An anonymous comment

Those of you that blog know that from time to time, someone will stumble upon your blog and leave you the most random of comments. Most if the time they're relatively inocuous- someone has a friend who has a friend who has a friend who has a link to my blog. Sometimes they just want to sound off about Christianity or religion.

But earlier this week, an anonymous writer left what has to be the strangest and most troubling comment (not to mention longest) I've ever received. It was truly the ramblings of a troubled mind, a bizzare rant against Western culture, religion (esp. Christianity), and "the gods."

It was breathtakingly hysterical reading at times- on top of the grammatical and spelling errors, it contained such gems as:

"The gods are asexual. They have no sex organs nor rectums."
"Asians are the gods most favored race. It is evident in their uniformity."
"Any culture with baseball is grossly disfavored"
"The distractions/temptations inflicted on males are endless: 1. Weight training 2. Gun Ownership 3. Muscle Cars"

But in the end- this 30 page magnum opus ceased to be funny. It was just horribly sad. I kept thinking, What has happened to this person to make them say:

"Never pity me. If I had my way I'd exterminate your mother planet and your whole species. F*** you god. I'm not investing in this pathology."

Somehow, the writer has gotten to the point where he (she?) sees the rest of the human race as something completely different from himself. He believes that he alone knows the truth about "the gods", the end times, etc.

Even at my loneliest or most depressed points, I've never come close to that complete an isolation, and I want to weep for this stranger.

I could have just deleted it once I recognized it as the product of lunacy. But I didn't want to dismiss him, as I'm sure many have.

So, I guess the point of writing about this strange encounter is to ask you, since I believe in the power of prayer, to say one for Mr Anonymous.

Hmmm... I thought I was Anne Elliot

Take the Quiz here!

Forgot one

Forgot one more from yesterday's list:

7) Product of India or Brazil. Or Thailand. From the back of a bag of cashews bought at the airport, with that exact punctuation. And then underneath it in HUGE letters: PACKAGED IN THE USA. Was very excited that I was eating exotic imported patriotic nuts. Although likely all of the nuts in my bag were from the same lot, I enjoyed thinking that this cashew might be from India, whereas that one may have come from Brazil.

Or Thailand.

Seen & Heard

Welcome to the newest edition of Seen & Heard-most of them from my recent trip to Ohio for the baptism of my newest goddaughter (I collect them).

1. Mardi Gras Sunday. Seen on a banner outside of a local Catholic church on Feb. 3. And I thought- Fat Tuesday Sunday? I suppose Fat Sunday or Dimanche Gras didn't appeal.
2. "Excuse Me." Repeated three times to me by a young woman seated next to me on the plane. We had landed and parked at the gate, and she wanted to get by me into the aisle to get her back from the overhead bin. But the aisle was full, so I couldn't oblige. I finally said, "Umm- the aisle is full- I can't move." And she said, "But I need to put my laptop in my bag." Surprisingly, this new information failed to make the crush of people disappear, so I simply shrugged. And she sat down.
3. Starbright Starbright Sleepy. Pretend name bestowed upon me by a goddaughter (big sister of the one baptized) for make-believe use. For comparison, her own name was Dida, and her motther's Subbi. I felt quite grand.
4. Pewma. The way David Attenborough pronounced puma on the BBC/Discovery Channel nature program Planet Earth. He also called those giant, land-sculpting rivers of ice glassi- AIR's. Oo-la-la, C'est magnifique.
5. Fairy Oddmother. My nickname (self-created). I had become the Foxy Proxy when I stood in for a friend at the first daughter's baptism, so we came up with this new one.
6. Hope you're happy. You are now a member of the Orthodox Church. Greeting card sentiment penned by a church school student for the baby's baptism read which continued, "The baptism was scary, but you were brave. We are all very happy about the baptism. Good job." On the facing page was a drawing of said scary event; in the corner was a bird labeled "Holy Spirit in the form of a dove" with a balloon caption stating "I am well pleased." Classic.

Happy Farch

A friend of mine calls this time of year Farch, for two reasons:

1. because of how February and March run together and
2. because it's onomatopaeic: it sounds like exactly what this time of year is like.

It is cold, browny-grey, and clammy.


For me, it is also the time of year when we are either rushing head-long into Lent, or through it to Holy Week and Pascha. About the time of my last post in November, I was looking forward to February, because the calendar was mostly empty: after the Feast of the Meeting of Lord on Feb. 2, there was a big blank until March 1. I blissfully began thinking of all the things I could do (and not do) in that time.

1. I could finally finish a pet work project: a new edition of the Vespers service book for church.
2. I could actually go to coffee hour more than one Sunday in a row.
3. I could catch with up long-distance friends I've been neglecting since, um, I moved here 20 months or so ago.
4. I could work with the choir on some basic technique for a change.
5. I could finally clean my office.
6. I could have a social life.

You've probably surmised that these things did not occur. as the saying goes, "If you want to hear God laugh, make plans." (Although I think that's too simplistic.) And it hasn't been a total loss: I made progress in most of those areas, except (GRR!) of course, the social ones, #2 and #6.


And, the two big things that cropped up are fantastic: the baptism of a friend's child, for whom I will be godparent; and the wedding of a sibling. But when you add in all the middling little things like funerals, meetings, car trouble, a talent show, a two-hour presentation to prepare, you can probably see why my idyllic fantasy February has turned into Farch.


So, with that in mind, you can see why yesterday, I was THIS close to staying home on Super Tuesday. But I didn't. (Mwah-hah-hah-hah!!! I have tricked you into reading a politics-related blog!!!)


You see, my new state is a caucus one, which is completely new to me, being used to a primary. Every presidential election, I've gone through the same delimma about whether or not to participate in the primary election. I don't like declaring a party affiliation. (In fact, in my first primary, I was horrified when in the petite town hall of my rural home town, the person behind the table literally shouted "ELLISON! REPUBLICAN!" when I asked for said party's ballot. I'm nowhere near that enthusiastic about that party.)


But ultimately I went for 4 reasons: I wanted to see what a caucus was like, I figured that this was the election where I was going to have the most choice over candidates, this was my chance to express dissastisfaction within the direction said party has gone of late, and because I heard on the news that I didn't have to stay for the whole thing and could leave after I cast my vote for the presidential nominee.


THIS WAS A BOLD-FACED LIE. Apparently the Democrats (lucky ducks) got to do that. No, the Republicans, the party for which I've little remaining enthusiasm, has to do things the hard way. (Which perhaps explains why Ellisons vote the way we do- because we operate the same way.)


Here's what happened. I arrived at the local elementary school where my caucus was being held, and went into an extremely overcrowded cafeteria. There I found out my precinct and was directed to a collection of tables where I got a good look at the Republicans in my neighborhood. I was surprised by: the number of people under 35 (most of us), the number of men with long hair (about 4), and the number of 1st-time caucusers (90% or more).


This is where it got annoying. First we had to elect a precinct chair and secretary just for the evening's proceedings. Then we had to elect a precinct chair, vice-chair, and secretary for the long-term. Then we had to elect convention delegates. Not for the national convention, or the state convention, or even for the district convention, but for the B.P.O.U. (Basic Political Operating Unit) convention, the precursor to all of the more exciting conventions. Basically, I spent 90 minutes overlooking the literature on each candidate and on the Republican platform while others were coaxed and cajoled into being delegates.

Finally, we cast our ballots for the presidential nominee, and then sat as they were counted out, right in front of us by our precinct secretary for the evening. The sad thing was finding out that only one other person in my group of about 70 voted the same as me.

And then I left. Practically sprinted. And then found out that our votes are "non-binding," meaning I basically participated in a poll, and the delegates elected can ignore the opinion of me and the other guy. Sigh- I'll take "ELLISON! REPUBLICAN!" over caucausing any day.

Finally, a new post

Think of a time when you gave a special gift to someone you love. Why did you give it to them? What reaction from them did you want?

As part of a college course, I went on a trip to Paris in January of 2000. While there, I visited the Cathedral of St Alexander Nevsky on the Rue Daru. Across the street was a Russian shop that sold religious books, icons, and gift items. In a glass case, I spied a beautiful wooden egg, hand painted, with an icon of St Nicholas. I instantly thought of my mom, whose patron is St Nicholas, so I asked to see it. It was incredibly expensive, especially for a college student. It would take all of the money I had left, meaning I would dip into money for books for next semester. So I reluctantly gave the egg back.

I thought about the egg the rest of the day, and even lay awake part of the night, picturing my mother's face upon receiving it. The next day, I went back to the shop, dragging a friend along. She helped me recalculate the exchange from francs to dollars, only to reaffirm that my first calculation had been correct. But in the end, I bought the egg (thank goodness for used textbooks!).

This was in January. It was all I could do not to give it Mom the minute I arrived stateside. But I kept the egg hidden away, past Pascha, my parents' anniversary, her birthday, and even St Nicholas Day, until Christmas.

And how do you think my mother reacted when she opened the box and unwrapped the egg? Did she say, "Finally! Someone gave me the kind of gift I deserve!"? Or did she say, "How could you? I can't accept this! How could you spend such a fortune on me? I'm such a bad person, a lowly wretch unworthy of anything, let alone such a thing as this!"

Of course not! She gave the reaction everyone hopes for when they give a precious gift to someone they love. "Oh!" she gasped. "It's beautiful!" She turned the egg slowly in her hands, and then showed it to everyone else. "Where did you find it?" she asked, then after I told her how I'd found it in Paris, said, "I love it! Thank you!" and then straightaway put it on the mantle.

When someone gives you a special gift or says "I love you," you don't pridefully say, "Well, you should- I deserve it!" nor do you fall over yourself protesting your absolute unworthiness of such love. Everyone knows that when told "I love you," the fitting response is, "I love you, too."

The reason I tell this story is because I've been re-thinking self-esteem lately. Let me explain:

Someone taught me a long time ago that we Orthodox don't believe in self-esteem; it's basically equated with pride in oneself. This person seemed to think that one should never believe oneself to be of worth or significance, but that the true Christian sees himself as utterly wretched; completely unworthy of the gifts bestowed on us by God.



Someone else recently said to me, "If you want more faith, you must believe that God is who He says He is, and that you are who He says you are."


So I consider these things: when God made us, He did not say, "Eww... look at this utterly worthless worm I have made." No, He said, "Let us make man in our image, after our likeness; and let them have dominion over... every creeping things that creeps upon the earth." I have trouble believing that God would create us in His own image, give us dominion over the other good things He made, and then, despite our rebelliousness, sacrifice His own Son if He didn't think we were worth it.


Humility comes from the realization that our significance has nothing to do with our merits. My worth is not a result of how smart, good, or talented I may be. Rather, my life is worthwhile because I am worthwhile to God.

I think self-esteem isn't pride or confidence in oneself, but confidence in God. Saying, "I am worthwhile," or "I am significant," or "I am special," isn't pride, it's an assertion of God's love. You can repent of your sins/ recognize your weaknesses, but still be confident of the worth of your life in God's eyes.

Consider Psalm 8:

When I look at the heavens, the work of Thy fingers... What is man that Thou art mindful of him, and the son of man that Thou dost care for him? Yet Thou hast made him little less than God, and dost crown him with glory and honor. Thou hast given him dominion over the works of Thy hands; Thou hast put all things under his feet.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I God thinks we worthy of the blood of His Son, then who are we to argue?

Poem after hearing Psalm 68:6

"Again," I want to say to you.
Say that again.
Let your mouth pour out those sweet words on me again.
But let them fall on me with the force of a bullet or a hurricane,
So that they can cut deep grooves into my stone of a heart.
Let those words etch themselves in me
Until I am no longer just a rock,
But a monument, a memorial.
In short, say them over and over
Until I believe them,
Until they become the truth of my life.