Metropolitan Jonah's visit

Metropolitan Jonah visited our church the other day. Apparently this visit has been delayed for about a year and a half, because... and lets see if I have this right... Met. Jonah had just been promoted (is that the right word?) from abbot of... a monastery somewhere, to bishop... of a diocese or something (I know I sound retarded, but I don't know the specifics or details). Anyway, the current metropolitan, at that time a year and a half ago, was Vladyka Dimitri (vladyka means archbishop, I think). He decided to retire, and at that time Jonah had just been made a bishop... or an archbishop. Is a metropolitan the same as an archbishop? I don't know. He wasn't metropolitan yet... Jonah, that is. So he was probably just a bishop. And then Vladyka Dimitri retired...

Ok I'm probably royally screwing it up, so suffice it to say, Jonah took Dimitri's place as Archbishop of Washington and Metropolitan of All America and Canada, Locum Tenens of the Diocese of the South (I don't know what locum tenens translates to but that's part of the official title). Somehow, because of that, we lost a bishop but gained an archbishop. And also because of that, the scheduled visit had to be delayed until now.

So, this past Sunday Met. Jonah visited our tiny little parish, St. Maximus the Confessor Orthodox Mission here in Denton, TX. It is quite an honor for the head honcho of the Orthodox Church in America to visit our little church, and everybody was pretty excited. Dax, the subdeacon and choir director, had been preparing the music for quite a while, with parts of it being sung by the men's choir, and other parts being sung by a trio. It was pretty cool how it all came together, and the best part... for me, anyway... was that I got to sing with the choir too. Let me take a minute to describe how that happened.

First off, as everybody who knows me already knows, I'm pretty shy by nature and don't talk much... I usually hide behind Leah anytime there is a social situation at church, such as after the liturgy during coffee hour. I had never gone out of my way to talk to anybody at church except for Ben, who I kind of knew already because I used to see him frequently when I worked at 7-Eleven, and Fr. Justin, which was usually through e-mails. So I was surprised when one day, a few months ago, Dax approached me and started talking to me about music. I reacted by looking around for Leah, but apparently she had abandoned me, so I resigned myself to slogging through an awkward conversation without getting the shakes and hyperventilating. We started talking about our musical experience and I mentioned that I had played euphonium in high school. As it turns out, Dax had also played the euphonium. I was still feeling mostly like an outsider at church, as I hadn't warmed up to many people yet, so I was heartened to learn that Dax and I had something in common. With this new feeling of camaraderie in place, I warmed up a little and began to feel more confident. I decided to brag a little (at church, no less) so I told him that I had taken piano lessons for about 20 years. Oh, really? Yeah, my grandma was a teacher for the National Guild, so I got free lessons while growing up. I have a social music degree in piano and received the Paderewski Medal, and I'm qualified to teach if I ever decided to. (this is where all the bragging backfires) Dax says, I assume you can read music pretty well, then? Oh yeah, sure, I can read music. Treble and bass clef? Sure, treble and bass clef - I'm more comfortable with treble clef, but sure, I can read bass clef. Cool. I'm putting together a men's choir, do you want to be in it?

...what did he just ask me? If I wanted to be in a men's choir, here, at church? After all that bragging about my musical qualifications, all I could say was, yeah, sure that would be cool... and that's how I was abducted into the men's choir. And it really was cool; as it turns out I LIKE being in the choir. I even get to help with vigils sometimes when they need an extra person.

Anyway, back to whatever it was I was talking about before I digressed... the visit by Metropolitan Jonah. So, Dax had put all of this music together and we had been having extra choir practices so that we wouldn't sound like crap on the big day. There had been some discussion as to where to put the choir, as everybody wanted a good view of the proceedings. The choir usually stands in a little nook located to the right of the altar, which would be just fine if it weren't for a part of the wall near the back of the nook which juts forward. Anyone standing in that part of the nook wouldn't be able to see anything, really... so I felt lucky to be situated near the front of the nook, where I would have a good view. At least, that's where I have always stood when we practiced before, so that's where I stood on Sunday when the choir was getting ready. At least for about 30 seconds, after which Dax had me switch places with Adam. Now I was in the far corner of the nook, and I had a clear view of... my music. I looked up at the shiny brass where the ceiling fan was mounted, hoping that I might be able to catch a reflection of the upcoming action. I sighed and gave Mark, the other tenor standing next to me, a look of resignation. I guess we would just have to watch the video.

So, the liturgy progressed and I missed all of it, but the choir sounded good and we only screwed up once, when we tried to sing on top of the clergy, who were supposed to be chanting by themselves. And one other time when I don't really know what happened... the choir was tooling along fine, and then we got to a part that we weren't sure about and everybody just kind of 'gave up' because Dax wasn't looking at us. Other than those two little tidbit nitpicks, I think we sounded really good. Met. Jonah even complimented the choir after the liturgy. I wish I had more to talk about pertaining to the liturgy, but being stuck in the corner and concentrating on singing, I pretty much missed all the cool stuff, like the vesting (Leah had described it to me beforehand as a practice in which Met. Jonah would be 'vested' by the rest of the clergy... that is, they would attire him with his vestments). I'll know what else I missed when I watch the video, which I'm looking forward to. I am extremely glad that I got to sing in the choir on that day though.

Afterward, we all had lunch like we usually do after the liturgy, and then Met. Jonah answered questions for a couple of hours. I have to admit that I didn't pay as much attention as I would have at another time, because I was extremely nervous about talking to Vladimir the iconographer. I had e-mailed him earlier in the week asking for his advice on how best to proceed if I wanted to be an iconographer, and he suggested that we talk about it today, after the liturgy. I mentioned to him in the e-mail that I had painted an icon, and he said to bring it and we'd talk about that, too. This came as a great surprise to me, as I hadn't counted on actually seeing him in person so soon, but since he's a deacon, in retrospect it's obvious that he would be attending services that day. I pretty much spent the entire Q & A session building up more and more nervous energy at the prospect of approaching Vladimir and talking to him. The longer it went on, the more nervous I became, and I began to wonder if I would ever get a chance to talk to Vladimir. Inwardly I was almost hoping that I wouldn't... that maybe he would get tired and leave early without my noticing. Finally the Q & A ended however, so I built up my nerve and approached Vladimir and introduced myself. He remembered the e-mail and we talked back and forth for a bit, but I don't remember a thing about what was said. I do remember mentioning that I had sent him a link to the icon I'd painted, and he said that he wasn't able to view it for some reason... and to try sending it again, and that felt very much like the end of the discussion until I informed him that I had brought the icon with me, and that it was in the car, and that I could go get it if he wanted to see it. Sure, he replied, go get it. He turned away briefly and then turned back again... give me 5 minutes, ok? Then he disappeared into the library nook.

I was somewhat discomfited by the encounter so far and wasn't feeling at all confident about showing him the icon, but I retrieved it from the car and then waited in the bookstore for Vladimir to return. I really didn't like standing there with all of those people around, icon in hand. I felt very self conscious... I guess I didn't want anyone else seeing it. No, it wasn't that... I posted it online for people to see, after all. I didn't want people thinking that I'd brought it to church to show it off. I'm somewhat self conscious about it as it's the first thing I've painted in almost 20 years, and to top it off, here I am actually trying to pass it off as a holy icon to the guy who decorated the St. Seraphim cathedral in Dallas. So, I kept it pressed against my chest, back side facing outwards. Leah stood there with me and we exchanged nervous smiles until Vladimir appeared. I showed him the icon. He examined it with a dispassionate eye and remarked that I should concentrate on old Byzantine icons, not this 'new stuff', or maybe he said 'modern stuff'. I assumed he was referring to the style of the original icon which I had reproduced... or maybe he didn't realize that it was a reproduction and thought that it was original, and that my style was less desirable than the old Byzantine style. It was a little difficult communicating with Vladimir, being that sometimes his accent baffled me, and also because my powers of speech often fail me in anxious situations and I wind up stuttering until I finally expel a adjective or synonym completely inadequate to my purpose. Next he asked me what medium I'd used, and I said acrylic. "No, acrylic is awful. Terrible medium." I agreed... I didn't like acrylics either. I told him that I was used to painting with oils. "No, oils are even worse than acrylic... terrible." Ok... Well, I thought to myself, it's either one or the other, for now anyway, as I know diddly squat about painting with actual egg tempera. Vladimir continued to examine my icon. Finally, he said to not use so much dark... "don't pain so much black." He pointed out dark areas on the painting. Then he said that I should study life drawing. I told him that I had taken lots of life drawing classes and had quite a bit of material done with pencil and charcoal. He nodded and then told me basically that there weren't any good art schools in America, and wrapped up our conversation by suggesting again that I concentrate on old Byzantine icons, not to use to much black, to stay away from oils at all costs, and to paint on MDF (medium density fiberboard). This last part completely befuddled me, as I have specifically read in the icon book I checked out from the church library NOT to use MDF, as it was an unsuitable surface which would not absorb the gesso.

I walked away from that experience pretty much perplexed. I guess I was kind of hoping that he'd offer to take me under his wing and teach me everything he knew... not that I really thought that would happen. However, as far as getting some good knowledge from a good source goes, Vladimir is pretty much it as far as I know. Iconography isn't exactly a popular practice in America, and I don't know of any schools or classes that teach it. However, I'm extremely lucky to have gotten the chance to talk to an iconographer like Vladimir. I'm sure I'll figure out a way to learn more from him.

Despair

Last night I awoke abruptly and found myself on my back with my shoulders scrunched in, my arms folded close together over my chest, with the covers pulled up close to my face. I had the edges of my sheets gripped tightly with my fists, which were nestled into the narrow declivity formed by the underside of my chin and neck. As I lay there, enfolded in the bleak and static embrace of the hopeless small hours, black thoughts and feelings gripped me and held me firm, forcing me to lie still and listen to the quiet desolation as it gathered its voice and blew through my soul.

As I lay there motionless, I could feel despair pouring into my body, filling me up beyond what I could bear. I thought that if I remained still for much longer, that if I didn't make some attempt to move... to roll over on my side, flip over onto my stomach, glance over at my clock, anything to start time again... that the despair would overflow and I would start to choke on it. I tried to summon an urgent need to break the dense pall which held me fast, but a feeling of apathy had settled into me which erased my motivation to escape. The feeling grew until I was ensconced within an impenetrable cocoon of fear, the last shreds of hope abandoning me as my futile attempts to justify my life echoed dully around me. My only cogent thought was the realization that I had spent all the years of my adult life traversing a path composed of rotten ice, and that the inevitability of total existence failure had finally caught up with me in the dark. I felt a great fool for ever thinking that I could avoid reality by ignoring it.

I lay there for a long while, overflowing with this feeling of ultimate doom that seemed to last for so long. However, as all earthly things are transient and insubstantial, so were these feelings which had finally abated to a point where I was no longer struck stupid by panic. I began to take a mental inventory of existence... I was in my room, in bed, and my clock read 3:43 am. There, reality still endured. I was far from feeling dandy however, as the last few minutes had left my stomach a ball of tangled anxiety. As I was settling down in an attempt to find sleep again, my breath caught in my throat as a memory was thrust forward abruptly into my awareness. It was a passage from my prayer book, which goes like this:

"Suddenly the Judge shall come, and the deeds of each shall be revealed; but with fear we cry out in the middle of the night: Holy, holy, holy art thou, O God. Through the Theotokos have mercy on us."

I repeated the Jesus prayer like a mantra until I finally fell asleep again.

The Star of Bethlehem: An Astronomical Phenomenon

Recently I've discovered that it is highly probable that the Star of Bethlehem was not only a recorded historical event, but an actual, verifiable astronomical phenomenon.  And I love scientific explanations for things like this... the vision that Constantine saw may have been an uncommonly spectacular sun halo, for instance.  But I digress.

There is a movie that has been circulating around the internet for a few years called Zeitgeist, which seeks to cast aspersions on Christianity (among other things) by espousing false correlations and comparisons between Christianity and other religions and inventing new and improved historical data to support their arguments... basically it's a dissertation of shameless and blatant lies, and it's also a topic that I'll save for another time. However, I do find it somewhat ironic that this movie, the purpose of which is to tear down faith, served instead to reinforce it. Allow me to explain.

So, in reaction to this steaming pile called Zeitgeist, I was checking some of this 'factual data' online. In the process I discovered that the Bible doesn't give a specific date for the birth of Jesus, and that it's possible that it could have occurred sometime during the late summer. It's even been postulated that December 25th was chosen as the date of Christ's birth so that pagans could convert to Christianity more easily, being that some popular pagan holidays occur on December 25th (it's not my purpose here to speculate or support any of these suggestions, and they're beside the point anyway). From this information I was led to some very specific data which I found almost unbelievable. It has been suggested before that the Star of Bethlehem could have been an astronomical event, such as a comet or supernova, so this was a concept which which I was familiar. What I discovered, however, amazed me.

Firstly, it is useful to know that a conjunction, in astronomical terms, is when two or more celestial bodies appear near one another in the sky. What I discovered was that on a specific date over 2000 years ago - that of June 17th, 2 BC, to be exact - Jupiter and Venus, the two brightest 'stars' in the night sky, visibly merged to form one dazzling object. There has not been a brighter, closer conjunction of these two planets in the 2000 years before that date or since. For such an extremely unlikely event to occur so near the time of Christ's birth, to me, is far more than just coincidence... it's providence. Therefore, I believe that this extremely rare celestial event is, in fact, what was historically witnessed as the Star of Bethlehem.

Excited by this possibility, I decided to see it for myself. There is a program available for free download called Stellarium... http://stellarium.org/ ...which can show what the sky looked like or will look like at any given date, past present or future, from any location on Earth. So, I loaded Stellarium and typed in the global coordinates for Bethlehem (32°44′11.85″N 35°11′28.72″E), set the date to June 17th, 2 BC in the early evening, and was promptly disappointed. There was no conjunction of Venus and Jupiter. Frustrated, I clicked forward to the year one and noticed something odd... the program actually used a year 'zero', so instead of going from 1 BC directly to 1 AD, it first went to the year ZERO and then it went to 1 AD. That was the problem. Since there was no actual year zero, then the year zero in Stellarium was actually 1 BC. Since I had it set to 2 BC, I was actually seeing the night sky of Bethlehem on June 17th in the year 3 BC. Armed with this new found wisdom, I set the year to 1 BC (actually 2 BC) and was presented with exactly that which was predicted - Jupiter and Venus were undergoing a conjunction so close that the two planets were indistinguishable as two separate objects... even to this computer program, this virtual planetarium, they appeared as a single 'star'.

Wow, I thought. Just wow. There it was - verified, indisputable scientific proof that at a time very close to the birth of Christ an extremely bright 'star' appeared in the sky; a signal which Wise Men of the time could have predicted with astrology, measured with instruments, and charted with maps, thus using it to guide them over oceans of not water, but desert. A celestial event coinciding with the biblical prophecies which predicted the birth of a Messiah; a new, bright star shining in the sky, brighter than any star ever before. To me, this is the evidence for the Star of Bethlehem.

Here is the link where I discovered this information, a very interesting read...

http://newsinfo.iu.edu/OCM/packages/bethstar.html

And here is a link to some screenshots with captions that I made with Stellarium demonstrating the conjunction of June 17th, 2 BC between Jupiter and Venus (numbered 1 - 5, in order). Be sure to click on the actual picture in your browser window so that it magnifies to full size.

http://i71.photobucket.com/albums/i141/kaxtorplose/StarofBethlehem.jpg

Oh and by the way, Stellarium doesn't render this conjunction as particularly bright... but in real life, you can be sure that it would have been spectacular.

Sonnets by Yours Truly

These sonnets are official, sanctioned, authentic, certified, bona fide, legitimate, homogenized, pasteurized and recognized as ex cathedra, true and valid because they are all Shakespearean stanzas written in iambic pentameter consisting of 14 lines of the rhyme scheme ABAB CDCD EFEF GG.

Splish

My love did give to me a healthy dose
Of rancid sweating nauseating splish
I said my dear this bowl of filth be gross
I wish to throw it out with last nights dish
She said last night of this same splish you ate
And no complaints did I receive from thee
So hold your tongue sir cease your words of hate
And sit ye down and dine on splish with me
So puke I did upon the table spread
No other choice had I but this to do
For splish in me would surely make me dead
A better choice than eating of this brew
But laced with vomit it seemed not so bad
So I did eat it up and I was glad


Food Fight

When man first gazed upon the moon so fair
T'was common to assume it made of cheese
Grand enterprise his mind envisioned there
This wealth of heavens curd so ripe to seize
But lunar folk did view Earth in their sky
And grave designs they planned with no mistake
For just as men saw cheese up there so high
The Lunarites deemed Earth was made of cake
A mighty fight of food did thus prevail
Each coveting the others treasure trove
Until both worlds lay moldy burned and stale
Two crispy crumbs stuck to the cosmic stove
A pity that they had to learn so late
That cheese and cake together tasted great


Pecking Order

While waking from my sleeping bag unfed
I spied a pecking hen with vision keen
T'was busy cramming worms inside its head
So thus engaged my presence went unseen
Inspired by rumbling echoes in my gut
Inside my skull sly visions did congeal
I crept with caution from my fabric hut
And thus with cunning thought I planned my meal
But unaware was I of deeds malign
Designed by forces terrible and grim
Within my body fluids they would find
The means to slake the thirst which quickened them
And so my careful plans were naught to be
For bear and buzzard made a meal of me


March of the Greeblies

There is a silent war which for the most
Remains ignored by folk of certain sway
It starts with scattered crumbs of last weeks toast
And other bits of refuse 'til one day
Strategic points of fuzzy food advance
Across a battlefield of dingy clothes
Neglected rug stains form their forward lance
As ranks of Greeblies order into rows
Conscripted chunks of mold supply the line
Entrenched in mounds of dirty underwear
When suddenly their host attacks in kind
The solvents and the soap he does not spare
But in his haste neglected one small chore
And so the Greeblies lived to march once more


The Smokers (Inspired by Steve Martin)

The smoker sighed and leaned back in his chair
Then lit his cigarette in one fell swoop
A friend arrived with plenty and to spare
And thus they formed a fragrant fledgling group
They smoked and smoked and then they smoked some more
The virtues of the leaf they did decree
Then once again a knocking at the door
Announced another smoker making three
The air became a lung caressing blight
'Til finally they shared their one last pack
With that the guests then bid their host good night
And with a sigh he comfortably leaned back
The last lone smoker turned his head to cough
Took one more puff and then his lips fell off


The Stupid Knight

The Silver Knight stood proudly on the field
This champion of the kingdom standing stern
As one by one his challengers did yield
The Stupid Knight stood waiting for his turn
With mighty voice the Silver Knight then roared
Will any of you dare cross blades with me
The Stupid Knight unsheathed his rusty sword
And cried with all his breath I challenge thee
Before the silver one could ken this foe
The stupid one impaled him through the head
The crowd aghast then beat him helm to toe
For making their beloved champion dead
The gods of war that judged the sorry sight
Declared Here lies one very stupid knight

About that Nobel Peace Prize...

I tend to ignore politics for the most part, so I normally wouldn't have anything to say about President Obama. However, on the rare occasion that I happen to see someone with purple lips (regardless of whatever color their skin happens to be), It will most likely strike me as odd no matter who it is; that is, unless they are choking... or dead. The fact that it was the President, speaking live to millions of people on national television, kind of emphasized the oddity of the situation. Even though my lack of interest effectively separates me from politics, I still managed to receive the news that the Nobel Peace Prize was awarded to President Obama. I would like to give the Nobel Institute the benefit of the doubt in assuming that they award these prizes based on a recognizable and ubiquitous standard of excellence, but the fact that I could not discern any type of meritorious deed or achievement that was equal to the honor was unsettling. It would be nice if we were allowed take just this one particular notion of honor and truth for granted, but the possibility that the institution of the Nobel Peace Prize might be a sham elicits in me feelings of foolish naivety. I feel that there may be no recourse other than to accept that, in this particular instance at least, the Nobel Institute has given the world the shaft.

I don't have any particular issues with President Obama, but I am curious as to why he was awarded the peace prize. I've actually been told that it's not what President Obama did, but what he's going to do. This explanation is not acceptable. Logic suggests that if an effect is observed, then it is reasonable to assume the existence of a cause which is equal and tantamount to that effect. In this case, the effect - that is, the Nobel Peace prize being awarded to President Obama - exists blatantly in defiance of a sufficient cause (incidentally, in this particular case it was somewhat disturbing to realize that logical reasoning had been purposefully suppressed and abandoned in favor of the happy ignorance elicited by vulgar infatuation). In an attempt to make some kind of sense out of this entire mess, I felt compelled to do a bit of web research. I didn't find any really good or satisfying or legitimate or rational or relevant or acceptable or compelling or convincing or applicable or even commonsensical reasons, but I did find several diversions which seem to be regarded as the generally accepted rationale for why the Nobel Peace Prize (as opposed to the Nobel Good Intentions Prize) was awarded to President Obama.

1. He made several phone calls to various prime ministers, presidents and kings (I couldn't find any information as to what they talked about; I'm assuming it had something to do with peace).
2. He met with one ambassador, two commanders, and numerous retired generals for a war briefing (as commander in chief, this is to be expected; but as to why it merits a Nobel, the reason continues to elude me).
3. He issued the order to close Guantanamo Bay (he just didn't specify when exactly).
4. He encouraged the government funding of abortion outside the United States (logic suggests that more foreign abortions translates into fewer foreign war fanatics...?).
5. He outlawed torture again (just in case everyone had forgotten about the Geneva Convention).
6. He created the position of Special Envoy for Climate Change (in the interests of a peaceful change of climate...?)
7. He plans to withdraw 35,000 troops from Iraq by sending 35,000 troops to Afghanistan (haha).

I say all of this with no exaggeration, and with only the bare minimum of required sarcasm (which may easily be ignored), that according to various online news sources, these are the most commonly shared reasons why President Obama was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. What a mess... it would have made more sense if President Truman had been awarded it for ending World War II. Ok, so he ordered two Japanese cities to be vaporized, but look at all of the American lives he saved by avoiding an invasion. Sure, it's a fairly ridiculous proposal, but it is imminently arguable when compared to the current debacle... and at least Truman DID something. The fact that President Obama was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize is just about the biggest crock I've ever heard...

... oh, and I also think it would be spectacularly naive to assume that being the first black president had nothing to do with it.

My Morning Adventure

So I'm stumbling along in the dark this morning, Kee Kee Meow tagging along expectantly. I'm going to let her out; she's been begging for half an hour. Then comes that undeserved, unexpected agony, the kind that gives you about a second to think about it before it kicks in, just to let you know it's going to be BAD. It's in my left pinkie toe, where I stubbed it full force into this brick thing on the floor that used to be part of a fireplace. MA-MAAAAA!!! I scream. Kee Kee Meow darts off into the shadows. OOOOH MAMA...!!! OWWWWWwww... I bellow as I teeter precariously on one foot in the dark. While it's hurting at maximum capacity, I have time to think about what life will be like when the pain finally fades. Oh boy, life used to be good before agony. It hurts and hurts and hurts and goes on hurting, so I hobble and shuffle into my room so I can put on a shirt, because it's cold and I don't think I'm going to be getting back into bed just yet, as excruciating pain makes it kind of hard to sleep. Or so I hear.

I have a flashlight in my hand that I keep by my bed for when I wake up in the middle of the night and get the urge to read a few pages of whatever book I'm reading. Somehow I had it in my mind to use it to find my way to the door this morning to let Gray Kitty out, but that thought just never fully congealed, and now I get to enjoy life + agony for a while. I can't decide what to do first - find a shirt or inspect the damage. Morbid curiousity wins, and with some trepidation I shine the flashlight down onto my foot. I gasp. It looks like the toenail is torn off... I bend down to look more closely. Ugh... the toenail is ok, but my toe is split right down the middle. There is a half a centimeter long gash that runs right down the front from where the toenail starts to the bottom of my toe, sitting there wide open and bleeding. I notice a trail of shiny red blobs and follow them with the flashlight as they lead back into the living room. A bunch of new ones are welling up and falling all over the floor at the foot of my bed. Great...

So by now, the pain has finally faded, and I have to deal with this toe bleeding everywhere. It's been 20 minutes and it just WON'T STOP bleeding. It's pretty gross, as I have several wads of dark red sticky blood soaked tissues building up in a pile. I hope I don't bleed to death. This is worse than a bloody nose.

Ok, it's been another 20 minutes and it's STILL bleeding. It doesn't hurt anymore, now it's just annoying and gross.

One Giant Leap

I'm a catechumen now. Sunday I came forward during the liturgy and Fr. Justin said some awesome prayers over me, and then I moved from one stage of my life to another. "That's one small step up to the iconostasis, one giant leap of faith into the Mystery." So, I was nervous and my stomach was hurting, which always happens when I get anxious. I've been known to get so nervous that I make myself sick and have to run to the bathroom and evacuate the contents of my stomach; however, that didn't happen then, thank Heaven.

So, it's right after the...Homily, I think, and then there's the Augmented Litany...

:::checks the little liturgy pamphlet:::

...yeah, right about then, Fr. Justin motions me forward. So, I step forward and I look up at Fr. Justin and he's SHAKING HIS HEAD AT ME! Oh no, how did I screw up? What did I do? I'm just standing here.. ok, I should look down then... no, not too far down, because he's still shaking his head! No wait, he's nodding now! Whew. Ok, I'll keep looking down. Now he starts to recite the awesome prayers, of which I can only remember one part... it's about me letting go of my delusions, which is why that one part stuck in my head, probably. So, Fr. has his hand on my head and I'm imagining that with these prayers he is conducting God's grace straight down from Heaven...

(7:39 pm :::phone rings:::talkie talkie talkie:::hang up::: 8:11 pm)

...and into me like water flowing through a canal.

Now here is something that's decidedly odd. I had completely forgotten about vespers and the basics of Orthodoxy class tonight until I received a call from a friend a few minutes ago. And here I've been, all involved in writing about becoming a catechumen. How could I have my mind on this and forget so thoroughly about vespers and class tonight? It's weird, in an unsettling way. It completely... I mean COMPLETELY slipped my mind.

Anyway, back to the story. We didn't rehearse this or anything, so I didn't necessarily know what to do when Fr. Justin removed his hand from my head and disappeared behind the Royal Doors. I stood there in front of the altar for about two and a half seconds, and then I high tailed it back to the bay windows and into the safe sphere of influence cast by my sister Cheyenne who was waiting back there. We waited for the choir to sing the Litany of the Catechumen, which always makes me tear up because it's so beautiful, and then I told her that it was my cue to leave.

As we step out into the bookstore foyer, the choir starts to sing the Cherubic Hymn, which is my favorite. I had mentioned earlier to Cheyenne about how pretty it was, and she went back into the sanctuary so she could hear it better. I went into the library nook and choked back a few tears. The Cherubic Hymn always makes me cry; it's just so heart breakingly beautiful. From now on though I'll have to listen to it from the library nook, but I can still hear it fairly well.

So, I settle down there on the bench area where the fold up chairs and the coats go and read a book while the liturgy proceeds. When it's over, Leah takes me home and on the way I start to babble on about everything in a fairly incomprehensible way until finally I blurt out, "Fr. Justin was shaking his head no to me. What did I do? I was too close to the altar... or I shouldn't have looked up... OH! Duh... I forgot to cross myself... I didn't put my right hand on my left hand... ramble ramble ramble..."

Leah said, "He was blowing the Sign of the Cross over you. From left to right and then up and down."

I shut up and pondered that for a few seconds. Ah. Not shaking his head... he was blowing the Sign of the Cross. Left to right. Ok, it just seemed at first like it was a "NO YOU'RE DONG IT WRONG!" gesture. Then when he nodded his head, seemingly in weary acknowledgement that I had finally stopped screwing it all up, he was blowing the Sign of the Cross then, too. Left to right, then up and down. How novel... to blow the Sign of the Cross. Come to think of it, I seemed to remember Leah telling me about that part when I asked her what I should expect. But you see, I'm retarded.

A lengthy read

I've struggled with the idea of God for most of my life. On the one hand, I'm a very logically minded person and require that things follow a pattern that makes sense. Above almost all things, I crave the basic simplicity of a fundamental order. I want things to be provable; to be observable. I am very interested in science, physics, space exploration, quantum mechanics, string theory, subatomic particles, evolution, the possibility of life on other planets, the possibility of intelligent life elsewhere in the universe, whether or not intelligent aliens have a Bible, whether or not God appeared to them in their own alien form as he came to us in the form man, what that could mean in the great scheme of life and God's plan for the entire universe, and just about every curiosity or puzzle the beckons to be figured out.
In a way I wish that I wasn't interested in those things and that I had never heard of or learned about any of that stuff because it has made it all that much harder to accept God as a reality when there is no observable evidence that can be scientifically examined. However, I have never been happy with the idea that God doesn't exist, and I abhor the thought of being an atheist with all of my being. I've always wanted God in my life, but there is a force in me which has made it impossible for Him to exist within me. No matter how much I wanted to believe in God, this force has relegated me to the status of a miserable agnostic. It has been a terrible thing for me... that I should have this powerful desire and need for God, and at the same time to have a built in barrier, over which I have no control, that seems to render faith impossible. For the last 28 years, that's how it was for me.
For a couple of years now I have been in the process of recovering from a bleak time in my life... that absolute bottom, that blackest of pits; that place from which the only direction to go is up, and I've been guardedly optimistic. Almost a year ago, In early January, I was introduced to St. Maximus Orthodox Mission by a friend and have been attending services and going to classes. As a result I have been able to reconcile myself largely to the aforementioned problems. It has been a miracle for me, that I can now look into my heart and really sense true belief there, a belief that defies all of the logic which has defined my core being for so long. I attribute this miracle to God's mercy; that maybe the 28 years of flailing about in the darkness was necessary in order to prepare myself so that I could finally accept God into my heart... that I was required to hit rock bottom in order to build anew from the bare foundations of my 'self'.
This new belief is still fledgling though, and during the past year I have experienced a definite, almost predictable pattern of ups and downs; like peaks and valleys. During the peaks, everything seems so easy and natural. I am enthusiastic, I read the Gospels regularly (usually before bed), I pray often, I go to church, I attend classes, and I feel comfortable and at ease. None of those logical problems bother me. It's as if they don't even matter; that they have been nothing more than distractions and obstacles set in place to hinder me. I feel the presence of God and I am aware of His miracles around me.
Then there are the valleys. At these times I tend to argue a lot with people close to me. I find myself vehemently defending Orthodox Christianity to those who aren't Christian, or just not Orthodox, while at the same time feeling that I am a hypocrite. As I sink deeper, I start to second guess myself. I remember all of the reasons why I used to think that Christianity was just one of thousands of religions invented by man, and that religion is nothing more than a comforting technique inspired by an inordinate need for us to escape the fate of meaningless oblivion. I begin to question the basic tenets of Christianity, such as the virgin birth, Jesus Christ as God incarnate, the miracles described in the Gospels, and the resurrection, as things that are physically impossible. At my lowest point, it's as if almost all of the faith that I have built up has been torn down, and I'm back to the foundations of myself. Sometimes these valleys occur as a result of something specific but more often they just happen, as if they are part of a repeating cycle.
At some level I understand these peaks and valleys as my own personal battle with the forces which have been hindering my belief for almost 30 years. When I step back from it, I can see this battle occurring, and I can identify my obstacles as things that are not of my own will; objects that are actively trying to tear down my faith. I suppose they could even be called demons, as that's as good a name as any for an active force which is working inside me and against my own will and well being. It's heartening to think of it this way, as it then becomes a tangible thing which I can grapple with instead of succumb to. I don't recall anyone telling me that becoming an Orthodox Christian was going to be easy.
Now I come to the crux of my essay. Ironically, I have never had a problem with science and religion. I've always believed that if there was a God, that all of the observable scientific phenomenon we have discovered that describes the ongoing existence of the universe - evolution and the big bang being two prime examples - are Gods own tools, and that He made the universe this way to operate according to His will. However, as I've pointed out before, much of my trouble comes from trying to reconcile the basic elements of Christianity with observable reality. Lately I have been experiencing a pretty severe valley, but the other day something happened that promises to permanently defeat those things which have been working against my will and to my detriment.
A few days ago I was watching a program about quantum mechanics which presented me with a wonderful possibility. Now, in order to fully explain this, I would have to delve into the subject at a fair length, a daunting prospect at best, so I'll try to explain it simply. At the quantum level, subatomic particles follow a rather strange set of laws that differ greatly from those at the macroscopic level... that is, the level with which we are familiar; from complex molecules and on up to galaxies. What quantum mechanics states is that all of the subatomic particles which comprise physical reality exist in a state of flux - that is, these particles haven't settled down into any kind of form that can be measured; they all merely represent potentials. Here is a crude analogy - Imagine a spinning roulette wheel. Until that roulette wheel stops spinning, it is impossible to know where the ball will come to rest. It is similar with subatomic particles in the quantum world. All of these particles are 'spinning', each with the potential to be either 'here' or 'there', or maybe moving 'this fast' or 'that fast'. The catch is, all quantum particles will remain in this state of potential until they are observed. I know, it doesn't make a whole lot of sense. I think that one would need a degree in astrophysics to really grasp it, but suffice it to say that quantum mechanics describes it that way.
So, in effect, according to quantum mechanics, nothing really exists as a definite, measurable or observable entity or phenomenon until it is observed. It is a mind boggling concept... that unless someone is there to witness a thing, that thing does not exist. It's similar to the the old adage which states "If a tree falls in the forest but no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound?" It's the same principle. Now, the gist of the program was that since everything is merely unexpressed potential until observed, that humans in fact create the reality merely by witnessing it. At this point the writers of the program indulged their egos by suggesting that because of this, everyone is a god. However, I chose to see it somewhat differently, in that it is not 'we' who cause the quantum potential of reality to take form by observing it. That honor falls to God, and He is the one doing the observing which sets the gears of creation into motion.
It really was a great epiphany when I realized this. Suddenly, in my mind, anything is possible. All of the miracles are possible. Anything could have happened, can happen, and still might happen. Everything is defined by God, created by God, and witnessed by God. I can believe everything now, from the miracle of Jesus turning water into wine, to the coming resurrection of every single person who ever lived and died. And the best part is that I don't have to understand it.

Imaginary Undies

I folded my underwear with the scorpion still inside. I heard its fitful pleas as it was rubbed mercilessly against the skid marks, but I persisted. It's claws tore a small hole in the weak part where uric acid had dissolved it into a thinner weave. Screaming triumphant vengeance, the scorpion jumped out of the hole it had produced with its claws and then the cat ate it.

A dream - alien ritual

Out towards the horizon, a long range of thunderheads had gathered in the gloaming, a far away threat which still managed to cast a note of foreboding upon me. Lightening flashed in their depths, immensely bright green lightening. I watched as these flashes illuminated the yard from my position on the front porch. Each flash lingered for much longer than would be expected of an ordinary lightening flash; green irregular patches of light that resembled the type of light that a spotlight would cast. They moved around the yard in irregular patterns, and they lingered, very much unlike the brief, time-freezing light cast by ordinary lightening. These green illuminations allowed time to pass within their depths, and whatever they brightened existed in unnatural duration for several seconds, as if ripped from ordinary time and forced to exist in hellish time. Lurid, green, and patchy, their power did not diminish, even considering the fact that their source was 40 miles away. They were frightening.

One of these patches of light fell upon the strangely shaped head which was mounted on one of the fence posts. Strange though it may be, it was still a normal fixture that should not provoke fright. However, once bathed in the eerie green illumination, it became almost transparent, in that a purple brain appeared within. I became alarmed as I sat there transfixed by it's pulsations, and I sought to warn someone. I became vaguely aware that I was shouting this fact out loud, that a purple brain was visible inside the head fixture, but I don't know if anyone heard me. I got up from my seat on the porch and stood in the front yard, staring out towards the unnatural storm, transfixed by it's eerie phosphor glow. As the green light moved about the yard, it fell upon me now and then, changing the world to shades of green and back to gray and back to green again. I stood paralyzed and wondering why the clouds were doing that and I grew even more fearful.

At this time several of my friends appeared, as if responding to my frightened call, and they seemed to revel in the light. As the light passed over each of them, they began to float up into the air. I watched as they reveled in the experience of floating. They were all enthralled with ecstasy as I watched them, all of them, hovering at different relative altitudes, and the idea came over me that I would enjoy this sensation. So I reached out my arms and began to float up, too. It was a glorious feeling, and all fear left me, even though my view of the green clouds increased as I flew higher. From way up there I could see that the clouds stretched all around us and formed an unbroken circle of flashing green upon the horizon. I looked down and saw the green patches dancing all over the yard, the house, the pasture, as far as I could see in every direction. Thousands of patches of light, moving around erratically, almost like a strobe. It came to me that this effect of light might be hypnotizing me in some way, disarming me, making me susceptible to it's effect, and in panic I lowered my arms and fell down to the ground, landing hard, jolted and completely disillusioned.

I couldn't think clearly, and I couldn't move after that. I could only watch as the monsters approached. They were all tall and purple, with big heads holding their big brains, their ill will emanating from them in invisible waves. Once we were in range of these ill waves, their intent became clear to us. They captured us and took us with them, into the green light, and I was aware of their thoughts as we were carried away, into their ships, down long hallways filled with propaganda posters and into the presence of the queen, who was terminally ill. I was certain that she would use our lives to extend her own. We were food for her, no more, and in her presence everything ceased to be.

Vespers in East Texas

The other day my mom called and asked me if I could house-sit for several days so that she and Ed (my step-dad) could attend a wedding in Massachusetts. Having no prior engagements or responsibilities tying me to Denton from the 6th to the 14, I considered it my good fortune that I happen to be unemployed at the moment. Oh, and incidentally, my 20 year class reunion is this weekend. I really don't understand how this is possible, by the way... can anyone explain this to me? The last I checked, I was in my 20's...

...anyway, other than the impending feeling of encroaching doom as the date of my reunion approaches, I'm looking forward to a relatively stress-free week here in Winnsboro as I relax, set things on fire in the backyard fire-pit, read, watch the tube (they have satellite TV here on a 46 inch screen!), mess around online, enjoy the abundant contents of their pantry, and play with my four favorite dogs.

Today I was thinking that it would be cool to attend an Orthodox service while I'm here. I thought I remembered there being an Orthodox parish in Tyler, so I did a Google search... and lo and behold, there are two - Holy Apostles Antiochian Orthodox Church, and St. John of Damascus Orthodox Church. Intrigued, I loaded the website of Holy Apostles and read this description on the main page:

"We teach the ancient Traditions of the Apostolic Christian faith with a contemporary message that will enrich your life. "

The 'contemporary message' part kind of threw me, so I loaded the St. John of Damascus website. The first paragraph describes the church as a mission of the Orthodox Church in America, so I closed the other website (sorry, Holy Apostles) and checked the service schedule for St. John of Damascus. As it so happened, there was a vespers service scheduled tonight at 7:00. If I left at 5:30, I thought that I should be able to get there on time (Tyler is about 50 miles south of Winnsboro). So, armed with that knowledge, I resolved that I should check out this East Texas Orthodox church.

It was inevitable that some kind of unforseen complication should delay me, so I got started later than I had planned. Since mapquest wouldn't print the maps directly, I had to grab screenshots of little pieces of the map, load them into Photoshop, and manually splice them together so I wouldn't have to rely only on just the directions. Finally, with map in hand, I walked out the back door at 5:47. According to the directions, I had to make a left turn on Farm Road something-or-another, so I dutifully made my left turn... onto a podunk back road filled with hairpin curves and dotted with slowpoke drivers. I consulted my map again and saw that if I had just stayed on the highway instead of taking this back woods trail, I would have enjoyed a straight shot to Tyler. I compared the two routes on the map and saw little or no difference, except that Farm Road watchamacallit was shaped like the readout on a heart monitor, while the highway had a zen-like curvature which was very attractive. Apparently mapquest had seen fit to supply me with a shortcut or something. Maybe that left turn was a shortcut in Virtual Fairy Land where 50 miles is only an inch and a half, but not here on planet Earth. So, after about a mile, I turned around and high-tailed it back to the highway.

The rest of the directions were relatively easy to follow, and I found myself pulling up to St John of Damascus at about 6:55. I was surprised to see about a dozen cars crammed into the small front yard, and I had to squeeze into a narrow space between two which were parked at 45 degrees to each other. I got out and gave the place a once over. It was a small church, occupying what looked to be a renovated house with narrow, vertical windows installed on each side of the entrance. I went inside and peeked tentatively into the foyer. To the right was a room where three or four people were talking and apparently waiting for the service to start. I turned my attention to the sanctuary before me. To the right was the iconostasis, and to the left of it and against the wall was the choir, which was involved in an animated practice session. There were about 10 people in the choir; I saw 3 kids who looked to be about 8 or 9, a few teenagers, and several adults ranging from their early 20's to late middle age. I decided, since I apparently still had some time, that I would sign the guest book. I looked around for a pen, but there wasn't one so I went back out to the car to dig around. I was rummaging through the glove box, looking for a pen, when I was approached by someone.

"Can I help you?" I heard behind me.

I turned around and saw a man dressed in a black cassock. He looked to young to be a priest, so I assumed that he must be the reader. I admit that I felt a little put off, as I have often been the subject of suspicion in similar circumstances where I happen to be the stranger hanging around purposefully in a clean cut group. And this was East Texas, after all, where people are known not to take too kindly to folks of my appearance. Then again, maybe I was just being paranoid and this guy was only trying to be helpful.

"I'm just looking for a pen so I can sign the guestbook," I replied.

"Ok," he said with a smile as he walked back into the church. Having procured a pen, I followed him in and signed the guest book; which, I noticed, hadn't been signed since July of '08. It was then that the Priest approached me.

He extended his hand and said "Hi, I'm Father John."

I took his proffered hand. "I'm Ashley. I'm from St. Maximus Orthodox Mission in Denton. Father Justin is the priest there."

"Oh yes," he replied, nodding his head vigorously. "Do you know..." He mentioned someone by name, but I can't remember who it was. "He's been around for about 3 years."

I didn't know if he meant that this person had been around St. Maximus for about 3 years, or St. John of Damascus. It was moot anyway, because I didn't know the guy. "No, I can't say that I know him," I replied. "But I've only been attending services there for about 9 months, and only during the past 3 have I had the chance to attend the divine liturgy frequently because now I don't have to work on Sundays."

Father John nodded and smiled and said, "So, what brings you to this area?"

"I'm here house sitting for my mom, and since I'm in the area, I wanted to see the vespers here tonight."

Father John nodded and smiled. "Oh yes, we'll be starting in a few minutes. Thank you for coming."

He disappeared into a room to the right of the iconostasis, and I was left alone there in the foyer. I didn't want to stand there like a lump, so I decided that I would just walk into the sanctuary and wait for the service to start. I stood there for a few minutes, wondering if it was ok to venerate the icons (the choir was taking up a lot of space around them). I finally decided to go ahead and venerate them. There was a music stand placed directly between the two icons which made it awkward to traverse the space between them, so after I venerated the icon of Christ, I had wriggle and writhe my way around the stand and between a couple of people so that I could venerate the icon of the Theotokos. After that, I stepped back and waited for the service to start.

One thing I noticed as I stood there watching the choir practice was that people in this church were a lot more casual and talkative before the service. Several people in the choir were joking and laughing, and I also heard laughter coming from the foyer. One thing that was exactly the same, however, was the abundance of little children running all over the place. This wasn't surprising; parents do have a habit of bringing the little buggers with them wherever they go. I felt a pang of friendly jealousy as I watched them running and laughing, that unlike myself, these kids were probably born into the Orthodox faith.

Finally things started to quiet down and the service started. I don't know why I was surprised that I was so familiar with the entire process, but it felt good and I was filled with a serene feeling of 'belonging''. These people were perfect strangers, yet I felt close to them at the same time; as if we all shared a well kept secret that only a few lucky people ever had the good fortune to discover. As the service progressed, I began to feel a kind of euphoria and I felt that I was on the verge of an epiphany. Everything seemed more right than it had ever seemed to me... suddenly it was all so easy. I reveled in this feeling.

When the service ended, I venerated the icons again and then I just kind of stood there, looking around at everybody. Someone approached me and introduced himself, but I'm terrible with names so I don't remember his. He told me that he used to be a deacon at The Church of Christ until about four years ago, when he discovered the Orthodox church. I asked him if he knew about the 'Real Live Preacher' blog, about the Baptist minister who was attending Orthodox services. He replied warmly that he had in fact read that blog, and we shared a feeling of closeness. We talked some more, and he invited me to the adult class that was about to begin. I had to beg off though, because I was anxious to get home and let the dogs in. I told him that I would like to attend the Sunday liturgy, though.

Then, on the front porch, I had another nice conversation with Theophane, who happened to be the one who had addressed me earlier before the service. I hope I remembered his name correctly. He was the most unique looking of the group; possibly of hispanic descent, with a dark complexion, long black hair, and a full beard. When I mentioned that I was from Denton, he smiled a familiar smile and said that he knew Father Justin well.

I finally left at about 8:15 after talking for about 30 minutes with various people. As I was driving home the feeling of euphoria persisted all the way.

Odd and unlikely things

Last night at about 9:30 I took a long walk, reading by flashlight. I like to do this a lot now, as it combines the normally sedentary activity of reading with the normally tedious task of walking nowhere in particular, which is oddly satisfying. At about 11:00, as I was just getting to the really good part, I took a right on Jagoe St. onto Oak St. and headed west. I had just passed Marietta St. when I saw somebody about a hundred yards up ahead. Unperturbed, I continued for a while until I was distracted by incomprehensible shouting. I didn't return immediately to my book, and as I walked and watched, I saw her (I determined by her voice that this person was of the female persuasion) sit down on the curb at the corner and stretch her legs into the street while lying flat on her back on the grass beside the curb. It was dark, and I don't think she had noticed me thus far, because when I was almost upon her, she suddenly sat up straight and hugged her knees to her body. It was then that I realized that... hmmm. It was quite shadowy where she was sitting, so I can say that her modesty wasn't completely compromised, but I was by then close enough to see that she just flat out wasn't wearing any pants. She was, however, wearing something on her legs that looked like leg warmers, except that they seemed more like regular pants legs that stopped at the knee. Imagine long shorts, or knee length knickers, but reversed. Maybe they were just socks... it was dark and hard to tell. It was a decidedly odd and surprising sight, and I stopped short for about a half a second before I continued on with my nose buried in my book. She didn't look up as I passed, and I didn't stop, intent on avoiding a potentially embarrassing situation.

After I passed her, I saw something about a hundred feet ahead that looked like a big jumble of shapes lying on the curb and partially in the road. My first thought was that the woman was the dazed victim of a car wreck. Or a dune buggy wreck... or possibly a golf cart wreck? I was close enough to see that it definitely wasn't big enough to be a car. I hurried forward to discover three large green city of Denton trash bins, all of which were knocked over into the street and spilling copious amounts of debris everywhere. Relief turned to irritation as I set about righting them and clearing the trash out of the road.

After all of the trash bins were lined up again on the curb, I became quite still as the Rube Goldberg contraption that is my mind kicked into gear. Two thoughts eventually congealed in my head... firstly, one doesn't normally find three large trash bins in a row knocked over and spilling into the street, and secondly, neither does one usually encounter a fellow pedestrian lounging on the curb sans pants in the middle of the night. Could these two unlikely items be connected? If I remembered correctly from high school algebra, when two negatives are multiplied by each other, the result is a positive. I considered that each unlikely situation represented a negative variable. If I multiplied them together, using this rule of algebra, then the resulting positive solution should be represented by a likely situation. Armed with this logic, I concluded that It seemed likely that the two unlikelies, when combined, formed a likely, and that it was likely that these two unlikely events were somehow connected.

I looked back to see if she was still sitting there. Apparently she had high-tailed it, so I shrugged and continued my walk. At about 2:00 I was nearing the end of the book so I went home. Once I was safely ensconced in my kitchen, rustling up some grub, I reflected briefly on the oddities of the walk I had just taken. I then sat down and finished my book and went to beddy bye with a full stomach and the satisfaction of a book well ended.

A meeting with Mormons

Earlier today there was a knock on the door. I looked out through the peephole and two well dressed, conservative looking young men holding what looked to be small packets of paperwork were standing there. They looked like FBI agents. Curious, I opened the door. They both were wearing name badges with the title of Elder, and neither one of them could have been older than 25... probably closer to 18. They were Mormons, I saw from their badges, which had 'The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints' printed on them. Hmmm, thought I... didn't I just go through something like this last winter? So, they introduced themselves (I can't remember their names at all, I'm really bad with names) and said that they were conducting a poll about why there are so many diverse religions all over the planet.

A poll? Ok. I said something to this effect:

"The reason I think that there are so many diverse religions is because of various factors like climate, geography, and culture which have served to isolate various groups of people from each other over the course of the last several thousand years, which resulted in these various groups developing different ways of thinking."

One stood a little forward from the other, he was taller and had black hair and a round face. Very friendly looking. The other had strawberry blond hair and a freckled complexion. Also very pleasant seeming. The taller one seemed to be the leader of the two, and it was he with whom I exchanged the most conversation. He replied thusly:

"Do you think that it is God's will that people should be so separated from each other?"

"Yes," I replied, "I think that is God's will. I think that everything I see around me is God's will." What other answer could I give?

"But God wants us all to be united and share the same religion and to accept Jesus Christ as our savior. Isn't that God's will?" said the dark haired one. Or something very close to that. That was the gist of what he said, anyway.

I thought about that for a second and said, "Yeah, I think that's God's will, but God also gave each of us free will. Ironically, that is also His will."

"Then would you agree that it's His will that we -" refering to his partner "- have travelled almost 3000 miles to share this message with you? Isn't that a little more than just coincidence?"

I wondered vaguely what had happened to the poll. "Yes," I replied, "I do believe that is His will. I don't think that you guys have made a wasted trip down here, and I believe that we all do God's will in everything we do, even though you guys are Mormons and I'm an Orthodox Christian." That was a tiny fib, I'm not baptized yet, but these guys didn't know that.

"Then is it not the oddest coincidence..."

"No, I don't think anything is a coincidence. Or just merely coincidence. What I think has a lot of meaning for me is that I just happened to move to Denton within walking distance of the only Orthodox church in town, after almost 20 years of a nearly atheistic viewpoint. If there is meaning in conicidence, then that's what holds meaning for me."

As we were exchanging these pleasantries, the leader and I had been sharing eye contact, which neither one of us was intent upon breaking first. I began to grow somewhat nervous. His gaze didn''t seem as friendly as it first did, although I was positive that it was just my imagination. I broke first and glanced at his partner, who smiled. I looked back at the leader. I looked down and saw that they were both holding the book of Mormon. I looked back up at the leader, who said, "If you would allow us to share some things with you..."

"Hang on just a sec." I walked away from the door. My hands were shaking. I felt short of breath. What was the deal here? Why was I so suddenly and inexplicably nervous with these two people? Hadn't I dealt with this exact situation back in January? In fact, I had met up with a couple of Mormons at an ice cream shop and talked to them quite calmly back then and without any nervous tension at all. We were almost friends. They were very friendly; I was very friendly. We parted with them knowing fully that although I was thankful for their attention, that I was starting to express an interest in Orthodox Christianity due to someone I had met recently. The friendly undercurrent to the situation was one of, 'dangit, the Orthodox got to him first. Shucks!' and fingers were snapped and eyes were rolled and laughs were uttered and we all parted on great terms. They even let me keep a book of Mormon, a personal copy of theirs, with personal notes and inscriptions written here and there.

I went into my room and took a deep breath and wondered if I should invite these two people inside. They were just standing on my doorstep, waiting. I saw my wallet on my bedside table. Sudden inspiration struck. I opened my wallet and took out Fr. Justin's business card. I went back to the door.

"Here, you might actually be better off talking to this guy. He's an orthodox priest here in Denton." I handed the card to the leader. "Maybe he can answer some of your questions better for you." I felt somewhat guilty, pawning the situation off on Fr. Justin like that for him to deal with, but I didn't know how much longer I could keep talking, as it seemed as though I wasn't getting enough air.

The leader looked at me with vague disappointment. I held out my hand and he shook it. "I don't think your 3000 mile trip was wasted," I said. "God has His plans for all of us and it is up to us to live our lives as best as we know how and trust that God knows what He is doing with us." I thought about what Fr. Justin said once, about us having free will... but then how can everything be God's will if that's the case... and about how God exists outside of time so it is poinless to try to understand His methods. I wanted to explain this to these two, but words completely failed me at that point. Then the other one said something, the only thing he said during the entire conversation.

"Do you think that Jesus loves you as much as he loves your priest here?" he said, indicating Fr. Justin's card. I thought that was a decidedly odd question.

"Of course I do," I said.

"Do you mind if we give you a card too?"

"Sure, thanks." I held out my hand, into which he deposited a generic, non-personal Latter Day Saints card with mormon.org printed on it.

They smiled, we exchanged thank-you's, and they walked away.

That Hideous Paperware

As some of you who may be reading this might know, I have recently become (or more accurately, am in the process of becoming) an Orthodox Christian, and the evening of Monday, June 9, at about 6:30 found me and Leah at St. Maximus Orthodox Mission in Denton attending Vespers. Our Vespers service was special that night, as St. Tikhon's Mission choir, an octet from St. Tikhon's Orthodox Theological Seminary in South Canaan Pennsylvania, was visiting our church. Our parish is very small, so a visit from such a prestigious choir is quite an honor. Not only did they sing the entire Vespers service, but they also performed a short concert afterward. I won't try to impart how amazing it was; suffice it to say that there is just something about those centuries old tones and litanies that is beyond description.

So, after the concert everyone went into the kitchen for food and coffee and and whatnot. There was a lot of everything, being that the week of June 8th through June 14th is a fast free week celebrating Pentecost; meaning that it is actually forbidden to fast. Basically, what this means is that everybody is allowed to enjoy all kinds of goodies all week because we have to fast again from June 15th through June 28th.

So, adhering proudly to the rules and being somewhat of a pig, I got in line and started to load down two plates and two bowls (these receptacles, in retrospect, being of dubious strength for the purposes I intended) with sausage, spaghetti, cheese, crackers, chips, cantaloupe, strawberries, potato salad, bread, hummus, cookies, cake, tomatoes, chicken, casserole, and quite possibly a few other items. Man, was I hungry and looking forward to inching my way over to the drink table, where I would pour some tea, after which Leah and I would make our way to a place where we could munch away in peace.

However, it was not to be because halfway to the drink table, the contents of my overburdened and thus weakened paperware decided to take a magical mystery tour of my forearms, chest, thighs, and shoes; a brief sojourn which ended as a pound and a half of food impacted with a square foot and a half of floor. The spectacle was witnessed by Fr. Justin, Matushka, sub deacon Dax, the entire St. Tikhon's octet, reader Ben, and about a dozen other parishoners. Matushka rushed over with some paper towels, saying something about the plate balancing skills which she had acquired while waiting tables... skills which I obviously lacked completely. After scooping it all back up onto one plate into a mound about 6 inches high, I had to qualify my embarrassment by announcing that I would have gone ahead and eaten it if I'd been at home... which I would have, really. As it was, I had to toss those dreams into the trash and share Leah's sparse plate. I just couldn't bear standing in line again.

The radio bit

A few weeks ago I was at work; slinging taquitos, ordering what-nots and hoo-jiggers,
checking customers, etc... my usual duties as the Ass. Manager. We were in the middle of the regular morning rush when the phone rang. Ah, Terry, thought I... what does he want? He's probably going to remind one of us to send the gas competition or to keep the coffee trough fresh. I picked up the phone and answered with my stock phrase - "7-Eleven Oak Street". I was mildly surprised when someone who wasn't Terry said "Who is this?" in a fairly commanding tone.

Normally I find this fairly rude, to have my identity immediately demanded by the caller, but for all I knew it might be one of those corporate fuddy duddy's calling for something or another. So, after I gave my name, the caller wanted to know who else was working. "Ryan and Vicki," I replied. At the mention of Vicki's name, I heard some snickering in the background, and my hackles rose as I began to anticipate some sort of prank phone call. "Let me talk to Vicki," said the caller, who then proceeded to qualify the request with "We've got somebody on the line who has a crush on her."

Ooo...k. So I gave the phone to Vicki, wondering what all of this was about. I knew that Vicki was married, so I thought this was decidedly odd; especially considering that Vicki is in her 50's and probably closer to 60. Not that it would have been out of the question for Vicki, at her age and married, to have a secret admirer, but this method of revealing ones self seemed a little puerile. So, I handed the phone to Vicki and proceeded to get back to whatever I had been doing 30 seconds before. After about 30 more seconds, Vicki handed the phone back to me and said, "They want to talk to you again." I exhaled in exasperation. I had become fairly certain that whatever was going on was some kind of prank, and I didn't have time for games like that on a busy morning while trying to order, check customers, make coffee, etc.

I took the phone from Vicki and said "Hello?" The voice on the other end said, "Hey man, we've got a guy on the line who wants to ask the girl who works mornings out on a date." By this time, the store had begun to fill up with customers and I definitely didn't have time to waste playing infantile games with strangers, and after making this clear to the caller in no uncertain terms, I immediately hung up. I thought about it for a bit, and decided that whomever it was probably just wanted to get Vicki to believe she had a secret admirer. It was probably some punk kid who thought it would be funny to prank call a 7-Eleven; someone just retarded enough to be unaware that prank phone calls had been obsolete since the early 90's when star 69 and caller ID had come into ubiquitous use by pretty much everyone.

I wasn't surprised at all when the phone started to ring again. I picked up the phone and immediately hung it up. Five seconds later, it rang again. This time I just let it ring, and nobody else tried to answer it either because we were just too busy. It rang and rang and rang, and it just kept on ringing and ringing and ringing. I was becoming quite exasperated by about the 20th ring, when it finally stopped. Then, about two minutes later, it rang again. I glanced at Vicki, we both rolled our eyes, and she answered it. After they exchanged the usual pleasantries, Vicki handed me the phone again. "7-Eleven on Oak," I answered. This is how the conversation went:

Them: "Hey man, put the girl on who works mornings."
Me: "You just talked to her."
Them: "He says that's not the girl."
Me: "Look, I already told you that I don't have time for this. We're busy."
Them: "Come on man, he wants to ask her out on a date. Have a heart. You're live and on the air, man."

-pause-

By this time, I'm beginning to figure out what's going on; that it's a radio station calling and that somebody has called the radio station - somebody who has noticed Leah, the girl who usually works mornings, and is trying to get her attention by calling in to a radio station, and in turn, getting the radio station to call the 7-Eleven where she works so that he can ask her out on a date, live and on the air. Well, as my grandpa used to say, I just seen red - that is, I got extremely irritated:

-resume-

Me: (finally realizing the situation) "She's my girl."
Them: "Come on man, have a heart. Put her on the phone."
Me: "What? No. This is my girl you're talking about. I don't want some stranger asking my girlfriend out on a date."
Them: "You're live and on the air dude. Have a heart, man. Give her the phone so he can ask her out."
Me: "How many ways do I have to put it? She's my girl, ok? It isn't going to happen. Now quit calling because we're too busy for these kinds of shenanigans."

And I hung up. They didn't call back after that. However, about 30 seconds after that last little exchange, a cop came into the store and asked if that was me on the radio just then...

...Ok, I was sure it was a radio bit. I told the cop, "Yeah, it was me, and they were trying to set my girl up on a date with some guy who called in." The cop laughed and said something else and then left. After that, curious people came in out of the woodwork. Everybody wanted to know if that was me on the radio and was the morning shift girl really my girlfriend... yeah, that was me; yes, she's really my girlfriend. I think the guy who made the call even came in, because when I explained for the umpteenth time that yes, she's my girlfriend, he seemed disappointed as he looked down and shuffled out of the store. Also, one customer gave me a description of the guy who had originally called the radio station, and this particular guy matched the description he had given of himself on the air.

Later I became curious as to what radio station it was that had called, so used star 69 and got the number. This is the conversation which ensued:

Me: "What radio station is this?"
Him: "It doesn't matter."
Me: "What?"
Him: "You missed your big chance, so it doesn't matter now. You don't need to know."
Me: "What big chance?"
Him: "It doesn't matter now because you blew it."
Me: "What radio station is this?"
Him: "You can't get your chance back dude, so just forget it. You blew it."
Me: "I don't know what chance you're talking about. I'm just curious as to what radio station it was that called the store."
Him: "I already told you, it doesn't matter. You blew your chance."
Me: "Ok, what chance did I blow?"
Him: "It doesn't matter. You don't need to know now."

-pause-

By this time I've figured out that the chance he's referring to is having the store advertised on the radio, which by the way, I could give two hoots about.

-resume-

Me: "You mean the chance to set my girlfriend up on a date with some random Joe Schmoe on live radio? Excuse me if I don't exactly jump for joy."
Him: "You could have told us it was your girlfriend. But no, you just kept hanging up."
Me: "What are you talking about? I told you she was my girl. Several times."
Him: "No, you didn't."
Me: "Yes, I did. Several times."
Him: "No you didn't.
Me: "You're lying! I can't believe this..."
Him: "Well, we have the whole thing recorded, you know."
Me: "Play it back then, right now so everybody can hear it, because I distinctly remember you telling me that I was live and on the air and it was right after that I told you that she was my girl -"

***click***

He hangs up on me and they won't accept any more calls from me. Well, that's the end of that, I thought, except for the deluge of customers coming in all day and asking "Is this the 7-Eleven that was on 97.1 The Eagle, the Lex and Terry show, earlier this morning?" and "Is she really your girlfriend?" To which I answered, "Yes, this is the store, yes, she's my girl." I must have answered that same couple of questions 50 times that day. At least I found out which station it was that called, and even the particular morning show.

Later I noticed a message on my phone. I'd had the ringer turned off because the night before I was at church, and I'd forgotten to turn it back on. Anyway, the message was from those schmucks at the radio station. They wanted me to call back the next morning at 6:00 am for another radio bit. Well, I was tempted to, just so that I could get in a few words edgewise now that I knew exactly what was going on, but I couldn't because it was just Leah and I working the next morning... if there had been a third person, I could have spared the time. So, I guess their show had to survive without me.

However, we had customers coming in all that next morning telling us that Lex and Terry were talking all kinds of crap about me, saying that Leah wasn't really my girlfriend and that I just didn't want anyone else going out with her because I was too chicken to ask her myself. I also heard reports from various customers that I was too chicken to call in to their show. Well, radio guys are known for doing that kind of thing, as they get their ratings by bashing others while seeming unbashable themselves. That's cool, whatever earns them a buck.

It was definitely an interesting thing to happen to me though, and now the entire Dallas/Ft. Worth metroplex, along with every radio station in the United States of America which carries that show (it's syndicated nationwide) knows that a guy named Ash is dating the cute morning girl at the 7-Eleven on Oak St. in Denton, TX.