Realization

It’s come to my attention that this is the first year since I got back from working at An Tobar Nua that I have not found some reason to return.    This makes me sad.  I miss that place.  It’s true, a part of my heart will always reside in that land of rain and the most gorgeous sunny days ever.  I have the sudden urge to just up and go.  Use the money I’ve saved for grad school and travel Ireland.  Thankfully, the practical side of me kicks in well before I start looking at plane tickets.

I must be content with my box of Lyons tea, and looking at pictures.  …sigh…

Orthodoxy and Simplicity

Anyone who knows me well or has read through the pages of this blog know that I have long struggled with the desire for a slower, simpler life.  There is something about our culture’s desire to do everything at top speed that seems to grate against my inner most being. Perhaps this dissonance comes from my own need to achieve.   I try to be all things to all people, often at the expense of my own needs and desires.  But one can only run about frantically trying to make everyone happy for so long before the hectic pace of life takes its toll.

In the light of the crazy existence I call my life, I find myself drawn to simplicity.  I find myself, at times, standing alone in a quiet dark room, or turning off the radio as I make a late-night journey home.  For it is only after the distractions of modern life have disappeared that I can truly breathe.  The chaos around me has died away and I am left with all that really matters.

It is in this solitude that I feel completely at home, surrounded by the Father’s loving arms.  It is in this silence that I hear the message of love and unconditional acceptance I work so hard to earn.

I have found this same sense of quiet serenity in the context of liturgical worship.  There is something incredibly soothing in the familiar chants and motions of Orthodox worship, particularly  in Divine Liturgy.  In my darkest hours, I would make a point to go to liturgy or vespers because I knew it was here I would fin rest.  There is something sublimely soothing to walk from my frantic life into a dark room with the subtle scent of incense.  Listening to the slow, melodic chants of Orthodox prayers, I quite literally felt a sigh of relief.  Once again, I would  breathe deep and bask in the serenity of the moment.

I am drawn to Orthodoxy because essentially, it is a very simple faith.  In a day and age where everything around me is constantly changing, Orthodoxy remains constant.  It is a faith that has withstood the test of time, not constantly changing in order to suit the whims of an ever changing culture.  While the problems may have changed over the years, the solution has not.  Christ is there, sitting on the throne of grace, calling out to humanity:

“Come to me, all who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”

Questions: Orthodoxy Vs Protestantism

Perhaps one of the most salient questions I’ve been asked as loved-ones struggle with my decision to “convert” to Orthodoxy was posed in a rather interesting way.

“I just don’t understand the difference between Orthodoxy and Christianity.”

Honestly, my initial reaction: “that’s funny, because neither do I.”  While it may be a smart-alec response for a very serious issue, I think it hits at a the key answer to the question: Orthodoxy IS Christianity.

While it can look like a completely different religion to  many Protestants who are experiencing it (or other forms of liturgical Christianity) for the first time, Orthodoxy has the same basic theology: Jesus Christ, only begotten son of God, born of a Virgin, crucified, buried and resurrected.

I admit that the faith is much more complex than the abbreviated version seen above.  However, I believe it points out the key answer to the question:

Orthodoxy is Christianity.

I have not departed from the religion of my youth.  I have forsaken none of the Truth I have been taught in my childhood by my parents and numerous others.  If anything, I have found my home: a place where my faith has been fleshed out over the course of 2,000 years.

Alone and … happy?

The music from my computer plays softly.  The furnace kicks in, offering a steady stream of warm air and adds its own steady hum to that of the humidifier and air purifier already running.  A single candle flickers across the room.  And I sit, wrapped in my most comfortable clothes, literally curled up with a book and a cup of tea.

The computer pings.  Lets me know I have a date with an old friend in March.  And pings again.  This time it means a possible girl’s night this weekend.  As I return to my book, my mind wanders to a discovery  I’ve made over the past few weeks.  I am increasingly contented.

Tonight is no exception.  Few thing would make this evening better.  (A dog, curled up in my lap or by my feet, for example.  Possibly a fire in a fireplace.)  And I think back just a few hours ago.  My current job has brought with it a variety of  people and introduction to life as a single adult.  Growing up, singleness was not “right.”  Every “adult” I knew as a child and teenager was either married or looking to be married.  To be single was a sign that something was inherently wrong with you.  Too tall, too skinny, to fat, to awkward.

This idea is only propagated by the Protestant neglect of monasticism.  Sure, Paul says that it’s better to stay unmarried, but no one ever listens…  There are few, if any, examples of real, quality people who remain single. As I’ve continued my journey into Orthodoxy and life in general, I’ve gained a significant amount  of respect for monastics.  And I see in the lives of the saints solid examples of both married and single adults.

Slowly, and with much resistance, I am beginning to think, “Maybe singleness isn’t that bad after all.”  As residual stress from a previous life passes away, and I sit here, alone, I realize that I’ve never been less alone in my life.

For once, I’m not anxious to change my situation.  I’m excited about where my life is, where it’s heading.  And the rest I’m finding along the way.

Another end…

Today I come to grips with what I’ve done.  What it means to move on.  To leave the life I have made for myself over the past 8 months.  The energy I have poured into it.  The sacrifices I have made because of it.  One email, one phone call, and it’s all over.  I thought I would have more time to digest what I’ve done.  To let everything sink in slowly.  To find closure.  But closure was ripped from me.

My feelings of hurt weren’t about the money that time promised.  They were about closure.  The time and ability to say goodbye.  To leave things as I wished I had found them.  To ensure those coming after are not left bewildered, confused, and overwhelmed.

I hate it when things are left unfinished.  When the edges are left tattered, evidence of life gone crazy left scattered and unkept.  And yet, this is where I find myself.  The proverbial boot, right into…yeah.

We talked this afternoon, J. and I.  Attempted to reconcile.  Words were spoken, few actually heard.  Even fewer truly understood.  I walked away confused.  He knows what to say; how to craft each sentence in order to get the desired effect.  For the most part, it works.  And then reality hits, words fail to materialize into action.  If they do, that action lasts but a short time.

“You think everyone has a hidden agenda, D.”  You’re right, J.  I do.  I don’t trust easily.  I keep people at arm’s length.  I try not to care.  Try not to delight in praise, try not to be destroyed by criticism.  Try not to feel your stress, your pain, your concern.

You see, my problem is that I do care.  I pour myself into everything I do.  I give 100% to everyone else, often at the expense of my own sanity.  I suck at “self-care.”

This INFJ lives up to her typology.  Except for one critical aspect:  I’m a horrible judge of character.  In this one thing, I often ignore the reality I see in front of me.  Instead I focus, rarely by choice, on the potential I see before me.  The ability that things can be different.  That good can come.  That with a little work, things can change.  Unfortunately, they rarely do and I’m left hurting, wondering why I ignored the sign?

Deep down, I think I knew this wasn’t going to work.  I saw things for what they were–the manipulation, the impossible expectations, the stress.  But I chose not to see them.  I chose to believe the words.  Promises of change.  Promises of something different.  Empty words of encouragement.  Somehow, I think I knew the words were empty when I heard them.  But I chose to believe I was wrong.  I chose to believe that the potential I saw could be reality.  If only I worked harder.

So I worked my butt off.  Sacrificed my time, my energy, my education, my mental health.  And I am left with the same mess I began with.  The same empty words.  The same unrealized potential.  Only now, I am tired.  Very tired.

And I have only myself to blame.  I look back, seeking to understand the lessons I have learned.  Lessons on how I function; what I need to fully live.  Remind myself that I cannot change anyone but myself, no matter how hard I try.  To seek to understand your pains, how my actions, my failures have affected you.  I have failed. And for that, I am deeply sorry.

I just wish I had been given the chance to clean up a little of the mess.

-d