced over these last six years (especially the last one), I have yet to regret. The honeymoon hasn’t ended.

Happy Aniversary, M!

Has it been one year already?

Yes dear reader, it would seem that it has. One year ago today, M and I welcomed our daughter Zoe into the world. In spite of all the adjustments we’ve had to make over the last year our love for her has grown each day. I’ve said to more than one person that the roller coaster that began when she was born has finally begun to slow to a more gentle pace.

Sadly, our camera has burned through all the AA batteries in our home, otherwise I could share a picture of her from this very day. But for those of you who know her, picture her in her high chair with blueberries smeared all over her hands and face complete with her great big smile on it. My daughter loves blueberry pancakes and I am more than happy to give them to her on her most special day.

Ad multos annos filia! Nos gratulor ut Deus vobis.

Adventures in the City

May has been the month of visitors from back home for our family. Last weekend M and I hosted my parents and this week we are pleased to have as our guests M’s sister, brother-in-law, and nephew, who arrived from SD last night.

Today we decided that it would be a good day to head to the City, even though it was somewhat rainy. Our plan was to ride the train, walk up 5th Avenue to Central Park, let the wee ones play at a playground and if it was too rainy, stop by F.A.O Schwartz. It wasn’t too rainy when we arrived, although it had rained throughout the night and the park was damp as a result. It was a bit of a gamble, but as we were too early to for F.A.O Schwartz, we had no choice but to head to a playground.

Unfortunately, the playground we chose had been locked. A sign was posted on the gate which read something to the effect of, “This playground is scheduled to be closed on 5/29 for maintenance. We are sorry for any inconvenience. Please use the play area on 72nd Street.” We were at around 67th Street, making the playground a further five blocks’ walk and since we had to still walk back to Grand Central, we didn’t feel like making the trek. In any event, we decided to let the bairns play in the walkway and grassy areas nearby.

Such would have been a wonderful plan, if it hadn’t rained. M and I had forgotten that the number one rule of toddler parenting (of which there are many) is that toddlers and puddles are drawn toward one another by some irresistible gravitational pull from which there is no escape. We had planned for this in part, by letting our oldest wear his Crocs. What we didn’t plan on was his tripping in the puddle and falling into it, getting his pants completely soaked by muddy city water (the contents of which one shudders to discern).

On the upside at this point, we’re only a few short blocks from F.A.O. Schwartz, which we were sure would have pants for a child Aidan’s size. They did: a pair of navy blue sweatpants that cost a whopping $25. $25!!! But they had us over a barrel…our son needed pants, especially since he was being held by his dad in a children’s toy store while asking to play with the giant piano.

“No son, you can’t. Your mother will be here in a couple of minutes,” said I in an increasingly louder voice so that passers-by would understand that I was not some creep with a pants-less kid in one of Manhattan’s more famous toy stores, “to bring you a pair of pants and THEN you can go play.” She did in fact arrive and before store security could accost me to boot. Both kids enjoyed the piano.

On the bright side however, Aidan didn’t fall into the ocean and we didn’t have to ride the subway with 250,000 of our closest friends. He who has ears to hear, let him hear.

1 Ocean + 1 Grandpa + 1 Grandson = 1 Lost Cell Phone

My parents arrived this afternoon, so M and I thought it a really spectacular idea to take them, along with our two children to the beach. We had originally intended to head out to Fire Island National Seashore where there are generally fewer people, a boardwalk, some tame deer, and a neato lighthouse all within a reasonable walk of one another. We brought a little grill, some food, beverages, etc; we were ready to whisk them away straight from the airport to one of our favorite Long Island destinations.

Unfortunately however, it seemed that everybody had designs for a spectacular Memorial Day weekend so traffic slowed our journey quite a bit. After what seemed like an interminable amount of time I “made a move” (H/T the training I received at Garage Logic University – GO FIGHTING STOGIES! – Google it…you’ll see what I mean) and got us off the parkway we had been on; we decided to settle for Jones Beach and settle we did.

As I said, Fire Island’s beach is quite a bit less crowded. Jones Beach on the other hand, was packed considering the beachside temperature was in the 70s and the water was frigid. Nevertheless, mobs of people had come for their day at the beach. Upon exiting our van in order to size up the cargo that we needed to haul into the beach area (a longer walk than at Fire Island too!) a group of young girls strolled up to their car, discovering that the front fender had been damaged in a hit and run. They expressed their shock by issuing a collective, “What the F@#$!” That set the tone of their vocabulary for the next several minutes. Normally I’m not too bothered by something like that, but with my young children who repeat things it wasn’t appreciated. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve dropped the F-bomb more than I care to admit, but seriously ladies…YOUNG CHILDREN REPEAT THINGS! THERE’S A REASON I KNOW THIS…TRUST ME! But I digress.

Other than that, the beach was most enjoyable. My son and daughter loved to play in the sand, wade into the water, and find seashells…and Grandpa and Grandma were content to watch them. As the beach cleared out toward the end of the afternoon, we decided it was a good idea to move closer to the water and start the grill so that we could eat while the kids (and those who are kids at heart) could build sandcastles. Grandpa tended to Grandson, wading with him out into the water, Granddaughter was being entertained by M and Grandma, so I took my turn at sunny seashore relaxation.

No sooner had I done this (with of course, my back turned toward the ocean) than did I hear the small voice of my son yelling for help, along with that of my dad saying “Aw no! Get him, get him!” I turned around to see my son on all fours, crying as the wave swept out beneath him and my dad looking to the opposite side in the water. Apparently Dad’s cell phone had fallen off his belt into Davy Jones’ locker (sort of I guess, I mean it wasn’t like we were out in the middle of the Atlantic or anything) and he had tried to catch it, only to drop Aidan just as a wave crashed in. The phone of course was lost, Poseidon having taken it as an offering (I’m just glad he didn’t decide that my son was a better sacrifice). Aidan spent the rest of the afternoon in dry towels on Grandma’s lap asking, “Why did Grandpa drop me in the ocean?” It’s a loaded question, isn’t it? I’m finding that many toddler questions are. Don’t worry Grandpa, he might get over it before you head back.

I suppose however, that all’s well that ends well: Both Grandpa and Grandson made it back to dry land safely, albeit both soaking wet. The same cannot be said for Grandpa’s cell phone, whose burial at sea caused a deep rift in Grandpa’s heart. But we may yet hope: As we began to leave I noticed a guy with a metal detector coming our way on the beach. Sir, should your metal detector happen to discover a $400 cell phone near parking field #4 of Jones Beach, please don’t hesitate to let me know. We might be able to salvage it with a hairdryer.

“Long overdue update,” Or, “See! You can teach an old blog new tricks!”

The last time I updated this blog was when my daughter Zoe was born. Much has happened in our lives since then and it’s time (now that I have time) that I give an orderly account, dear reader, of the events of the past ten or so months.

In what has proven to be one of the most stressful events in our lives, last August my family and I moved to the campus of St. Vladimir’s Orthodox Theological Seminary to continue my Master of Divinity education (I had previously been a student at Bethel Seminary in St. Paul, MN). In many ways, we’re still recovering from the trauma of uprooting our lives and possessions and coming to an unfamiliar place six weeks after Zoe’s birth. Word to the wise: this is not something I recommend.

As far as St. Vlad’s goes, the experience has had its mountains and valleys. M has had to work full-time night shifts (she’s a nurse) in order to “support my habit,” something that hasn’t always been easy for her (or me). Adjusting to the more abrupt (to put it politely) nature of New Yorkers as well as the whole “this place is the greatest city in the universe” complex has had its challenges as well, as we’re both more accustomed to treating strangers (especially customers) with the highest respect and manners (you’d be amazed at the looks on peoples’ faces when you hold a door for someone in NYC…most often shocked that you even took the time to notice.). The kids have adjusted well however, as the campus is home to many children of various ages. It’s been fun to watch Aidan blossom over these months into a sweet and talkative little boy. Zoe is just starting to come into her own personality and for the most part is content to play quietly, babble, and crawl into little spaces.

As far as SVS goes for me…I’m still withholding judgment. Academically speaking, it’s very different from Bethel, difficult not in degree, but in kind. At Bethel I felt like I had professors and mentors who would ask, “What are you interested in? How can I help you achieve your goals? Want to get a Ph.D? Great, you can do it and I’ll help you however I can.” Here at SVS one gets the impression that the faculty is just too busy to care about your academic career; when that gets coupled with the meandering nature of some of the lectures, the over-barrage of information, as well as the “all bluebooks, all the time” mentality with regard to testing, one begins to wonder if there’s this invisible and ever-shifting standard to which we’re held, to which only a select few are privy. Perhaps this perception is merely my imagination. I’m in a different setting than I was at Bethel, where I was a T.A., on campus and dialoguing with the profs more regularly, etc. Because I have two young children and my wife works full-time, I don’t have the luxury of sitting down with a professor for a chat every so often. Thankfully, my academic performance is comparable to what I showed at Bethel (although I often worry about whether or not I’ll be able to get into a Ph.D program…still discerning, you’re prayers please!)

As far as Chapel here…yeah, definitely not what we expected. It’s hard to worship in a place where you feel like your attendance is being graded and your performance is being watched and where every move is being catalogued and critiqued, while at the same time feeling like there’s no one there to help with your kids. There’s definitely parallel communities at the SVS Chapel: The seminarians (i.e., the “kids’ table”) on one hand and those members of Crestwood community on the other (i.e., the “adults” and faculty). One doesn’t get the sense that the two really meet and that makes it difficult to want to feel like you’re a part of the community, especially when we’re doing most of the work in terms of liturgical services, chapel upkeep, etc. Leaves one feeling alone and adrift, like nobody cares.

All told however, we’re “glad” we’re here (in quotes because we know it’s good for us, not because it’s easy or comfortable…”character building” as we’d say in the Midwest). I’ve gained friends in my brother seminarians, many of whom I’ll be (and have already been) proud to see ordained. Many of them are converts with “missional” hearts and that gives me hope for the future of the Church in this country. I pray that they’ll forgive my curmudgeonly qualities and my sometimes snarky demeanor (it’s a defense mechanism and a bad habit, I promise!) and remember me in their prayers. We’ve been living for this summer…I hope it proves to give us the respite we’ve so desperately needed since the roller-coaster began last July.

New Life…

My noble wife and I welcomed our second born, Zoe Geneva into the world to-day at around 3 pm. Praised be God for this new opportunity to steward this life given to us.

The Sunday of the Veneration of the Cross

Troparion – Tone 4  O Lord, save Thy people,and bless Thine inheritance. / Grant victories to the Orthodox Christians, over their adversaries. / And by power of Thy Cross preserve Thy habitation!

The Sunday of St. Gregory Palamas

Troparion – Tone 8 

O light of Orthodoxy, teacher of the Church, its confirmation, O ideal of monks and invincible champion of theologians, O wonder-working Gregory, glory of Thessalonica and preacher of grace, al-ways intercede before the Lord that our souls may be saved.

Kontakion – Tone 4 

Now is the time for action! Judgment Judgment is at the doors! So let us rise and fast,offering alms with tears of compunction and crying:”Our sins are more in number than the sands of the sea; but forgive us, O Master of All, so that we may receive the incorruptible crowns.”

Kontakion – Tone 8

Holy and divine instrument of wisdom, joyful trumpet of theology, together we sing your praises, O God-inspired Gregory. Since you now stand before the Original Mind, guide our minds to Him, O Father,so that we may sing to you: “Rejoice, preacher of grace.”

The Sunday of Orthodoxy

“As the Prophets saw, as the Apostles taught, as the Church has received, as the Teachers express in dogma, as the inhabited world understands together with them, as grace illumines, as the truth makes clear, as error has been banished, as wisdom makes bold to declare, as Christ has assured, so we think, so we speak, so we preach, honoring Christ our true God, and his Saints, in words, in writings, in thoughts, in sacrifices, in churches, in icons, worshipping and revering the One as God and Lord, and honoring them because of their common Lord as those who are close to him and serve him, and making to them relative veneration. This is the faith of the Apostles! This is the faith of the Fathers! This is the faith of the Orthodox! This faith establishes the whole universe!”(from the Synodikon, Sunday of Orthodoxy)

For those who do not know, the Sunday of Orthodoxy commemorates the victory of the iconodules (icon-lovers) over the iconoclasts (icon-smashers) in the ninth century. At stake was not some fine point of ‘ivory-tower’ philosophy, but indeed the very Gospel itself.

Iconoclasm denies the Incarnation; the Fathers gathered at the second council of Nicea recognized this heresy, smashing it with the word of Truth. The Council also marks a significant victory over pagan philosophy, which regarded spiritual things as non-material and material things as a defilement of the spiritual. Madness wins over Reason once again.

Many Many Many Years!

Seven years ago we met,Six years ago she consented to be my wife,One year ago she was the mother of my firstborn,That’s right folks,Happy birthday to she who is saving me!Love you M!