Three reasons I haven't posted lately

1. I've been sick. Boo-hoo. I got hit by another round of diverticulitis (I know:TMI) that was just awful. The worst part is that it didn't respond to antibiotics. It took two full cycles of different "big guns" to knock this thing down. In the meantime, I was in excruciating pain and had a low-grade fever the whole time. I was miserable. Poor pitiful me.

The doctors were a bit concerned that it wasn't just diverticulitis, but that it might have been diverticulitis AND something else. So I got to drink lots of poison, have some more poison injected into me, and have a contrast CT scan. Fortunately, it was "just" diverticulitis. Needless to say, given my family history, I freak out a bit when ever something goes wrong in my abdomen.

I'm glad to say I have recovered and I'm feeling MUCH better... I can hardly wait for my colonoscopy in three weeks.

2. My favorite aunt and uncle have been visiting. They were in town for a week, and we were having wonderful family time. They are lovely, gentle people ... who are getting old.

My Uncle Walter is 80, looks a bit like Jack Nicklaus, and has a warm heart, ready smile, and great bear hugs. My Auntie Pami is my mother's younger sister. When I look at her, I feel like I am looking into a mirror 30 years into the future. She and I have similar bone structure, similar hair, similar build ... it's eerie. It's also good that I like her so much!

3. I don't really have much to blog about these days. I feel like I've written everything I need to write. I know that as Mother's condition deteriorates, and when she dies, there will be more to say. But for now, life goes on pretty much the same from one day to the next.

Two things I should post about

1. Mother is doing amazingly well these days. For a while, it seemed as though the decline had begun. But she had tremendous energy while my aunt and uncle were here: She was able to everything she wanted.

In fact, Mother is doing so well that -- brace yourselves -- she and Jane and Pierre are going to China for 3 weeks. Yes, China! When they booked the trip, they weren't sure that Mother would really be able to do it, but now ... she's so excited. She knows that she most likely won't be able to do EVERYTHING, but simply being there and seeing all the things she has dreamed of seeing her entire life will make the trip worthwhile.

2. Since my family will be out of town for Easter, so will I. I'm taking the boys back to Maryland for Spring Break, including the great liturgies of Great Week and Great and Glorious Pascha. I cannot tell you how much this trip means to me. We'll spend the first three days of vacation in church (the boys are really looking forward to that ... NOT), and then another six days seeing as many friends as possible. It will be WONDERFUL.

Financially, I have no business going. I really can't afford it at all. But this is something I need to do for my own spiritual and emotional well-being.

One thing you need to know

Whether I'm posting five days a week or five days a month, the friendship of my online community means the world to me. Thanks for being here ... even when I'm not.

I did it!

I've always intended to, but I didn't know when. I've always known I would, but I didn't know when.

But today ... I did it.

I didn't know I was going to do it today. I wasn't planning on doing it today.

But I did. Today.

I wrote the introduction to "my book." It's not much, only one page, only 342 words.

But I did it.

And I sent it to a trusted eye to review.

It's hard to write a normal post after a gut-wrenching one. Anything I might have to say seems somewhat anticlimactic.

Life goes on, and so do I.

5 seconds

For 5 seconds Tuesday, my life was all about me.

I wasn't feeling well and had actually gone to the doctor (so you KNOW I wasn't feeling well). The first 44 minutes, 55 seconds in his office were about my insurance coverage, my medical history, and the illness that brought me in to see him. After he gave me the necessary prescription, he looked me in the eye and asked if there was anything else he could do for me, anything.

In that moment, I could have said anything and it would have been okay. It was all I could do to keep from sobbing; my lower lip was twitching like a cat ready to pounce. But I held back, smiled, and said, No, thanks. That's all.

But for those 5 seconds ... it was all about me.

It wasn't about my mom -- how is she, how is she really, how bad will it be, how long ...
It wasn't about my sister -- thank God she's okay, she makes me crazy, I'm so glad we've got each other, oh poor Jane ...
It wasn't about the boys -- time to go get them, I have to finish this now before I go get them, do I have time for this, idiot child, darling child, oh my poor babies
It wasn't about the house -- the dishes, the bathrooms, the vacuuming, the garbage, the laundry, the cat box
It wasn't about dinner -- what's for dinner, what can I eat, what will the boys eat, what do I have in the house, what should I buy, ugh ... the frying pan is still in the sink
It wasn't about money -- taxes, rent, mortgage, bills, Mother's money, my money, screw money!
It wasn't about grief, loss, parenting, daughtering, sistering, housekeeping.

For 5 seconds, it was about me. Was there anything else he could do for me?

When I got home (after going to the grocery store, putting away food, checking on Mother, checking the clock to see how soon I had to get the boys, feeding Clara, putting on a load of laundry), those 5 seconds hit me again.

Now (after two days of my life being about everybody else), I just want 5 minutes where my life is about me.

Five minutes with someone holding my hand and asking what I need. A kind word. A hug. A hanky. I want to cry for ME for 5 minutes. And I don't want to be alone when I cry.

I'll settle for 5 seconds.

metany, n.

no results found.

Imagine my surprise when I went to find a precise answer to Annie's question and encountered no results found. Neither dictionary.com nor merriam-webster.com has an entry for the word metany. It's an ecclesiastical term meaning prostration. I could have simply answered Annie's question in the comment section, but this is Great Lent, and I feel compelled to give a more complete reply.

In Eastern Christianity, there are two metanies, the Great Prostration and the Little Prostration.

Great Lent is the season of the great prostration, which is made three times during the prayer of St. Ephrem the Syrian, which is itself read twice at the end of each weekday service during Great Lent:

O Lord and Master of my life!
Take from me the spirit of sloth, faint-heartedness, lust of power, and idle talk. (metany)
But give to thy servant rather the spirit of chastity, humility, patience, and love. (metany)
Yes, O Lord and King! Grant me to see my own errors and not to judge my brother or sister. (metany)
For thou art blessed unto ages of ages. Amen.

The great metany consists of dropping to your knees, touching the floor with your forehead, standing, and making the sign of the cross.

The little metany knows no season. The little prostration consists of bowing from the waist, touching the floor with your fingertips, straightening, and making the sign of the cross. We make little metanies when we enter the nave of the church, when we venerate the icons, when we approach the Holy Place, when we sing Blessed art thou, o Lord, teach me your statutes.

But WHYYY, Mommy? WHY do we make these prostrations? WHY can't we just bend our knees (the literal meaning of genuflect) a bit the way the Catholics do when they enter the pew? (and WHY don't we have pews?) WHY do we have to hold our fingers just so when we make the sign of the cross? WHY? WHY? WHY?

Hmmmmmm... where to start...

The word metany comes from the Greek word metanoia, which means conversion, which comes from the Latin word conversus, which means turning around. Conversion is turning away from sin, from that which would turn us away from God. In a metany, our body guides the mind and spirit in an attitude of repentance and turning toward God.

It's important to understand that Eastern Christianity has never seen a dichotomy between the human body and the human spirit, has never seen the two as warring with each other. (The West can thank St. Augustine for the prevalence of the idea that the spirit has to subdue the body.) We don't need to sit perfectly still so that our minds can relax and our spirits pray. Rather, we understand that engaging the body in worship and prayer makes it easier for the mind and spirit to do likewise.

We stand throughout the liturgy. We turn to follow the Gospel in procession. We move to the front of the church to be as close to the proclamation of Word of God as possible. During certain services of Great Lent, we prostrate ourselves for long(ish) periods of time. (You can't do that in a church with pews!) We move through and around the church, the body helping the mind and spirit to leave the current place and time and enter the Eternal Now.

Alexander Schmemann explains it this way:

In the long and difficult effort of spiritual recovery, the Church does not separate the soul from the body. The whole man has fallen away from God; the whole man is to be restored, the whole man is to return. The catastrophe of sin lies precisely in the victory of the flesh -- the animal, the irrational, the lust in us -- over the spiritual and the divine. But the body is glorious; the body is holy, so holy that God Himself "became flesh." Salvation and repentance then are not contempt for the body or neglect of it, but restoration of the body to its real function as the expression and the life of spirit, as the temple of the priceless human soul. Christian asceticism is a fight, not against but for the body. For this reason, the whole man - soul and body - repents. The body participates in the prayer of the soul just as the soul prays through and in the body. Prostrations, the "psycho-somatic" sign of repentance and humility, of adoration and obedience, are thus the lenten rite par excellence.

Source: The Missionary,
The Internet Edition of St. Luke's Mission Periodical

pilgrimage, n.

A journey to a sacred place or shrine

A long journey or search, especially one of exalted purpose or moral significance

To understand the significance of my recent trip to Santa Fe with Mother and Jane, you have to know that the last time we three traveled together, just us girls, was back in 1989.

I was making a 3-day business trip to Tucson (!) and had decided that I would tack on a 10-day vacation, going up to the Grand Canyon and wherever else I felt inclined. I mentioned it to Mother and Jane, and the next thing I knew, my private, meandering exploration of the Southwest had become a fully orchestrated tour with my sister in charge. We had a fabulous trip: Sedona, the Grand Canyon, Canyon de Chelly, Mesa Verde, Taos, Chimayó, and Santa Fe. "The three girls" got along wonderfully, enjoyed the amazing Southwest, and did some great shopping. (I bought my first southwest weavings and my first pottery.)

Shopping, 1989

Twenty years later ... "The three girls" got along wonderfully, enjoyed the amazing Southwest, and did some great shopping.

I had originally suggested that we go to Santa Fe because I knew my mom wanted to, and I knew that it was a short enough flight that she'd be able to handle it. She added in going to Española, Taos, and Bandelier because she loves those places -- she and I had been to them in 2007 with the boys, and she wanted to share them with Jane.

The first two days were spent in Santa Fe, one day at the museums and one day shopping. Mother pushed herself to the limit both days: She saw EVERYTHING. She did EVERYTHING. We had great margaritas and wonderful food.

The third day was spent at Bandelier and Taos. Mother was in pain, but she insisted we go to Bandelier, and that Jane and I make the 2-hour hike necessary to tour the ruins. It was really important to her that we do this, so we did. Jane had never been to Bandelier, but this was my third visit, and she knew how significant the place is to me. She deeply appreciated my sharing it with her.

Climbing up to Alcove House, 2009

I first went to Bandelier with Nick in 1994; we'd been married less than 2 years, and we were transfigured by the beauty and the holiness of the place. Then I went with Mother and the boys in 2007; it was hard to sit with the boys in Alcove House, to remember having sat there with Nick, wishing he were there to show it to the boys. I got terribly choked up walking the trail to Alcove House ... remembering Nick, remembering walking it with Mother. My mouth was silent, but my brain was wailing: I came here with Nick, and he's dead. I came here with Mother, and she's dying. Now I'm here with Jane ... Will she be alive the next time I come? Will I be able to bear coming again?

The view from Alcove House, 1994

I tried to say something to Jane about my memories and how it hurt, but she didn't want to hear it. The pain Mother was in that day had made her coming death more imminent than either of us wanted to contemplate, and for Jane -- with her particular history of having that beast in her own belly -- it was just too much to think about. Nonetheless, the hike was blessed and peaceful, and Jane and I did savor the beauty and the holiness of the place, and that was what mattered.

Mother was better by the end of the day, and she had a good night's sleep. But she woke up on the last day with a sore throat and that ooghy feeling of getting sick. She wanted to go to Chimayó anyway, both to see the sanctuary and for one last shopping spree at Ortega's.

Shopping, 2009

In 1989, we went to Chimayó at the recommendation of one my colleagues; we knew nothing about the place and had no idea what to expect. There is a small church in the town that has become "an American Lourdes," with mystical experiences and healings. When we visited in 1989, we were the only people in the sanctuary: It was a clean, beautiful place.

Chimayó, 1989

Chimayó, 2009

When Nick and I visited in 1994, the grounds were littered with debris left by visitors. When Mother and I went in 2007, we didn't even stop the car: The area in front of the church had become a street bazaar, filled with tourists and vendors of tacky plastic rosaries --- it was awful. I didn't even want to drive by it last week, but I did because Mother wanted to see it again.

The plaza had been transformed. There were discreet shops (no doubt selling the same ticky-tacky rosaries) and pleasant seating areas. A prayer service was underway when we arrived; I went in, but Mother and Jane did not -- Jane later said she was overwhelmed by how strong and holy the place was. I sat for a few moments, walked to the altar, made a metany, and ducked through the low doorway leading to the small sandy hole in the ground that is said to be a font of grace. And found grace.

Chimayó sanctuary, 1989

The rest of the day was relatively uneventful: One more delicious meal in Santa Fe, arrival at the Albuquerque airport with time to spare, an awful horrible flight that felt much longer than 55 minutes, and great relief to be home.

I know there is so much more I could say about this trip --- so much more happened during the trip. But so much of what transpired among us three was outside words, in that place of sacrament and mystery, where words fail love but love does not fail.

The end of the trip, 1989

The end of the trip, 1994

The end of the trip, 2009

Outta here

I'm leaving before the crack of dawn to go to Santa Fe with my mother and sister. We'll be back late Friday night. I'm sure I'll have lots to report when we come back.

Stay safe, and walk in peace.