Glory

The word glory shows up like clockwork at Christmas-time in holiday refrains that slip off our musical tongues: “Angels from the Realms of Glory,” “Glory in Excelsis Deo,”  “Hark the Herald Angels Sing, Glory to the Newborn King.” We trill these carols with well-practiced voices, echoing harmonious, treasured traditions from year to year.  They also sometimes become rote, and as such can easily be sung without thought.  

Glory is a word more-or-less from the past, but one that fills carols with holiday sparkle.  Otherwise, we don’t use glory very often in common speech these days. Some might agree that it seems antiquated and outdated.  Perhaps we’ve even forgotten its true meaning.  We’re contemporary, after all, with slang words and texting abbreviations that reside in some linguistic aperture apart from words like glory.

And yet the word calls to me.  It entices me to come closer, to let it sink in and teach me to worship God.

When I have a solitary day by myself, like today, with nothing on the schedule and no interruptions, I find great solace in sitting at the piano and plinking out the melody to refrains that accompany the Akathist of Thanksgiving (credited sometimes to Archpriest Gregory Petroff but evidently written by Metropolitan Tryphon - Boris Petrovich Turkestanov, 1861-1934).  I speak the stanzas aloud and sing the refrains solo, without human audience, to the God of Glory!!  Sometimes surprising surges of emotion choke me – squeeze out common preoccupations to make more room for Him. I’ve found this simple exercise sets aside the ordinary and mundane, and transports me to a holier place.

The entire work is powerful in its entirety.  Although lengthy, I am including the "glory" portions here.  I invite you to read and pray them, knowing they could open closet doors that have been long closed - doors that reinstate glory in its rightful place as an attribute of God, doors that lead to a mysterious but broadening path to His Presence.

Glory to You, Who called me to life, 


Glory to You, Who have shown me the beauty of the universe, 


Glory to You, Who have opened before me the sky and the earth as an eternal book of eternal wisdom, 


Glory to the eternity of You, in the midst of the world of time,


Glory to You, for Your hidden and evident goodness,  


Glory to You, for every sigh of my sadness,   


Glory to You, for every step of my life, for every moment of joy,


Glory to You, O God, unto ages of ages.

Glory to You, for the festival of life,

Glory to You, for the fragrant lilies of the valley and the roses,

Glory to You, for the delectable variety of berries and fruits,

Glory to You, for the morning dew, shining like diamonds,

Glory to You, for the smile of awakening enlightenment,

Glory to You, for all that is heavenly, foreshadowing eternal life,

Glory to You, O God, unto ages of ages.

Glory to You, Who brought out of the earth’s darkness diversity of color, taste, and fragrance,

Glory to You, for the warmth and caress of all nature,

Glory to You, for surrounding us with thousands of Your creatures,

Glory to You, for the depth of Your wisdom reflected in the whole world,

Glory to You, I kiss reverently the footprint of Your invisible tread,

Glory to You, Who kindled before us the bright light of eternal life,

Glory to You, for the hope of immortal, ideal, incorruptible beauty,

Glory to You, O God, unto ages of ages.

Glory to You, in the stillness of the evening,

Glory to You, Who have bestowed great peace to the world,

Glory to You, for the last rays of sunlight,

Glory to You, for rest and the gift of sleep,

Glory to You, for Your presence in darkness, when the world is so remote,

Glory to You, for prayer from the depth of a heart touched by You,

Glory to You, for the promise of awakening to the joy of the eternal, unending day,

Glory to You, O God, unto ages of ages.

Glory to You, for Your constant care of me,

Glory to You, for providential encounters with people,

Glory to You, for the love of relatives, the devotion of friends,

Glory to You, for the gentleness of animals who serve me,

Glory to You, for the luminous moments of my life,

Glory to You, for the bright joys of my heart,

Glory to You, for the happiness of living, of moving and contemplating,

Glory to You, O God, unto ages of ages.

Glory to You, beyond the limit of the highest human dream!

Glory to You, for our tireless thirst for You,

Glory to You, Who have inspired in us dissatisfaction with earthly things,

Glory to You, Who have enveloped us in the delicate rays of Your light,

Glory to You, Who have broken the power of the spirits of darkness, and Who have doomed the annihilation every kind of evil,

Glory to You, for Your revelations, and for the happiness of feeling Your presence and living with You,

Glory to You, O God, unto ages of ages.

Glory to You, Who have manifested the unfathomable force of the laws of the universe,

Glory to You, all of nature is full of the laws of Your being,

Glory to You, for all that has been revealed to us through Your goodness,

Glory to You, for all You have kept hidden in Your wisdom,

Glory to You, for the genius of the human mind,

Glory to You, for the life-giving strength of work,

Glory to You, for the fiery tongues of inspiration,

Glory to You, O God, unto ages of ages.

Glory to You, Who grant my wishes when they are good,

Glory to You, Who watch over me day and night,

Glory to You, curing hardships and losses with the healing course of time,

Glory to You, for Whom there is no such thing as a hopeless loss; You give eternal life to all,

Glory to You, Who have made immortal all that is good and lofty, Who have promised our desired reunion with those who have died,

Glory to You, O God, unto ages of ages.

Glory to You, Who have transfigured our life with the good things that we do,

Glory to You, Who have imprinted an unutterable sweetness on every precept of Yours,

Glory to You, Who clearly abide where there is kindness and generosity of heart,

Glory to You, Who send failures and sorrows to us so that we might be sensitive to the sufferings of others,

Glory to You, Who have placed a great reward on the value of goodness in itself,

Glory to You, Who accept our moments of soaring,

Glory to You, Who have raised love higher than anything on earth or in heaven,

Glory to You, O God, unto ages of ages.

Glory to You, for providential coincidences,

Glory to You, for the gift of premonitions,

Glory to You, for the guidance of a secret inner voice,

Glory to You, for revelations in dreams and when awake,

Glory to You, Who destroy our useless plans,

Glory to You, Who sober us from the heat of passions with suffering,

Glory to You, Who humble pride of heart o save us,

Glory to You, O God, unto ages of ages.

Glory to You, for the unfathomable, life-giving power of grace,

Glory to You, Who have raised up Your Church as a refuge of peace for an exhausted world,

Glory to You, Who breathe new life into us with the life-giving water of Baptism,

Glory to You, inexhaustible abyss of forgiveness,

Glory to You, for the cup of life, for the bread of eternal joy,

Glory to You, Who led us to heaven,

Glory to You, O God, unto ages of ages.

Glory to You, Who have shown us light,

Glory to You, Who have loved us with love immeasurable, deep, Divine,

Glory to You, all Holy Son, the Way, the Truth, and the Life,

Glory to You, all Holy Spirit and life-giving sun of the future age,

Glory to You for everything, O Divine Trinity, all bountiful,

Glory to You, O God, unto ages of ages.

Snow Woe

This is a report from this winter’s self-appointed Chief of Snow Removal: me.

We’re currently running out of room to deposit shoveled snow.  The ski boat is buried on every side up to her gunnels, and craggy massifs tower on either side of the sidewalk.  Our silver postal service box sits atop Peak Mailbox, its post immersed in the bowels of a snow mountain.  

And yet I continue to clear snow, to lift shovelfuls overhead like an awkward human backhoe and dump their contents behind existing peaks.  Occasionally I lose my balance with the shovel flailing overhead - teeter and fall, ker-plop, like a flattened Wile E. Coyote clinging to a failed Acme product.  Sometimes I sink to my gunnels in a drift, torso-deep, and have to claw my way out, grunting all the way. Needless to say, grace and poise are not components of snow removal under these conditions. 

A Popular Mechanics article entitled, “Sixteen Cardinal Rules for Snow Shoveling,” brilliantly suggests intentionally placing snow: “Before you even take your first scoop, decide where you're going to dump the snow. Drop the first shovelful farther away from where you are standing, then dump remaining snow closer and closer to where you are. That way, the last scoops that you shovel are moved the shortest distance.”

The author has not been in my shoes - or rather, boots.  He evidently anticipates clearing a certain area once, or at least a limited number of times. His suggestion is practical, logical, and focused.  However, when snow removal becomes an ongoing repeat performance, and snowfall for the season equals over 80 inches, well, it doesn’t work.

You.  Run. Out.

Of.  Room.

Precious Moments (but not figurines)

Today’s plans were cancelled (again) due to austere winter weather conditions (again).  Instead of briskly circling the track during my husband’s cardiac rehab session (think hamster wheel, only flat, with a revolving oldster going in circles rather than a furry critter) and then hosting our 5-year-old granddaughter on a Fancy Day Field Trip to The City, I’m home in my small kitchen baking cinnamon rolls.*

As I wait for the yeast-infused dough to rise, I reflect on the reality of being snowbound. Yes, there’s an element of cabin fever and the inevitable urge to GET OUT.  And yet as the hours slow down, I see life through a magnifying lens that zeroes in on intrinsic values more than action.

Time becomes more meaningful. I savor each moment for its own worth as a precious, valuable, cherished measurement of life.   In the midst of the creeping minutes, presence also becomes precious. The people in my life seem more obviously endearing to me.

Even as I type this, my sweet, cinnamon-struck indulgences bake in the hot oven.  Heady aromas slowly waft through the house like dreamy, aromatic wands opposing the sharp winds outside - gusts  that alternately shred and sculpt snowdrifts. I’m held captive by the spicy, butter-logged smells from freshly-baked goods that will also soon delight others, and the magnificence of God’s blessing right here and now: mercy to see, magnify, and glue together the smallest, most elemental and precious aspects of life as viewed through His lens.

 * * *

*I should clarify that we will not eat even one of these rolls – they are disqualified from our current gluten-free, sugar-free diet – but rather they will be given to family and friends. However, we will salivate freely and enjoy the smells.

Spoiling the Old Man

Of my many hats, these days I wear the Chef for the Heart Healthy Diet hat most consistently.  I earn this privilege by preparing all our food from scratch without a trace of wheat, sugar, or dairy.  Other miscellaneous foods common to the American dinner table are also not allowed, like peanut butter and mayonnaise. I do this at the recommendation of my husband's cardiologist, who believes it will help support her patient's weakened heart.  I happen to whole-heartedly agree.

This evening’s lovely dinner was comprised of fresh pineapple, kale salad with pine nuts, baked chicken, quinoa, and spinach sautéed with onions and mushrooms.  Just as I was finishing up the dishes, my husband ambles into the kitchen and pops the inevitable question.

“So.  What’s for dessert?”

I hedge.  “What would you want if you could choose anything you wanted?”

I was almost sure he’d say ice cream, and had an alternative suggestion ready: full-fat coconut milk cranked into soft-serve goodness in an individual-serving-sized churn.  But he took a different tack.

“Fruit pie.”

“Like what kind of fruit pie?”

“Blueberry.  Fresh blueberry pie.”  He turned and headed for his spot in front of the TV, assuming that our conversation had been an exercise in futility.  Blueberry pie was certainly out of the question. 

But I took it as a challenge, cooked some frozen berries with tapioca and stevia, and made a few almond flour crepes to encase the berry goo.

Within a very few minutes after he issued his request, I appeared beside the TV with a plate of blueberry-filled crepes: mock blueberry pie.  “You want decaf coffee, too?”

He’s spoiled rotten, I tell you.

You Are What You Practice Most

We were three long hours from home on a snowy country road when it happened: a flat tire.  A pancake-flat tire.

I confess I fell prey to apprehension for an emotional several minutes, my default response to the frigid weather and predicament. If solo, I would have called AAA, or the new service that came with this new (old) car when we purchased it two weeks ago, and deferred the fixing to someone else. 

But I wasn’t alone.  My knight in shining armor, do-it-yourself husband with the bad heart and steely faith (in God if not himself), calmly came to the rescue without alarm – opened the hatch, retrieved the jack, applied the temporary donut-like wheel without undue exertion, and drove us to a tire store to purchase a used tire that would at least get us home.

Safe and sound this evening, I’m thinking about how human responses to circumstances, more than the circumstances themselves, shape us over time. While we sometimes say, “You are what you eat…or read, speak, love, give, believe, or perform,”  the following is also true: “You are what you practice most.”  We are creatures of habit, and whatever we habitually practice, we become.  Worrywarts habitually brood.  Gluttons habitually eat. Artists habitually create. Philanthropists habitually give. Saints habitually pray.

Sometimes I observe older people running their final laps in life with great interest. Can differences in disposition and actual personhood be, in some measure, determined by years of practicing responses?  This is a topic for further reflection.

Winter Garden

It really works!  You can grow (various select) vegetables indoors in a dish of water.  Here’s a picture of my flourishing winter garden currently featuring celery and kale.  If you want to try it, use the stalks/leaves of whatever you buy at the grocery until you get to the very inner core.  Place the stump in water, and presto, watch the leaves grow!

Ode to (Old Lady) Arms

Prithee, Old Lady Arms, when didst thou

Turn from well-favoured muscle

To waxing flab?

I beseech thee, arms of old:

Fair-faced youthful limbs,

Canst thou return?

There was a time, ‘twas lovely,

When thou wast toned and strong.

Methinks you have forgotten?

And given way to saggy droops?

Pray pardon me,

But why must this be so?

Tis the dirge of years,

I knowst that much.

Whilst timorous days march on,

With an aged baleful wail

Comes waggish faintness.

But always as well, fair prating, 

A sage salute to arms well-used:

A lyric stream – fare thee well! –

To famed hands hallowing:

An ode to love-shaked arms.*

*arms seized with love, aged by love