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Come see my new blog: http://meditativemeanderings.blogspot.com/ Although the templates here at homeschoolblogger are very easy to set up, blogspot allows much more creativity, as well as the ability to post photos straight from my computer without needing Flickr or another photo uploading site. I will slowly move the posts here over to my new blog, but wanted to redirect you to the new place. Blessings to all -- Susanne :) |
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I am very excited! I just registered online tonight for two of the "interviews" at next month's Writers' Symposium by the Sea at Point Loma Nazarene University. Not only did I receive my undergrad degree in Literature at Point Loma, but I also taught there in my beloved Lit Department for seven semesters, plus several substitute jobs, in the years after receiving my Master's from USD. When I spoke with one of my mentors, Dr. Maxine Walker, a few years ago, she told me that she was very desirous of getting Anne Lamott as our keynote speaker for the combined Writers' Symposium and Wesleyan Center conference. However, Lamott had been either unavailable or beyond her budget. So imagine my surprise to receive in Maxine's New Years letter a few weeks ago a flyer advertising Anne Lamott as the main speaker for this February's conference! Tonight I made my online reservations for the conference. Anne Lamott has been one of my favorite Christian writers in the past few years. Her books Traveling Mercies and Plan B have encouraged, challenged, and galvanized my faith life.
And apparently she has a new book just coming out. I hope to purchase a copy and get it signed at the conference. It looks very intriguing!
With a March 20 release date, this latest title probably will not be available. So I guess I'll slug along with my well-read (and somewhat tattered) copy of Traveling Mercies and have her sign that. Also at the conference will be Eugene Peterson, the translator/paraphrasist (is that a word?) of The Message, a version of the Bible that I just love for its modern feel and fresh language. It's definitely not a version for deep study, but it sure brings the Old Testament especially to life (with the sorry exception of the Psalms -- didn't do so well there!) as well as cause me to see the New Testament from a more essential point of view. Here's the copy I have:
So my money is paid for the conference (gotta love online registration) and I'm hoping to attend with friends Judith and Kitty (we saw Donald Miller, author of Blue Like Jazz and my favorite Christian author, Frederica Mathewes-Green, of Eastern Orthodox persuasion, last year), and possibly with Kim, the "fearless leader" of our Tuesday morning Bible study. If anyone is interested in attending, sign up NOW! Tickets are going fast! http://www.pointloma.edu/LJML/Writers_Symposium_by_the_Sea.htm |
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Last week, the Mountain Empire Creative Arts Council (MECAC) held its monthly meeting at the Pine Valley library. And I feel compelled to write a little something about our Featured Artist this month. Artie Capozzi and his girlfriend lost everything in the Cedar Fire of three years ago. They got out with their animals, their vehicle, and the clothes on their backs, and when they returned to their home in Alpine, nothing was left. But Artie had an idea of what to do with all that burned manzanita wood that littered his yard.
You see, he had a passion for this beautiful, mahogany-colored wood, but it is protected; it cannot be gathered unless it has been burned in a forest fire. So Artie saw the beauty and possibility of the scorched and twisted branches in his yard and in his neighbors' yards, and he started gathering the blackened manzanita branches and roots. Obsessively gathering it. As in, spending an entire year gathering it. Just because it was beautiful. And because he thought he "might be able to do something with it." Artie started slicing the two-to-three inch root burls into eighth-inch thickness and sanding them through nine grades of sandpaper, then adding an environmentally-friendly oil in layer after layer, twelve coats in all. He allowed the burl slices to dry in the sun between coats of oil, and then he drilled a hole through one end of each slice and strung the slice on leather bands to create original necklaces. Later, he started adding silver and turquoise inlays in the burl slices which made the necklaces even more beautiful and unique. He has also started slicing sage roots to get a similar effect -- and does it ever smell heavenly! We were awed by his phoenix feathers -- long feather-shaped slices of manzanita wood about a quarter of an inch thick and six or more inches long. Artie patiently fills in the holes of the wood with the scorching of the outer bark-covered edge of the wood, then sanding through the many layers of sandpaper and adding the oil to bring it to a bright sheen, darkened by the oil to a deep reddish brown that calls to be touched. In his more recent work, he has added delicate silver and turquoise inlays into the feather which increases the creativity and beauty. Everyone at the gathering felt compelled to run a finger down the velvety smoothness of the feathers, both the unfinished and the finished pieces he brought to show us. Artie has been selling his stands and candle holders, made from manzanita, to a jewelry shop in La Jolla, and he is well on his way to being a self-supporting artist. We are proud to have him working on his art in our community, and his work astounds us in its beauty and simplicity. Artistic creativity rising from the ashes of the most devastating fire ever in California -- what a lovely and reviving thing to behold! |
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My busy week ended up with a not-busy weekend in which I either stayed in bed or wished I had. The doctor I saw on Wednesday thinks I may have Addison's Disease, which means that my body isn't making as much cortisol (from the adrenal glands) as it should. I have a note to take to Dr. Adema about starting me on a trial dosage of cortisol to see if it helps. I sure hope something helps because I hate wasting my entire weekend in bed. Well, at least I started and finished an excellent and thought-provoking book yesterday: Plague Journal, by Michael O'Brien. His "Children of the Last Days" series is extremely well-written, emotional, exciting, and terrifying. I finished reading the book in full-on sob mode, probably brought on not only by the final betrayal of the book but also by my not feeling well. The order of the series is confusing because O'Brien didn't write them in chronological order. If you are interested in reading the series, do it in this order: Strangers and Sojourners, Plague Journal, Eclipse of the Sun, and then the final three (Father Elijah, Sophia House, and Cry of Stone) may be read in any order. I've now read the first three of the series and am completely hooked. I read Eclipse first, before I realized the true order of the series, then S&S. And I read PJ pretty much in one day. Thought-provoking stuff in the end-times genre, with a Canadian and Catholic twist.
I've never read "The Left Behind" series, mostly because I don't ascribe to La Haye's rapture theory and don't care much for his style of writing, having read some of his non-fiction. But "The Children of the Last Days" series totally eclipses (pun intended) anything that La Haye can put out there. So beautifully written, so expertly developed, so real that you forget your own reality and merge into O'Brien's. I've rarely read books so disturbing yet so compelling. I do recommend them wholeheartedly. |
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I'm sorry I haven't been actively posting, but this week has been crazy-busy. Here's what I've been up to: Mountain Empire Creative Arts Council meeting: I'm secretary, so I have minutes to keep, type, print, as well as artists to contact to be the Featured Artist (will write a separate post about this -- Artie's work deserves its own entry). And whatever else I get volunteered to do. :) Lady Berean study at Lake Murray: This week we studied Judges 15 -- Samson and the jawbone and all that. With our leader down for ankle surgery, I facilitated the group, which of course means a little more preparation for class that usual. I love studying, but it can be tiring. I caught the gist myself and then studied some of the Hebrew words and also read Wesley's Commentary. I was bowled away by the depth and symbolic meaning behind so much in these seemingly straightforward twenty verses. Doctor's appointment: After seeing Dr. Howe, I can now reduce chelation treatments to once per month -- yay! It's bad enough to be hooked up on an IV for two hours, but it's even worse to have to pay $95 to do so. So that saves our beleagured budget nearly $300 per month. I am also to check with Dr. Adema about starting on cortisol. He gave me a note to drop off to Dr. A this week and see if he agrees. Mountain Empire Creative Arts board meeting: We discussed adding our organization to the Southern California Center for Youth, Nature, and the Arts which is based in Alpine. This move would give us immediate 501 (c) 3 status with no work on our part. We can remain autonomous and only have to pay a little toward liability insurance each year. Stephanie Wells, the founder of CYNA, attended our board meeting at Myrna's home. Myrna made us a lovely lunch of split pea soup while we discusses the many pluses and few minuses of joining this larger organization. We're also planning an art contest and a summer youth program. All this is in addition to the usual things of my life: homeschooling four kids, grading papers and assignments, mothering, chiropractic appointments, library visits (multiple!), piano lessons for the boys, and etc. Tomorrow T and J go to Sheri's for California History, and all three boys have a painting class at the library. So that's why I've been a bit scarce this week. Next week I have a Brave Writer deadline to meet; I'll be writing about an Alice Walker short story and the famous Herrick poem, "To the Virgins, To Make Much of Time." ("Gather ye rosebuds while ye may...") for the high school crowd. I hope to get online a bit more as this week I've been cuddling under the blankets on the sofa in the evenings, trying vainly to stay warm in this unusually cold weather. It SNOWED in Malibu and Venice Beach yesterday ... right on the Southern Cal beaches. On Sunday morning, our low was 9 degrees above, with a wind chill of 1 below zero. That may sound like nothing to people back east, but please remember that this is San Diego County where 60 degrees is a cold snap and 80 degrees is a heat wave; basically if it isn't 72, then everyone freaks out in a major way. When I woke up on Sunday at 7:15, the thermometer on our front porch read 12 degrees. Until this week, our lowest temperature of the five years we've been here was 17 degrees. The HIGH on Sunday was 26. Again, remember -- this is San Diego, where the weather-wusses dwell. Pipes have been bursting everywhere, not only in the mountains but "down the hill" (in the San Diego suburbs) as well. Brrrrrrrrr!!!! Crazy, crazy cold! |
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After yesterday's incredibly busy day, today was a day to read in bed, surrounded by flannel sheets and watching snow flurries out the window. I curled up with and finished Anne Perry's latest Thomas and Charlotte Pitt mystery:
Covering Victorian-era London society, these mysteries are a wonderful escape, especially since Thomas was sent to exotic Alexandria to pursue clues regarding the latest murder. These books are exactly the right ones to enjoy on a cold, cloudy, snow-flurry Saturday when one has nothing else to do but a little (or a LOT) of laundry. A few patches of snow remain on the ground from a dusting of snow this morning, and today's high was 39; the low tonight isforecast for *12* -- a wee bit cold for Southern California! In fact, if the temperature dips that low, we'll have a new record low for our five years in the mountains. So if you're a mystery buff and haven't yet explored the world of Anne Perry, I can recommend a real treat for you! Don't miss this series which now spans 12-15 titles. And I have two more Anne Perry books lined up for me: short Christmas novellas that center on Lady Vespasia in her prime. I can't wait to dive into them, especially since we have a forecast for VERY cold temperatures over the next few days. Flannel sheets, here I come! |
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Early this morning I woke up to the unusual sound of the front door opening and closing. Looking blearily at the alarm clock, I saw it was just after 7 AM, not a time when the kids were up on most mornings. The light coming through the blinds over the bed and in the bathroom was brighter than usual, which meant that we probably had snow on the ground. Yes, the boys were going outside to revel in the inch of white stuff, and yes, the whiteness was reflecting the sun more brightly than usual through the window blinds. When I came downstairs, T was building what he called a "snow meerkat" on the front porch railing, and J and B were playing soccer on what used to be the front lawn. All were dressed in the sweats they usually sleep in, but they had added gloves, hats, boots, and parkas to their pajamas before going out to enjoy the white stuff. The meadow in front of our home looked lovely -- all untouched whiteness, unmarred by footprints or tire tracks. It was hard to make the kids go "down the hill" to go to church (B and I) and to go to Keith's office (he and the other three kids who needed to do their schoolwork) and leave the beautiful snowy scene behind us. Although I scraped the inch of snow off my windshield and back window, my car was still covered with a layer of snow by the time I got to Victoria Chapel in Alpine for Friday's healing service with Father Acker. His wife, Alice, laughed when she saw us drive in, and I told her that we'd had "a wee bit of snow" overnight. The day warmed, and sure enough, by the time we got home, the vast majority of the snow had melted, including all the snow in our yard. The kids were disappointed to not have any more snow to play in, although the remainders of T's meerkat still guarded the front door. The snow was nice while it lasted. I'm sure that Sunrise Highway, the road leading up the mountain above us, will be packed with lowlanders coming up to see the snow (a rarity in Southern California), unfortunately leaving their tracks and their trash behind. The cold weather is remaining behind the storm, making us grateful for a working furnace (not always the case this winter!), burning candles, and a warm doggie with which to cuddle. To those of you east of California, watch out! A cold storm is a-coming your way.
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It's been a weird winter. Cold snaps (and snow in December) have been swapping places with Santa Ana winds and temperatures in the 70s here in the mountains (80s in town). Right now the blue skies are turning grey, and clouds are filling in our tiny valley. Winds are ruffling the tall pines in the neighbor's yard, branches swaying to and fro like arms waving a warning. I can hear the wind groan as it passes between the tree limbs -- a low, mournful sound that rumble in my stomach. Even the forlorn roses and hollyhocks remaining in my garden are tossing about, battered and bruised by the cold winds. Inside, the heater is blowing warm air around our ankles, and a candle is burning steadily on the mantel. Keith's homemade bean soup is waiting to be rewarmed for dinner. Hot tea is the beverage of choice as one child after another grasps a mug filled with their favorite herbal flavor: E loves peppermint; J prefers apple cinnamon, and I inhale the clean scent of blueberry. God bless Celestial Seasonings! The weather report varies as to the snow levels of the incoming storm: some say 4500 feet (above us); others say 3000 feet (below us). My sister-in-law just e-mailed me a projection of snow levels down to 900 feet (which encompasses a good part of East San Diego County!). We're battening down the hatches and putting away the bicycles as we prepare for the storm to arrive in its full force tomorrow. So as storms start here in California and blow and bluster eastwards to your home, may you stay safe and cosy, warmed by hot tea, good furnaces, bean soup, candlelight, and the love of family and friends. Cheers to winter! |
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In the online community I frequent, we've been discussing our 2007 devotionals. This is my plan (held loosely) for my prayer times for the next year: Morning: Morning Office from 1928 Book of Common Prayer, including daily Psalter readings, which means reading through the entire Psalter every month. Also, I am reading and meditating upon My Utmost for His Highest by Oswald Chambers. The kids and I are also reading the Scripture selections (NIV) for each morning listed in the BCP. Evening: Evening Office from 1928 BCP, including Psalter readings. I am also reading from the Old Testament inThe Message and reading the daily meditations in The Daily Reader for Contemplative Living, which consists of excerpts from the works of Father Thomas Keating. While reading the latter work last night, I ran across this excerpt that I thought was worthy of sharing here: "There are all kinds of ways in which God speaks to us -- through our thoughts or any one of our faculties. But keep in mind that God's first language is silence." That thought has been reverberating about in my mind since I read it last night. How can we listen to God if His primary language is silence? It seems to me that we need to share in His silence in order to be able to hear Him. For me, it's difficult to hear God in the midst of homeschooling my four kids, in the midst of noise and confusion and multi-tasking. It's when the house quiets down for the night -- when the kids are abed and the TV is off and the iPods are stowed -- that's when I hear Him. When the only noise is the occasional sputter of the fire and tick of the clock -- when my pen is filling my journal with the account of my days, joined to my thoughts and ponderings -- that's when He speaks. In the quiet. In the dark. When my mind is free to unite with His. That's why getting away for an occasional day to drive alone to Julian or someplace quiet is so important to me. Once Keith gets his home computer fixed so he can once again bring his work here to do, I will take my twice-monthly days to be in the quiet, to nestle in close to His heart, to listen to His still, small voice, and to enjoy His deep, profound silence. Find Him in His holy silence ... and meet Him there. |
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Tuesdays are my crazy days. We spend the whole day in the city, and every other Tuesday, we're "down the hill" for over twelve hours. At least I wasn't hooked up to a chelating IV for two hours in the afternoon as I usually am since I am waiting for my appointment with Dr. Howe next week before resuming treatment. But today looked like this: I took B to the Bible study on Judges with Lady Bereans from 9:30 - 11:30. Then drove B to Keith's office where other three kids were completing their schoolwork. We ate lunch between spelling lists, and then taught Bible, history, and B's phonics. While E had her weekly algebra tutorial from Johanna, I took the boys to the El Cajon library for a treat as it's five times larger than the one in our little town. I settled the boys in the children's section and wandered over to the Christian stacks. The boys reappeared a few minutes later, with a written warning from a security guard that said I couldn't leave the boys unattended in the children's area, even though I was only a few stacks away. So I dragged them through the Christian and the mystery stacks, then I sat in the kids' section so they could look at books. Seemed a little ridiculous to me, but perhaps the library is having too many parents dropping off their kids at the library in lieu of daycare or something like. T selected eight or so books on owls, his latest obsession, and B checked out a Bionicle book that T has promised to read out loud to him. We drove back to Keith's office, and I exchanged three boys for one girl in my car. A visit to Dr. Burns at 3:00 was in order, and he did some different stretching things to my neck that brought tears to my eyes but we hope will help with the pain so I can sleep better at night. He's also ordering in some iodine for my thyroid. Then E and I settled ourselves at Starbuck's over carmel apple ciders while she finished her algebra and science and I read Shakespeare of London. After a quick look around our favorite haunt, Barnes and Noble, an early dinner at Chili's followed which broke our gluten-free diet: we split a BBQ ranch burger and fries. We made it to the San Diego Women's Club almost an hour before we needed to be there, so E had plenty of time to change and prettify herself before class began. At Junior Cotillion, Ms. Kent first taught about dress codes (informal, semi-formal, formal), table settings, then taught the students the basic footwork of a new dance, the East Coast Swing. During the last dance, the students practiced a simple turn; it was amusing to watch but most got it the first time around. And we got home just in time for House M.D. Yes, it's been a busy day, but a good one. I just hope I can get up in the morning, especially as T has an orthodontic consultation at noon tomorrow, right before his piano lesson. |
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I received this e-mail from Frederica Mathewes-Green, my favorite Eastern Orthodox writer. She just wrote a foreward to a book on the Sign of the Cross. Read the foreward below:
At my Orthodox church every Sunday I see families arrive at church and go up to the iconostasis, to greet the icon of the Lord. The parents stand before his searching gaze and make the sign of the cross fluidly: the right thumb and first two fingers together to recall the Trinity, and the last two fingers together and pressed down to the palm, to recall Christ’s two natures and his descent to the earth. They touch forehead, abdomen, right shoulder, left shoulder, then sweep the right hand to the floor with a deep bow. After making two of these “metanias,” they kiss Christ’s hand, then make one more sign of the Cross and a last bow.
With practice, what sounds like a very complicated ballet becomes second nature. Behind the parents come their children, who execute the same moves but have a shorter trip to reach the floor. And then there are the toddlers. If you’re seated to the side, you can see a look of stern concentration come over the chubby face. Then there’s a blur, as a tiny fist flies from ear to elbow to knee to nose, or just makes quick wobbly circles over the tummy. If these gestures were literally analyzed as to their symbolic meanings, they might be signaling heresies not yet imagined. But all this commotion is concluded by the little one stretching up on tiptoe to kiss the hand of the all-compassionate man in the painting. That hand is giving a blessing; it is making the sign of the Cross.
These children are doing what we all do to some extent: we take part in mysteries we can only partly comprehend. We do it within the safety of our Father’s home, following in the footsteps of our elders.
In this case, the footsteps go back further than history can discover. It was perhaps 204 AD when the brilliant North African writer, Tertullian, composed his essay “The Crown.” He begins with a story then in the news: the Roman emperor had given laurel crowns to a band of victorious soldiers, but in the procession it was seen that one went bareheaded. When challenged by his tribune, he responded that he was not free to wear such a crown, because he was a Christian. At the time of Tertullian’s writing the soldier was in prison awaiting martyrdom.
Some local church members criticized the soldier for rocking the boat; they had been enjoying a period of peace, and feared such boldness would provoke another bout of persecution. (Tertullian observed tartly that they were no doubt already preparing to flee from one city to the next [Matthew 10:23], “since that’s all of the gospel they care to remember… [T]heir pastors are lions in peace, deer in the fight.”) But some retorted that nowhere is it written that Christians are forbidden to wear ceremonial crowns.
It is in responding to that challenge that Tertullian gives us a very intriguing glimpse into the daily lives of early Christians. There are many things we Christians do, Tertullian says, that don’t have a written mandate. In the Orthodox tradition, at baptism a person is immersed three times, after renouncing the devil, his pomp, and his angels. He makes a profession of faith “somewhat ampler…than the Lord has appointed in the Gospels.” Christians receive the Eucharist only from the hand of the one presiding over the assembly. “If for these and other such rules, you insist on having positive Scripture injunction, you will find none…The proper witness for tradition [is] demonstrated by long-continued observance”.
Among the items that had had “long-continued observance,” even at the dawn of Christian history, was the sign of the Cross. “In all our travels and movements, in all our coming in and going out, in putting off our shoes, at the bath, at the table, in lighting our candles, in lying down, in sitting down, whatever employment occupies us, we mark our foreheads with the sign of the Cross,” Tertullian wrote.
It seems that the sign of the Cross was such an entrenched element of Christian practice that a believer would not consider refraining from it. Tertullian believed it to be universal, and already ancient in 204 AD.
I will leave Fr. Andreas to fill in the story of how this sign came down to us today, and how its expression varied with time and place. His appealing book provides us not only with this history, but with insights into the limitless, profound meaning of the sign of the Cross. The sign of the Cross is a prayer in itself, one that is easy to include in the busy day – at the sound of an ambulance siren, as an expression of thanksgiving, as preparation for a difficult task, or on learning of a need for prayer. And, despite its mystery, the sign is a gesture simple enough for a child to adopt.
It is my hope that this small book will acquaint many readers with a Christian custom that has roots deeper in the common history of our faith than anyone knows. The action may at first seem awkward; it may take time to acquire the gracefulness of those who have woven it through their prayers for decades. But there is hardly a more visible way to “take up your cross,” as the gospel of Matthew says, than this, and join the company of those who in all ages have borne witness to Christ before the world.
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Frederica Mathewes-Green www.frederica.com
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Our first day back at homeschooling went as smoothly as I would have liked. Although E had complained that her Latin program (Latin Road to English Grammar) was too time consuming, she finished school today by noon. Tomorrow she'll be adding in algebra, but she still should be done in good time. We spent part of yesterday examining Rosetta Stone Latin, but I vastly prefer our present program. The boys did well. B remembered the majority of his phonograms, and J and T got done in good time. T also started the second half of his online writing course through BraveWriter. It felt surprisingly good to get back into the routine today -- more so than I had thought it would. Tomorrow I'm back to the Lake Murray Lady Bereans Bible study, for which I need to study the 14th chapter of Judges tonight. E also has Cotillion tomorrow night, but at least I don't have chelation again until after I see Dr. Howe on the 17th to discuss my latest tests. So life spins on ... days fade into each other ... we alternately enjoy each other and quarrel ... we worship God to the best of our abilities ... we learn, grow, transform into the people He desires us to be. Life is good. And we're back to the normal old thing today. May God bless us as we continue to mature in Christ Jesus our Lord! |