Finding Home

It happened Monday, and I never expected it to. Those words, out of my mouth.

My family is a strange one. My parents divorced almost a year ago after 40+ years of marriage. My sister is the Wonder Woman of a family that has three stepkids and also two people with special needs. Her life is busy and FULL. She and I have our parents and two aunts that will need care as the years progress.

Some of my Protestant friends assumed upon my becoming Orthodox Christian, I would soon become a nun. Truth told, I know that for me, to leave the world and my sister to care for the entirety of our family by herself seems one of the most grievous evils I could commit. So being monastic has not been a thought in my head. Plus, black is not THAT slimming!

At a women's retreat, Bishop Basil made a statement that scandalized me. "There are only two ways of life that are blessed by the Church. They are marriage and monasticism. I don't mean to say that you cannot be single and be a Christian; it is just much harder." He went on give examples of why that's true, and they had a lot to do with accountability and the natural selfishness that is built in to every singleton's existence. We don't HAVE to do ANYTHING. I've lived alone for years. Even though I don't love it, there is something fantastic about being able to go home and shut the door when you are done for the day. I joke that unscheduled naps and unlimited bubble baths are the compensations of the loveless spinster schoolmarm--but it's true.

But I have always missed having a home. By this, I always thought I meant having a family. With my parent's divorce, my first thought was, "I have no family." And it's true.

An abbess of an Orthodox women's monastery led our last women's retreat. I had never spent any time with a nun before. My idea of nuns are from the Sound of Music. I often suspect that becoming a novice would be a great way to meet a handsome baron; so you see how ill-informed I am. I was relieved to find that I really liked this abbess. She also had come straight from two weeks at the bedside of an ailing family member. I found that connection to her family heartening.

It was only after the retreat that I realized that I live in a manner more isolated and devoid of 'home' than even monastics.

Eastern Christianity is a much less individualistic approach to faith than the one I grew up in. It's said that when one priest was asked if Jesus was his personal Savior, he said, "No, I like to share Him." We believe that each person is made in God's image and we are to look for the health of our own souls, as well as those around us. "Blessed is he who regards everyone as God after God," Evagrius of Pontus says. In his excellent book "Short Trip to the Edge," Scott Cairns embodies the strength of this sentiment in the Church with these words: "Ourselves, alone is finally a very undesirable circumstance, perhaps even a quintessentially satanic circumstance."

I woke up Saturday morning to the news that one of my friends had been tonsured a monk earlier that day. I've never had a friend become monastic before, the other monks in my life were monks when I met them. Although we message often, it was unexpected to myself and others close to him that live in town.

I was dismayed and amused at the irony that the first feeling that ripped through me at the news was the EXACT same jealousy that attends my selfish thoughts when a friend gets engaged; "I am alone." He had found rest and happiness; he had found home.

Which leads me back to Monday. In chatting with a dear friend who comes from a more individualistic model of faith, she asked me THE question that all singletons must finally answer, or answer daily, as the case may be: "If you knew that you never were going to get married, would you be content? Could you let God be enough?"

And that's when I knew; and the answer flowed out of me like water. The answer I never thought I'd give. If I knew I  would never be married, I would probably would look into becoming a nun. In the end, the question is neither single nor married. The answer to all questions is home.

Home in Him. Home with each other. Whatever that looks like.

I hope I find it someday.

Wanting a King

“Laughing in a crown of jewels, numbness from a scepter’s wound. Toss and turn, I spin and learn… catch yourself before you burn. Joker’s dance before the king, jingling beads and silver rings. Close your eyes and bear the sound, jumping up; falling down.”

            A warm acquaintance asked me the other day about my conversion to Orthodoxy. Part of that story includes a two (or five, depending on how you count it) year grieving process over the fact that I will never be a mom. Not biologically. He said to me (in essence), “Not to be too personal, but how does that not still just kill you?” I explained that it was a process that for the most part is complete. I won’t be a mom. Sadness of that still gets in my face sometimes, but it no longer threatens to destroy me.

            He then assumed that I must then love Paul’s advice about staying single. Keeps me nice and Biblical, right? Keeps me focused on Christ. I answered with the very truth… Even though I won’t be a mom, I separated that out from wanting to be a wife. Wanting to be loved. Sometimes, I’d like to take good ‘ol Saint Paul and knock him in his sainted teeth.

            Being a single girl is like being Israel during the time of the Judges. A theocracy. I believe that was the time that a conversation between God and Israel sprang up that went a little something like this: “Dear God, we would like to be ruled by a king. A king!! Wouldn’t that be fun?? A king would give us national pride. He’d be so handsome, riding off into battle with our colors, someone to serve at official functions, you know…” God said, “Au contraire, mon frere!! You have got NO idea the problems that having a king would bring. Stick with Me, kid… You’re doing fine!” Israel then goes into whining, wheedling mode. For years. Finally, God relents and gives them just what they want. A king. 

This leads to Saul. And Absalom. Divided kingdoms. Exile. Jews, Christians, and Muslims in a land with 3,000 years’ history of bloodshed and turmoil. We should shudder when God answers our prayers in the affirmative. Sometimes exactly what we want is too much to be borne.

Whether or not I enjoy him (and mostly I don’t), Paul was right. As a single girl, I live in a theocracy. “Your Maker is your husband; the Lord Almighty is His name.” Though God has never shown up to tell me I’m better off just sticking with Him (unless you count Paul’s unsolicited advice as authoritative), I hear myself, just like Israel: “Oh!! God!!! You know what would be fun??? A husband! He’d be so cute around the house. And tall… He might be even tall enough to change light bulbs. He could hug me up tight when I’m sad, and be a date to parties, you know. Serve at official functions.” 

I know that in other parts of this blog, I extolled marriage as a sacrament, which it is. 

I know that here, I am comparing marriage to the war-torn Middle East, a conflict that has raged for millennia. In case you think that is extreme, I caution you to remember that my parents just got divorced. Their conflict has raged for more than mere millennia in my life; it has raged for the whole time. From my view, comparing the two is apt. 

For the most part, life is a ‘que sera, sera’ affair. I am not a seer; not wise enough to know what will befall me. But I will take a moment to consider my wants. To consider that wanting a king and actually having a king are very different things. Official functions notwithstanding.

“Your actions will follow you full circle round. The higher the leap; I said the harder the ground.”

                                                                                                ~Indigo Girls