A dream - hanging day

Leah and I were above a vast map of the Earth, and we were flying over it, but she was having trouble navigating it. I told Leah to grab onto the horizon, and pull it towards her, as opposed to trying to move towards it. She did that, and we flew across the landscape together. We passed over houses, lakes, trees, and mountains. We flew over a field that had words cut into it like a crop circle, advertising a band called 'The Pigs', dressed in heavy metal biker jackets. We both thought it was funny. Then I realized that we were right over Michigan. We started to descend rapidly, and I found myself in the college library where she had taken me when we were there together. I looked for her, but she was gone and I was there alone. I called out Leah's name loudly, but she was nowhere to be found. A guy who was working there, a bartender of all things, got very angry at me for making noise. He approached me and threatened me. He pushed me against the wall, and I pushed him back. He tried to hit me, and we fought. I finally pushed him against a wall which butted up against a part of the ceiling that was lower than the rest of the ceiling. His head hit this part and lacerated his scalp badly, and he just stood there crying.

Then I found myself lying down on a couch at Fr. Justin's house. But the house was old and rustic, almost like the inside of a barn... but I think more like an old log cabin. I felt very fatigued, and it was an effort just to keep my eyes open and to sit up straight. Fr. Just was showing me a piece of wax that had been formed from a rectangular wooden box, with the bottom of the mold having some kind of design engraved in it. The piece of wax was shaped like the box, with the design on top. I wanted to get a closer look and asked Fr. Justin if I could see it, but he handed me the box, not the wax. I started to sink deeper into the couch, feeling very very tired. Then he showed me an icon, but it wasn't painted, it was engraved. I sat up higher, and had a little more energy. He showed me another icon, but this one had been cut through the wood, with the parts of the wood that were missing forming the shape of the icon figure. I became greatly interested.

Then it was Leah showing me icons, but I lost interest and turned my head to the right and watched TV. I forgot that she was there trying to show me icons, and just watched a silly sitcom on TV. After it was over, I laughed and turned to you to see if Leah had thought it was funny too. She was still holding the icon, waiting patiently for me to finish watching TV. I realized that I had forgotten all about her.

After all that happened, I was homeless and wandering through the streets of Mt. Pleasant. I saw a litter of kittens, barely a week or two old, thin and starving, playing with each other and rolling around in muddy puddles. I felt sorry for the kitties, and I had some food in my pocket... part of a muffin, I think... and I put it down for them to eat. I kept walking, and my old friend Clint was with me. He tried to get me to take a shortcut through the yards of people we didn't know. I didn't want to do this, but I did anyway. In one yard, the people who lived there saw us, and I panicked and ran. I came to a fence that was electrified, but I was able to crawl under it. There was a larger wooden fence beyond it, and I climbed over it, but my clothes got hung on it and ripped.

Then I was in a desert, still homeless and wandering. I saw a little boy in the distance, and army Bradley vehicles were moving towards the boy. They were going to shoot at a terrorist who was driving a jeep towards the boy, and I was afraid the boy would be hurt, but I couldn't do anything. The gunner in the Bradley fired, and the jeep turned over and the terrorist was killed. However, the little boy wasn't hurt, and he approached the wreckage and stole an AK-47 which had fallen out of the jeep.

The boy went home and the village elders questioned him on where he got the gun, but he wouldn't talk. Finally he said that his dad had given it to him, and this infuriated the elders. They said that they would have to hang his dad. However, the boy didn't have a father, and he snickered under his breath at this. When the elders found out the boy didn't have a dad, they said that they would hang him instead. Some villagers protested that he was just a little boy and shouldn't be hung like an adult, so the elders decided to just show the boy how they hang criminals.

It was 'Hanging Day', a holiday that happened every week for this tribe. They took the boy to a gallows, where about five men were lined up. Ropes were put around the necks of these men, and they were slowly hoisted off of the ground. Their hands were tied, and they could only struggle vainly as they slowly choked to death. The boy watched all of this, moving from one man to the other, observing each one closely as each one of them choked. It took a long, long time for them to die.

SHEEE-IT

Today I sold a knitted rex rabbit scarf, a pair of shearling gloves, and a shearling hat! Yee haw. And right before that, there was a group of people sitting on the bench across the hall snickering because I didn't have any business. Everybody usually goes right into the Harley store, because... hey, it's a Harley store, and the guy who runs it is a Harley guy. He wears a Harley Davidson t-shirt under a leather vest, blue jeans with a Harley belt buckle, cool harness biker boots, and a Harley bandanna, with black highway patrol shades completing the ensemble. I have to admit, he looks almost as cool as me decked out in my fur selling duds. Anyway, I digress...

So, this group of people were sitting across the hall, talking about my merchandise. I have several fur hats for sale, all of them in the Russian Trooper style. The shearling hats cost 79 dollars, and the rex rabbit hats cost 149 dollars. One of the guys walked up and picked up a hat and tried it on. His friend hollered from the bench:

"How much is it? 20 dollars?"
"Sheee-it naw. This is 150 bucks."
"150 bucks? Sheee-IT! No wonder they ain't got no business!"
(The one guy puts the hat back)
"Yeah, they're all going into the Harley store, and I don't blame em! 150 bucks for a hat? Sheee-IT!"
"Har har har har! Is all that stuff a hunert sumpin bucks? Them scarfs ain't worth a hunert sumpin bucks!"
"Sheee-it naw, it's just a knit scarf! Sheee-IT!"

And on and on and on, making fun of my little corner of merchandise. Well, I wanted to say to those guys, "You're all full of SHEEE-IT!" but I didn't. I just stood there and read my book.

Well, about 10 minutes later, a guy and his wife walked up and started looking at the hats. They picked out a shearling hat and the guy tried it on.

"Well honey, is that what you're looking for?"
"Well I dunno hun, I think so." (he looks in the mirror) "What do you think?"
"Well it's your birthday, so get whatever you want."

So the lady bought the hat for her husband, who turns 60 tomorrow. I love it when a customer is really happy with their purchase. Another case in point:

An old lady was browsing the rex rabbit knitted scarves. She asked her granddaughter for her opinion... the blue one or the grey one? I personally thought that the grey one would go better with more, since it's a neutral color.

"I like the grey one gramma, it will match more of your clothes. The blue one is just for fun."
"Thanks sweetie. I'll take the grey one!" She moved over to the shearling gloves and tried on the first pair she saw. They fit beautifully. "And the gloves too!"

As I was writing up her purchase, she told me about how she had saved and saved for this cruise, and had just enough mad money left over to buy a totem pole. Well, the totem pole next door in the ivory store cost 3000 dollars, and all she had was 200. So, she bought the scarf and the gloves instead, for 150 bucks. She was so happy, her grin split her face from ear to ear. That's what I really like, see? When a person is so happy with their purchase, it makes me happy too.

So take that, you bunch of hicks who were ragging on my little fur corner!

Lydia

This morning I got to the store early. Lydia said "Hi!" as I started to set up. Lydia... Carol is her name, but she's changing it to Lydia. I've been wanting to ask her why she's changing her name, and thought that now would be a good time to ask her. I walked into the jewelry store:

"Hi Elias!"
"Hi, Lydia. Hey, if you don't mind my asking, and if it's not too personal, why are you changing your name to Lydia? I'm sorry if I'm butting into something that isn't any of my business."

As it turns out, it was a very personal question, but she didn't even flinch. She smiled and said:

"Oh no, it's ok. I just got out of a horrible 20 year relationship, and I can't stand to have my name associated with his, so I'm changing it from Carol to Lydia." By that, I guess she meant that her first name and his last name had been associated together for so long, that she didn't want any trace of her name to be his anymore.

Then she proceeded to describe a horror movie she saw once, about how a lady had just experienced something terrible and was frantically trying to scrub herself clean in the shower. She scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, trying to get clean... not from any kind of physical dirt, but from the traumatic experience she had gone through.

"That's how I feel after this 20 year marriage," she said. "My dirvorce is final next month."

I didn't know what to say. When I qualified her possible denial of my request to know why she was changing her name as maybe being too personal, I had no idea it would be THAT personal. I stammered out something like "I'm sorry..."

She took pity on me and changed the subject by asking me why I was changing my name to Elias. I described my baptism to her... yet ANOTHER conversation that came back to that story... and the smile which erupted threatened to split her face from ear to ear.

"We need to share some fellowship then!" And she proceeded to come out from behind the counter to give me a big, heartfelt hug which lasted for about ten seconds. I was completely taken aback and overwhelmed by this completely selfless expression of camaraderie and love.

That was yesterday. This morning when I showed up at the store, Lydia came over and said this:

"What's your name again? I mean, how do I pronounce it?"
"Elias." I spoke it clearly and kind of slowly... it's a simple name, I think.
"Here, write it down for me." She produced a paper and pen. "I'm so heartbroken right now that I stammer and stutter every time I try to say your new name."

Again, I didn't really know what to say to that. I wrote it down and she smiled and waved and walked away.

Later today, I was standing here counting ceiling tiles again, and painting my nails black, when Lydia walks up:

"Bored yet?"
"Yeah, I need a recharge."
"Maybe this will help!"

She proceeds to give me a great big, long hug. Smiles all around.

Another day in Alaska

Today I walked to work again and got all sweaty on the way. I want to get my exercise, but showing up to work all sweaty sucks. Plus, we have these roll down doors that use a machine with gears and chains to open and close them, and of course, one of my doors isn't working. So, we have to leave it open, which means that when we close, we have to move all of the merchandise into another store which isn't being used right now so it will be secure. Of course, this is great fun, showing up to work and having to set up everything, and having to tear it all down at the end of the day. We used to do that on the road... hey, I'm not on the road, I'm in Alaska! Why do I still have to set up and tear down every day?! The owner of the building, Lynn, had to go fishing yesterday when the door broke, so he just told me to 'figure it out'. Ok, I tried to 'figure it out', but I'm not a mechanical engineer. Thus, my solution is to tear down and set up every day until Lynn hires somebody to fix it. That might be a long wait. I'm not trying to imply anything by mentioning that he's Jewish, by the way... but he's Jewish. He's actually a very nice guy. He knows that I'm a recent convert to Orthodoxy, and before he went fishing and left me there with the broken door, we had a really nice conversation in which he told me that he had just discovered Jesus. This is just another example of what I was talking about yesterday, in that my conversations with people tend to flow towards my baptism and the Glory of Jesus Christ. I feel blessed to be here, truly I do. I just miss St. Maximus. I can't wait until I get to visit the church at Juneau and receive communion again.

Today there was a lot of slow time again, so I used some of it to sketch a portrait of this girl who was sitting on a bench across the hall.



As you can see from the picture, she looks like she might be a little sad or somewhat depressed. So, it was slow and I was bored, so I sketched a picture of her as she sat there on the bench. There was a coat rack which was blocking my view of her, so I frequently had to stand up get get a good look, then sit back down and sketch what I remembered. Once she looked up as I was standing up, and it was completely obvious that I was standing up to look at her. I sat back down as if my butt was made of steel and the stool was a superconducting electromagnet, and I just sat still for a minute or two. I don't know why it's always so embarrassing when somebody catches you looking at them, but such is life.

Once I had finally finished the sketch, I looked up again and saw that she was gone. Damn! I was wanting to give her the picture to cheer her up. I hurried downstairs to look for her, but didn't see her. I went outside and looked up and down the streets, but no dice. She had disappeared. All I wanted was to maybe cheer her up a little, because she looked like she was having a bad day.

This morning I was really missing St. Maximus. I tried to imagine what was going on during the liturgy at certain times as I was going about my business. I imagined Fr. Justin giving the homily, the choir singing the Litany of the Catechumens, and everybody taking communion. As it turns out, I was an hour late with these imaginings, which made me miss home even more. I've thought several times since I've been here that I might have made a huge mistake, that I've landed in a den of inequity, but then something will happen that reminds me of God and how He is in my life, even way up here on Mars, and I'll take heart again. Not having my prayer book was discouraging at first, but then I just started saying the Lords Prayer and reading the Lenten Prayer of St. Ephrem. I have Leah to thank for that, because she wrote it down for me a year ago and I've had it in my wallet since then.

I miss you:

Leah
Nancy
Mike
Ben
Leif
Louise
Pam
Jessica
The Birthisels
The Lydas
Fr. Justin
Matushka

And all of the parishioners at St. Maximus.

Pray for me please, I'm praying for you guys.

Alaska - a day at work

So far, working in this store is about as exciting a painting my fingernails black, which is what I've been doing all day. I'll paint one, let it dry for about 20 minutes, then add a layer of clear coat, and let that dry for 20 minutes. Then I'll wait 20 more minutes, and start on the next nail. I already did my left hand yesterday, and I've been working on the right today. I got here at 10:00 and now it's 3:09, and I just finished the pinkie of my right hand. Isn't that interesting?

Today is Saturday, so there is only one ship docked. Therefore, there are hardly any people walking the docks and browsing the shops. I'll probably close early, around 4:00, or whenever the Harley store closes. They usually close early on slow days, and what with it being Saturday, I figure I only have about another hour here.

A girl named Madelaine works with her mom in the jewelry store next to where I work, and on my first day, they both stopped by to introduce themselves. It went something like this:

Mom - "Hi, I'm Carol, and this is my daughter Madelaine."
Daughter - "Most people just call me Mattie."
Me - "Hi guys, I'm Ash. Nice to meet you." I shake hands with both of them.
Mom - "I'm actually changing my name to Lydia, so you can call me that if you want to (I don't know why she's changing her name, I need to ask her).
Me - "Hey, that's funny, because I just changed my name to Elias."
Mom - "Really? What a nice name, Elias. Why are you changing your name?"

At this point I described my recent baptism, and how I adopted a saints name.

Mom - "Ok, nice meeting you Elias."
Daughter - "Nice meeting you."

(exit mom and daughter)

Since I've been here, every conversation I've had with someone I haven't known has naturally evolved into my conversion story. The first day I was here, I was outside taking pictures and a lady saw me and asked if I was taking pictures of eagles. I said no, I'm just taking pictures for a friend back home. And that conversation turned into a description of my conversion. She happened to be a Christian, and it was just the coolest conversation with a total stranger, winding up with both of us wishing each other blessed journeys. God is here in Alaska.

So far I've walked about 10 miles since I've been here. It's really pretty country out here and there are plenty of places to walk. This morning I saw an eagles butt, and I'll have to take a picture and post it. It is a persistent eagles butt... you just have to see it to know what I mean. Another cool thing that happened is that I got carded at Mikes Elbow Room, a sports bar. I said to the waitress, "Hey, thanks!" She looked at me funny, then looked at my license and said "WTF?" Then I said "YAY!" Then Ed and Scott and I had some beers.

What else? Lets see... the apartment where I live has many different flavors. The first floor flavor is hair salon perm, and depending on the floor at which the elevator stops, there will be different flavors. Last night the elevator tasted like eggs. The 9th floor always tastes like fish. And the 5th floor tastes like a dead corpse. I haven't tasted any of the other floors yet, but I'm looking forward to it.

Fr. Justin mentioned that this apartment building looks like Soviet architecture... and yeah, it does. Square, ugly, and pale green. And big. I like it! Yesterday while I was standing at the window, smoking a cigarette, I could see the rain falling in sheets against the backdrop of the local mountain. It was really visible with the green of the trees behind the rain. Maybe that's why they use green screens in movies to composite stuff.



So, as I type this, I'm hungry. I forgot to make a sandwich before work, so I have to sit here and endure starvation. Until tomorrow...

My trip into outer space

I've been in Alaska now for four days. Here in Greenland internet technology is still in its infancy, so getting online depends greatly on whether or not the transistors and vacuum tubes of the 486DX server in the underground bunker are being maintained correctly by the local population of Aztecs, who are only here to work off enormous debts incurred during the Great Astec vs. Inuit Wars of 1993. Which, ironically, were fought to determine which tribe would have control over the emerging internet here at the North Pole. The Aztecs lost, and therefore were forced to relocate to Antarctica to work off their debt as IT technicians. They're not very good at it, and they don't like the liquid methane lakes which are ubiquitous here on Titan, which smell really bad. As a result, they aren't very happy and the internet isn't maintained very well here.

Anyway, the flight to Seattle was pretty uneventful, but long. I always forget how much I really don't like to fly until I'm on my way to the airport, which I suppose is better than stressing out for several days before the flight. There wasn't a whole lot of turbulence, thankfully, which is really what sets my nerves on edge. Plus, during the flight to Seattle, I was constantly distracted because my seat happened to be right next to the 'flight attendant nook', which was a little empty spot where the the flight attendants gathered and gossiped during the flight. It's amazing actually, on this flight anyway, how much the flight attendants don't do, as opposed to, say, handing out peanuts and taking orders for rum and cokes. Being a scant several inches away from the group of four attendants, I was privy to all kinds of personal information which they bandied about like a whiffle ball, such as how great a workout each of them got on the 'Total Gym'. I know the blonde's jumprope endurance record, I know how far the brunette can run on the treadmill, and I know the exact route of the older, wise one who started in California, flew to Dallas, then to Seattle, and back to California. It was so interesting. And to top it off, the flight attendant station was the only place on the entire plane with any room to stand, and everybody who was waiting for the bathroom, throughout the entire flight, stood right there, so I got about a dozen butts just several inches away from my head, for several minutes at a time, for 4 hours, as everybody waited for their turns.

One attendant, the older wise one, was very nice to me. I kept refusing beverages because I didn't want to have to get up and stand there in the designated bathroom / flight attendant nook for the bathroom (which happened to be right next to the emergency door, so if that thing happened to spring open, out I would fly, and I don't really like flying), and after the third refusal, this flight attendant got very concerned and wanted to know if the other attendants were ignoring me. I think she really wanted me to have a ginger ale.

Then the four hour layover in Seattle happened to me. First off, the Seattle airport is shaped like a giant X, which seems to be an extremely inefficient way to design an airport. In order to get to gate E, you have to walk down one length of the X and then down another length of the X, down two flights of stairs, then you have to wait for a train, which will finally deposit you somewhere in the vicinity of gate E. When I finally arrived there, it was only to learn that a Los Angeles flight had usurped our gate and departure time (apparently Los Angeles is more important than some podunk town at the North Pole), so I had to backtrack all the way to where I started so that I could wait for four hours at gate D. I got a lot of exercise though, so I guess... no, it still sucked. And to top it off, I left my prayer book on the train. Maybe somebody will find it and get some use out of it.

The plane to Ketchikan was only about 1/5 full, which was awesome. I had three seats all to myself, and I promptly fell asleep during the entire flight. When I finally arrived, it was about 10:00 local time, which was 1:00 in the morning for the rest of the world. Ed had a pizza cooking and we had some beers to celebrate my arrival. I was dead tired by then, so after pizza and beer, I hit the sack for about ten hours.

Alaska

I'm leaving for Alaska today, and yesterday Leah came over to say goodbye. I couldn't believe that it was happening... we hadn't spoken to each other since April 16th. The last month and a half has seemed like a bad dream that never ends. Then yesterday I saw my girl again...

But she's not my girl. I can't lay any claim to her, but I love her so. Yesterday when I saw her, and talked to her, and spent time with her, that seemed like a dream too. My friend - my best friend. The one I love was here, I could see her, I could hear her. It didn't seem real. I was so happy.

I keep thinking though, what if things hadn't happened the way she described them to me? Would she still have wanted to see me to say goodbye? Would she have cared, or would her happiness have kept me relegated to a simple memory, a phase in her life that was over and done with? I don't know. I felt so abandoned when this all started, just cut off and thrown away and forgotten. I don't want to think like that though... the girl I love said goodbye to me, we spent time together and had fun, and it was almost like it used to be. I was so happy. I hope so much that we're friends again. It feels like we are... I think we are. I just hope I'm strong enough to be selfless about this and truly be her friend.

It hurts my heart to think that she might be feeling something similar to what I've been feeling. I wish her all the happiness in the world... and I still hold onto a fools hope, I guess, that I might be able to make her happy some day. For now, I'll be in Alaska until late September. We'll see what God has in store.

My Baptism

Saturday the 22nd. Mom called at about 7:00 and woke me up, telling me she was on her way and that she was bringing the chain for my baptismal cross. I couldn’t go back to sleep after that, so I finally got out of bed at 8:00, put on a t-shirt, shorts and sneakers, and headed out the door, intent on taking a long walk to work off some of the nervous anxiety I was feeling. I was supposed to be at the church at 9:45, so I had about an hour and a half.

Mom arrived at my place at 9:15. The walk hadn’t helped at all; I was still a ball of frazzled nerves. Imagine a rubber band pulled almost to the breaking point and then ‘thrummed’ constantly, causing little strips of stressed rubber to pop away and curl up. Imagine these pieces of curly popped rubber band pieces getting tangled up with other little pieces that have popped and curled; finally forming a tangled ball of frayed rubber band ends which are constantly being stretched even more as new frayed ends are added to the tangle. What you’re left with finally is a frazzled ball of split rubber band ends, constantly snapping and reforming under the tension as the tangles get denser and denser. That’s how I felt.

Ok, now that we’ve established the mood, mom and I drove over to my sisters place to pick her up. As we pulled up to her house, I remembered the chain for my cross... mom hadn’t shown it to me yet, and I was anxious to see it. “Okay honey, hold on...” Mom dug around in her purse and produced a small box, which she presented to me with an expectant smile. I opened it and withdrew a very pretty silver chain. Almost too pretty... wait a minute. What are those teeny tiny little sparkly things? What is this? A diamond dust chain? I winced inwardly. It seemed kind of feminine to me... but mom was waiting for my reaction. “I love it mom!”

Knocking on my sister’s front door and being immediately confronted with two huge dogs, both of them scrambling to be the first to bestow it’s slobbery, dirty pawed, scratchy clawed, crotch sniffing, wet nose rubbing, nerve wrangling affection upon us did nothing to help my nervous state, especially after having discovered that the chain for my baptismal cross would look just about right on Arwen Evenstar. I greeted the dogs. “GIT!” It came out loud, gruff, and no-nonsense. After a brief greeting, my sister quickly ushered the two dogs into the back yard. Chey and mom then disappeared into the bedroom where Chey was getting ready.

As I kind of just milled around there in the entry foyer, waiting for the women folk to finish whatever it is they do to get ready, I fairly shouted into the bedroom, “Mom, show my chain to Chey and see what she thinks!” Chey and mom ceased their talking about mother-daughter things and I listened as mom showed the chain to my sister. She didn’t hesitate with her verdict: “It’s too feminie, mom!” I knew it... it’s too feminine, my baptism will be ruined! Mom, why didn’t you get a guy chain for me? I don’t want to bear my baptismal cross on a little girly chain! I hurried to the bedroom and implored Chey to find me some kind of chain, any kind of silver chain she might have around the house. Every chain my sister showed me was either too long, too gold, too weird, or too tangled. My frustration grew and started to spill over into my mom and my sister.

I had just about decided to drive back to the house and grab my old crucifix chain - which used to belong to my grandmother - and use that for my baptismal cross. I asked mom what time it was as I was poised at the front door, keys in hand and ready to go. “9:35 honey. You still have time!” I stopped right there with the screen door half open. No, I didn’t still have time... and then it hit me. I was letting the enemy have his way with me again! AGAIN! He was ruining my baptismal morning! My stupid pride was messing everything up and making everybody tense and me miserable. Stupid pride. I took some deep breaths, calmed down, and asked to see the chain my mom had gotten me again. She gave it to me, and upon closer inspection, it really was just a normal silver chain. There wasn’t anything sparkly on it at all... it just had very fine simulated rope threads running up and down it’s length which, upon a mere cursory glance, gave the illusion of sparkling. It was actually quite nice, and there wasn’t anything feminine about it when viewed closely. And who really gives a flying horses patoot if it’s feminine, anyway? I laughed and let out some of my anxiety. Things were going to be ok. It was just a chain, and it was a nice chain. My mom loves me, and I had probably hurt her feelings by dissing her chain. I told her that the chain was fine, it was perfect in fact, and that I loved it, which is the truth. So, by this time it was getting late, and we had to GIT to the CHURCH!

I remember very clearly everything that happened before we arrived at the church. However, once we arrived, my memory starts to get a little sketchy, and it gets worse as this account of my baptism progresses. Hopefully I'm remembering everything in basically the right order, as when I'm flustered, nervous or anxious, it's hard to remember things clearly, and I was definitely flustered, nervous and anxious. When we got to the church I introduced my mom around to Dax and Nancy and Louise. Then I laid my cross on a little table with all of the other baptismal crosses, and just kind of wandered around for a while and talked to a few people. Then I saw Leah standing across the room and my heart leaped into my throat. Ok, there’s Leah... I had written her, telling her that I wanted her to come and that it was ok for her to come. It just wouldn’t have been the same without her there, but I was surprised that it was so painful seeing her there, with neither of us giving any indication that we'd noticed each other. As if we were strangers. I stood there for a little while longer with my mom and my sister, kind of thrown into a spin, and then I walked over to Leah and gave her a hug and said “Thanks for coming.” I think that was the first thing I’d said to her in over a month. She smiled and returned my hug and I went back over to my mom and sister and stood some more, waiting for things to start.

Next all of the catechumens and our sponsors went out into the hall, where we went through the 'Reception into the Catechumenate’ ceremony. We had already done this once several weeks ago, but it made sense to do it again to refresh our memories and strengthen our resolve. Fr. Justin performed exorcisms and we all renounced the enemy. Then we all turned to the west and spit on him. I wasn’t able to really get a good nasty spit for the enemy like I wanted to, or else I would have slobbered all over the books in the bookstore. I satisfied myself with just making it really loud.

Now my memory of things gets a little vague, becoming more of a disconnected jumble of images, sounds and sensations. I remember standing over by the bay windows with hardly any room to move around at all. I balanced on one foot for a while, then the other, and finally settled for resting one knee on the bench-like part of the bay window, with one hand leaning against the wall. It wasn't a comfy position, and I couldn’t see very well. Plus, I had a burning candle to deal with, and it was a challenge not to light something on fire... like Fr. Justin’s robes, which came pretty close several times to my candle flame. Hot wax dripped onto my hand a few times, adding more stress to a stressful situation. I inwardly screamed like a woman when this happened.

Fr Justin baptized the babies first, and then one by one we all climbed into the fount, and Fr. Justin dunked each of us three times: “In the name of the Father,” ... DUNK ... “and the Son,” ... DUNK... “and the Holy Spirit.” ... DUNK ... “Amen.” When I got in the water, my pants and shirt immediately inflated like balloons. Oh boy... nice. I didn’t see anybody else inflate like a balloon when they climbed into the fount. I was worried that I would be too buoyant with my clothes puffed up with air, and that I wouldn’t be able to get all the way under water. It wasn’t a problem though, and I crossed my arms in front of me, held my nose, and went under three times. It's difficult to describe how it felt... almost like a brief, sharp panic every time my head went under. I was actually afraid that I might drown when I was under water. When it was finished, I kind of remember just being on autopilot, as my brain wasn't really processing what had just happened. I think it's still processing it.

I was the second to the last to get dunked so I didn’t have to stand around soaking wet, waiting respectfully as everybody else got dunked... I only had to wait for one more person. So when all of the baptisms were finished, I went into a back room and changed into dry clothes. Then when we came back out, Fr. Justin bestowed our baptismal crosses upon us. I haven’t taken mine off yet, although it tangles with my hair when I’m sleeping. That’s ok though, I can deal with that. This cross ain’t coming off, come hell or high water.

Once again, this day is kind of a blur, so the next thing I remember after getting dressed and coming back into the church is the ‘smocking of the gown’. At least, that’s how I think of it, as when we don the baptismal gowns it’s not so much you putting the gown on yourself, as it is getting smocked by Dax and Fr. Justin. So I raised my arms and this gown was pulled down over me and around me and onto me, kind of like how I would imagine it if it were being done on an assembly line. Very efficient. By the way, I think the process should be called 'dunked, smocked, and greased’, instead of just 'dunked and greased’.

So now we are all standing a little closer to the altar, where the chrismation is performed, or what some people call ‘getting greased’. All of the catechumens were anointed with oil on our eyes (that’s the eyelids, not the eyeballs, as having oil poured into our eyes would probably suck), ears, lips, forehead, chest, back, hands, and feet. The oil kind of burned my lips a little, and I imagined myself having a rare allergic reaction and dropping dead right there in the middle of my baptism. I guess if I were going to drop dead, right then would have been the time to do it, as they say that everybody is a saint for a short while immediately after they are baptized. Then I entertained the morbid thought of someone speaking at my funeral: “He led a saintly few dozen microseconds, St. Elias the Newest.” Already canonized and everything. These are the kinds of random thoughts, or logismoi, that plague me when I’m in church. Oh, and St. Elias the New is my patron saint, by the way.

Anyway, the burning went away, and then Fr. Justin led us around the church with all of us grabbing onto his robe. Then we were led around a second time, this time through the deacons door on the right, and we entered the altar. I’d never been behind the iconostasis or inside the altar before, and I don’t remember much about it because I was so petrified by actually being back there. Fr. Justin told me to bow and venerate something, but I was so nervous that I got down and performed a full prostration and didn’t even know what I was venerating. Then I felt like a retard and got up and did the bow, and then we were led back out through the other deacons door and then we were back in front of the iconostasis again.

I’m sure I skipped a lot of stuff because this entire experience was more like a dream than something that happened to me in real life, and as such, like a dream it’s hard to remember. So this was the end of the ceremony... I was officially an Orthodox Christian, as were the other catechumens. We all stood there as the parishioners one by one greeted us and kissed us and hugged us and wished us well and many years. I endured this with a modicum of grace, I think, up until Leah approached me and gave me the Orthodox cheek kiss and hug, after which she smiled and walked away without a word. She left pretty immediately after that I guess, because I didn’t see her again.

This definitely isn’t the way I imagined my baptism happening... I always pictured it as being a lot more joyful, and that I’d be sharing it with my best friend. I’m still in a daze, kind of in shock even, because what passes for reality these days seems more like a bad dream that I should be waking up from now, any minute. It’s the dreams, not real life, that are supposed to defy logic... correct? I thought that was the way it was supposed to be, but something definitely seemed 'not quite' to me about all of this, as if one essential ingredient were missing. So I stood there, greeting the rest of the parishioners, with what felt like a God-sized hole where my heart is supposed to be. Ironic, the size and shape of that hole... I guess I should start working on getting that thing filled in.

Walking and reading again

I was walking around the neighborhood and reading, again, and I stopped off at the Howdy Doody for what-nots and hoo-jiggers. The book I'm reading is "Way of the Ascetics", which Dax gave me as a baptism gift. I skipped right to the chapter about 'Inner Warfare', which is what I'm dealing with right now. I was struck in particular by this passage:

We are saved by hope (Romans 8:24)...
...But hope that is seen is not hope.

Wha? Huh? I didn't get that at all at first, but then I read on, and it was explained that once you see hope, it isn't hope, but hope realized; that which you were hoping for.

So what is hope anyway then? I'm still a little confused about that.

So anyway, I walked into the Howdy Doody and put the book down on the counter. The girl behind the counter looked at the book and tried to pronounce the word 'ascetics'. She asked me what the word meant, and I said that it meant... ummm... an ascetic is somebody who hangs out in the desert. And... you know, like a monk or something. A desert monk. Hmmm... but more like, somebody who is religious. A religious person. But more than that, kind of... I don't know really. I guess to my knowledge an ascetic is someone who devotes themselves fully to God.

She brightened at the last part of my tumbledown explanation, and as I was leaving, she said "God Bless!"

My Icon Corner

This is my icon corner. It started with just the blessing cross, which I bought about a year ago when I first began to suspect that there might be something to this Orthodox Christianity thing, beyond the fact that my then girlfriend was an Orthodox Christian. That particular cross had been hanging on the wall in the St. Maximus the Confessor Orthodox Mission bookstore with a price tag of a hundred dollars, and after about three months of talking myself into ponying up the money for it, I finally decided one night that I would buy that cross as a symbol of what I suspected and hoped was to be a continually growing interest in, and eventual commitment to, Orthodox Christianity.

Thus began my icon corner.

Here is a close-up of the actual icons. The Christ Pantocrator and the Creation of the Universe icons on the left were given to me as gifts. The Transfiguration icon was a freebie at St. Maximus, as was the Nativity icon. I bought the two small icons at the St. Maximus book store; one is of the Guardian Angel, and I don't know what the other one is. I don't remember who I thought it was when I bought it, and I keep forgetting to take it to church to show Fr. Justin so he can tell me. The other tiny one balancing on the Nativity icon is a personal Theotokos icon given to me by Nancy.



I have placed various items in my icon corner which symbolize people in my life whom I want to remember in my prayers. Before I describe each item individually, here is a picture of all of them together:



To kick things off, we have an item which serves a double purpose, but I only realized that just now. It's a cobalt blue bottle shaped like a violin or something, maybe a standup bass. I keep holy water in it, and I also keep two bracelets which belonged to my grandmother draped over it. The bottle was given to me by Erica Helpenstiel back in 1993 as a going away gift. I don't remember if I was going away, or if it was her... you see, she was getting married and I was moving to Austin... so it's kind of fuzzy. Anyway, I kind of see this bottle as grandmothers corner of the icon corner. Grandmother was Catholic by the way, and she died last March. March of 2009, not LAST March.



Next item up for bid is a beautiful Star Trek Communicator Pin. This belonged to a friend who I never actually met. He was the owner of a website that was all about classic video game console emulation. I knew him online for about 10 years, and he became a dear friend. He died last April... 2009, not 2010... of an awful brain disease that he had kept secret. His name is Jason Melton, but a lot of us knew him as Ice. His mom sent me some of his stuff, including this pin. RIP Ice. You are remembered. I pray for you.



Here is a bottle of oil from the vigil lamp at the reliquary of Holy Hierarch St. John, Wonderworker of Shanghai and San Francisco. My friend Nancy gave me this oil on a day when I was feeling really rotten. I've heard of Holy Oil from the St. Catherine Monastery on Mt. Sinai that can heal cancer, so I anoint myself on my chest with this oil, right above my heart. I don't know if I'm doing it right, or even if holy oil can be used to help mend a broken heart, but I try anyway. Thank you Nancy.



This is a bracelet that my sister Cheyenne gave me for Christmas. It's actually a Catholic bracelet; not Orthodox, but that doesn't matter to me. I wear it to services, and when I'm not at church, I put it here in my icon corner.



Zoe, Fr. Justin's... 4 four year old daughter, gave me this 'grocery list' one day when I was painting the closet of Fr. Justin's rent house. As I sat there painting, Zoe kept constant vigil right outside the door with an endless stream of conversation. At one point, between her favorite color and Harry Potter, she solemnly handed me this grocery list. She didn't indicate what I should do with it; it was more like she had bequeathed it to me. I keep it here in my icon corner because it is a symbol of purity and innocence, and happiness. It also reminds me that love exists and life exists, and that my own little problems do not even come close to defining reality. God bless Zoe and all Orthodox families and clergy.



These are various pendants and prayer ropes/beads which I keep on my wall. The rosary belonged to my grandmother, as did the crucifix pendant. Above that is my first Orthodox cross pendant, and above that is a cross I found on the floor at 7-Eleven. The prayer rope was a Christmas gift from Nick. I keep Nicks rope there to remind me of forgiveness and reconciliation.



Here is a photograph of Leah, some of her hair that I keep woven through several rings which belong to her but which she returned to me, the Prayer of St. Ephrem which she wrote down for me to keep during Lent, and a glass bead that I found on the road while out walking, which is identical to some beads that I gave her for her birthday in 2008. Also, I keep the blue prayer rope that she gave me draped around the blue candle holder when I'm not wearing it (you can see it in the above picture of the table items). All of these things remind me to pray for Leah, and also to remind me of forgiveness and reconciliation.



I was out walking one day, immersed in despair and self pity, when I glanced down and found this rusty old pin which reads, with a bit of difficulty, "I'm Injury Free!" I imagine this pin being some kind of incentive prize for a 'safety in the workplace' campaign at some factory. What it does is to remind me that if I can read through the rust, that is... if I can clear my spiritual sight, then I too will be injury free. I will be healed. I am, in fact, already healed, if I can only allow myself to see it and make it real.



So that's my icon corner.

The End.

Guardian Angel

Just one note before bed. I forgot who told me this, but I've heard that when deep in prayer, it is sometimes possible to sense your Guardian Angel behind and slightly above your right shoulder. I have personally had the bejeezubs scared out of me on several occasions by a 'presence' which I've consistently felt in just that location. Sometimes it is a wispy something barely caught with my peripheral vision. Sometimes it is a muffled, indistinct sound. Sometimes it isn't anything I can detect with any of my senses; it's just a feeling... but every time it's behind me and a little to the right. Mostly it will happen when I'm standing up facing my icon corner and saying my nightly prayers, and once it happened while I was prostrating for several minutes.

It is definitely a spooky feeling, and on more than one occasion I've physically jumped, shuddered, shook, or dropped my prayer book. I've been experiencing some similar phenomena leading up to my baptism (I won't go into descriptive detail of these phenomena now, as I'm pretty tired and am about to hit the sack), which I believe are signs from God. I'm just sorry that it took such a perilous personal situation, this crisis which occurred about four weeks ago, to spur me into actually praying with some intent.

So, it isn't hard for me to accept the possibility that these feelings which continually occur above and behind my right shoulder are instances in which I can sense my Guardian Angel watching over me while I say my prayers before I lie down to sleep.

Today

Today I am going to be baptized. I had a horrible day yesterday. The enemy prepared a final onslaught and really let me have it. I succumbed to despair, fear, anger, and brief feelings of hate. I'll have to confess this soon.

Spiritual warfare is a real bitch. It's funny... how true this all is, that there really is an enemy who is hell bent, literally, on removing us from God and damning our souls. Back before I had any faith at all, the enemy had me in his grip, almost totally. The one spark that remained which was mine was what allowed me to build up my relationship with God through the Orthodox Church for the past year and a half. For the first year, before I was a catechumen, I still didn't really notice any spiritual warfare going on. It was only after I was made a catechumen that I began to suffer serious attacks.

Yesterday, like I said, was the heaviest, most brutal offensive of the enemy yet. And I gave in to his influence. However, he isn't going to stop me from being baptized. He has damaged my faith and my heart as a worthy vessel for the Holy Spirit. Today had the potential to be so much better, more joyous, and more pure than it is going to be. The enemy damaged me. However, he did not destroy me. My baptism is still going to occur. Things will be harder, and the road to my salvation will take longer, and I will probably suffer more setbacks because of this, but with God's Grace, and by His Will, I will persevere.

Ok, here goes.

My life confession

Yesterday I had my life confession. It lasted for two hours. It didn't seem that long, but yeah. Two hours. I don't know if that's extra long, or normal or what... anyway. I stood there in front of the iconostasis with a thing on my head, what is that thing... kind of a long scarf thing. It was a lot more like being inside something private than I thought it would be. So I had a sheaf of papers, about 16 pages, filled with junk from my life that I was going to confess.

Before I arrived at the church, I went down to the Copy Pro to print it. I wasn't looking forward to that. I'd tried to print it here at home, but the printer is completely out of ink. So, I saved it all on a flash drive and drove down to have it printed. When I got there, I plugged my flash drive into the computer, loaded it up, and hit 'print'. I looked around to see if it was printing anywhere near me, and I heard a printer warming up behind the counter. Shoot... I was hoping it would be where I could get to it quickly. So, I looked behind the counter and saw a printer spewing out page after page. After it stopped, the proprietor gathered them up and approached the counter, where he started thumbing through it. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I grabbed for it and tried to pull it away from him. He held on. I pulled harder. He held on harder. I said, "That's private." He said, "Do you know how many pages there are?" Abashed, I released my grip on the sheaf of papers and he continued to thumb through the most private and shameful parts of my life, counting pages. He finally got them all counted and mumbled, "Sheesh, I don't even have my glasses on..." and charged me a dollar ninety. I handed him a five, he gave me change, and I hurried out of there. It was exactly as bad as the worst thing I'd imagined happening.

So then I drove to the church. Of course I was pretty much scared shitless when I arrived there. I walked into the... sanctuary? Narthex? Alter? Whatever the church part is called where the congregation stands. I still don't know exactly what to call it. The church. That's where I was. Anyway, I went in there and Fr. Justin was there, and he said "Hi Ash" and I said "Hi Father" and he left through the library nook door. So, I just had a seat there. I waited for about five minutes (I had arrived at 3:30 on the dot, that's when I was scheduled) and then I started to get fidgety. I got up to see if Fr. Justin was waiting for me in the coffee room. Nope... I went back into the... church. And sat down again. I waited for another five minutes and was about to get up and go have a smoke when Fr. Justin appeared. He asked me if I needed a little time, and I said "No thanks, I'm ready." I guess that's what the 10 minutes was for... that was very considerate.

So, back to the confession. I venerated the icon and cross and Fr. Justin said some prayers, the Trisagion being one of them, and I was surprised to find myself saying it along with him. I don't have it memorized, but with someone saying it, it all comes to me. So then Fr. Justin put the... anyway, there I was standing there as I described before. I dove into my confession.

I was ok all through it until I got to the parts where I've hurt Leah, and I choked up and had to stop. The list was so long. I didn't remember writing all of that... I continued to read, time after time, again and again, how I had hurt her, and it was like having it handed to me by somebody else, telling me "You did all of this to her. You did it. You. You're guilty." And I had to stop again. It was powerful emotional. I finally got through it and continued on.

At the end, after two hours, I was tired. Fr. Justin was tired. I stretched, popped some joints, bent over, popped my back, stretched... wow, did that just happen? Then Fr. Justin and I went outside and I burned all 16 pages in this soot stained pot. I stood there, feeding page after page into that pot, watching them burn. I guess I should have felt some kind of relief after all of that, but in truth, I only felt really tired. Dead tired, grievously tired. Drained and empty. I went home and cooked some eggs, drank a beer, and fell asleep on the couch.

New house guests

Earlier tonight, I was a little concerned about Gray Kitty because I hadn't seen her since I got back from East Texas this afternoon. Matt said that she'd been gone all day, and that he was starting to wonder about her, too. Apparently what happened was that she caught a big dose of fleas from some other neighborhood cat, so Matt put some kind of flea treatment on her that she didn't like one iota. She ran off as a result and hasn't been around for most of the day. Gray Kitty doesn't normally stay gone for most of the day like this, but I guess getting dosed with flea spray is a pretty good reason for making herself scarce.

Anyway, around 11:00 I opened the front door to call for Gray Kitty, and what did I see? Not Gray Kitty, but a completely different kitty altogether:



? Thought I. I knelt down and called to the new kitty, and to my surprise, she ran up to me and started rubbing my hand! Well, this endears me pretty quickly to kitties when they are friendly, so I petted the new kitty for a good long while, letting her (I think it's a she) rub against my ankles and legs. I wanted to pick her up, so I finally decided to risk getting scratched and hefted her up to my chest. She didn't fuss at all... she actually liked it, which is kind of rare in my experience with kitties. Even Gray Kitty doesn't like to be held unless she's the one who decides that I'm going to hold her, and usually that means she's going to allow me to let her curl up on my lap.



After that, guess who got jealous and ran up? Gray Kitty! Now, Gray Kitty probably is used to me chasing off all of the neighborhood cats when they come prowling around, so I'm guessing that when I didn't immediately chase off this new kitty, Gray Kitty might have been a little confused or even miffed. Apparently she'd just been biding her time, watching this new kitty and seeing what was going to happen. When I finally picked up the new kitty, I don't think Gray Kitty was too thrilled, which is why she chose that moment to reveal herself. So, I picked up the Gray Kitty and gave her some love too. Now, this whole cat jealousy thing might just be all in my head, but it's fun to imagine.



After I put Gray Kitty down, the other kitty was immediately interested. I didn't want to see a cat fight, so I got ready to chase the other one off. However, nothing really happened. The new kitty followed Gray Kitty around the yard for a little bit, and Gray Kitty tolerated her as long as she didn't get too close. Gray Kitty hissed once at the new kitty, but that was it.



For some reason, Gray Kitty attracts every single neighborhood cat within several blocks. However, Gray Kitty has never gone into heat, and I know what a cat in heat looks and acts like, thanks to a kitty who I used to hang out with not too long ago. During her 'time of the month', this particular feline seemed to be of the opinion that I was her boyfriend. Aggravating, let me tell you.

I figure there are two possibilities... either Gray Kitty is spayed, or she is in kitty menopause. This means that either she is still pretty hot for an old lady, or that she's just super cool and all the other cats want to hang out with her all the time. Maybe she's a celebrity kitty; she is a pretty fearsome huntress, and I wouldn't be surprised if she has some fans.

About those fleas... unfortunately, Gray Kitty does have a pretty bad case of them. Just now I found one crawling on my arm, so I either got that one when I picked up Gray Kitty, or they're actually in the house on the furniture. Yeesh. I wonder if a bug bomb will kill a house full of fleas? And Gray Kitty probably caught them from the new kitty, and I had that one all cuddled up next to my hair...

Oh well. I'l get some flea dip for Gray Kitty tomorrow, and see about bug bombing the house. Sorry Gray Kitty, but you can't sleep in my bed until the fleas are gone. :\

East Texas tour of memories

I took a trip out to Omaha today to look at the site where the old house burned. Well, it's gone for sure. Burned all right, burned slap up and down to the ground. There's nothing left... no trace of anything except part of the brick foundation, some crumbled concrete, a few bits of porcelain, and some broken glass.



Turns out it's been burned for about a year, although when Leah and I drove down here last spring to visit and do some sight seeing, the house was still standing. I forgot what month that was... probably about this time last year. So, the house was still standing last May, and it probably burned down some time very soon after that. All I could find in the ashes that I recognized was a charred doorknob. And that's really all that remains of the house, so I took it.



About a quarter mile down the road is my grandma's old house, which I decided to check out next. My mom and brother and sister moved to Leesburg when my mom got married in the middle of my 8th grade year, and I didn't want to leave in the middle of the school year so I lived with grandma and grandpa in that house until the summer of '85. Then I moved to Leesburg that fall and had to start high school as a new kid. It really sucked, having to leave all of my friends who I had grown up with, and being super shy made it even worse. I wound up making some good friends there, though, and the Pittsburg High School Band was really good; we actually made it to the state marching contests three times while I was in high school. What made that particularly awesome for me was that I was the 'highlight' of the marching drill at the state marching competition. I got to stand on the sidelines while playing a really complicated, cool euphonium solo with all of the cute majorettes posing in front of me, on either side, and behind me, forming this sparkly halo of sequined bodies, rays of silver batons thrust outward in all directions to accentuate the star attraction, ME! That kind of treatment worked wonders for a 16 year old ego, let me tell ya. Anyway, I really digressed there for a minute... where was I? Oh yeah. Here are some pictures of grandmas house.


Here's the living room, where I took my piano lessons. The piano is still there, as well as grandma's organ, but I lifted the key cover to play something and was disappointed to see that it's all stuffed with what looks like some kind of animal nest.



Here's the kitchen. The microwave and toaster ovens are still there, which kind of surprised me. Somebody had stolen the air conditioners a few years ago.



Grandma's front room. This was my bedroom when I lived here.



So that's a tour of the family land in East Texas. Lots of memories there, but I think it's over now. I wonder what will happen next?

No trip to East Texas is complete without visiting the old Methodist church. This is the church I attended when I was a little boy, and my dad was the choir director there until about 1980, I think, and my grandma played the organ for years. My brother and I were the 'candle boys' or something, I forgot the official title. We lit the candles at the beginning of the service and put them out after. I have good memories of that church, which I think is the reason why I never completely gave up on the idea of God. My idea of church was always pews, stained glass, a choir, an organ, and candles in a real, bona fide church, not some civic center or warehouse with a stage and a rock band and folding chairs for the congregation. I didn't like those 'new wave' churches with rock bands and stomping and clapping. Something about the lack of order didn't seem right to me. I always knew that if I ever had a church again, then my kind of church would have to be conservative. This church, the Methodist church in Omaha, is the type of church I always pictured myself attending if I ever 'got right with God'. Taking that into consideration, it makes perfect sense that the Orthodox church appealed to me so much, almost instantly. So anyway, yup. Here's the Methodist church.



Now we have some pictures of the drive from Omaha to Pittsburg, going the 'Cason-way'. That's the scenic route. Observe the sign that says 'Cason'. See? I'm giving an authentic tour.



More scenery between Cason and Pittsburg.



And finally, right turn on Highway 11 towards Pittsburg.



After I got into Pittsburg, I hit an oil road and took this picture. I used to like driving on oil roads just for the hell of it in the spring. It's always prettiest in the spring. I feel painful nostalgia for East Texas when I'm there at this time of year.



So, moving on. Next on the tour is a railroad crossing where I was almost killed late one night when I was about 22. What happened was this: I was heartbroken over some girl (a recurring phenomenon for me throughout my life, you'd think I would learn, right?) and I was driving very slowly out in the country with Pearl Jam's 'Black' playing at full volume (that's the perfect song for indulging in self pity that comes with a freshly broken heart). I was so absorbed in my weeping and drinking (I had a quart of Busch beer between my legs) that I didn't hear the train at all, or even notice that one was coming. So, about - lets say, half a second, to be safe - after I crossed those tracks, a train blew past right behind me. There was probably about a foot of clearance between the rear end of my car and the train as it whizzed by, and let me tell you, that jolted me right out of that little episode of 'poor me' I had been indulging in. I can imagine the article in the newspaper describing how I bought the farm:

"Local man ends own life over unrequitted love by driving in front of a train."

Yeesh! And it wouldn't have even been true! But that's how I would have gone down in history, as some schmuck who parked his car in front of a speeding train because some chick didn't have the same googley eyes for him as he did for her.

By the way, the reason why it's all half upside-down and weirdly is because I took two photos, one from each direction, and didn't know what to do with them, so I just connected them there in the middle.



So, anyway... lastly I stopped by the prayer tower in Pittsburg. The prayer tower was built in the early 90's by Bo Pilgrim, the chicken guy. You know, Pilgrim's Pride chicken. Anyway, it's his prayer tower, and I always felt a certain amount of contempt for it through the years because Bo built it, and if you were young and non-comformist in East Texas in the early 90's, you were obligated to hate Bo Pilgrim because he represented 'the man'. So, anyway... yeah, kind of an idiotic reason to hate a prayer tower.



There's a statue outside and I'm assuming it's of Jesus washing somebody's feet. I don't know my New Testament well enough to know who's feet are getting washed, but maybe somebody reading this knows and can comment about it. Here's the statue.



I went inside and somebody was prostrated on the floor, praying. He was a Catholic Mexican, and of course I disturbed him when I entered. He jumped up and smiled, waving goodbye to me as if we were long lost friends who would never see each other again after this brief reunion, saying "See you later," over and over with a stilted accent, almost apologetic. I guess maybe I embarrassed him when I walked in on him obviously in deep prayer about something. Anyway, here's the inside.



I approached the altar and opened the bible to my favorite passage, Psalm 102...



...and was surprised to see that Psalm 103 is the one we sing every Sunday at the beginning of Liturgy. I'm still a noob at church I guess. I know I've finally found where I belong, and there has always been somebody by my side since I started down this new and wonderful path, sharing it with me. I just assumed it would always be that way... I never thought I'd have to go it alone.