Help me keep these things in my heart

"I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the house of the LORD." Psalm 122:1

What I want to remember and hope not to forget is my eldest son's determination and persistence in attempting to master the hymn for Christ the Bridegroom: "No, mom, let me sing it," he would insist before we prayed for our meals; how I would hear him throughout the course of the day humming and singing the words, "Behold the Bridegroom comes at midnight. And blessed is the servant whom He shall find watching..."

What I want to remember and hope not to forget is how his face-swollen, bruised, and scabbed after a powerful fall the prior evening-glistened with the sacramental oil; how while I held him in my arms, he boldly lifted his thick, four-year-old hands and offered them to our priest for anointing, for the healing of soul and body. 

What I want to remember and hope not to forget is how they bent down on their knees mesmerized by our priest carrying, dragging, the life-sized cross on his shoulders and back around the candlelit church three times; how with lips quieted and bodies stilled they listened as he chanted in haunting tones the Byzantine hymn:

  

 Today He who hung the earth upon the waters is hung on the tree,

The King of the angels is decked with a crown of thorns.

He who wraps the heavens in clouds is wrapped in the purple of mockery.

He who freed Adam in the Jordan is slapped on the face.

The Bridegroom of the Church is affixed to the Cross with nails.

The Son of the virgin is pierced by a spear.

We worship Thy passion, O Christ.

We worship Thy passion, O Christ.

We worship Thy passion, O Christ.

Show us also Thy glorious resurrection 

What I want to remember and hope not to forget is how their four tiny bodies flattened themselves prostrate on the ground before the icon of Christ hanging on the cross, how they bowed down their mouths and with puckered lips kissed the wounds on His feet.

What I want to remember and hope not to forget is how in the midst of our Holy Saturday liturgy, my tenderhearted daughter wandered over to my friend's mother, whose body is now confined to a wheelchair, reached out, and fearlessly pressed her young hand into Sally's aging one; how together the two sang "Lord have mercy" again and again.

What I want to remember and hope not to forget is how alone in his room he crafted together pieces of wood in the form of a cross and then meticulously painted it green to reflect life and then desired to not keep it for himself but to give it away. I want to remember how our priest took my son's simple gift and reverenced it, placing it upon the altar of the church, raising it up in the midst of the Paschal liturgy to bless all of us present as my son stretched out his body and slept.

What I want to remember and hope not to forget is her pure joy when she received a delicate corsage of pastel flowers from her father; how she proudly danced amongst her brothers, flaunting that she is indeed Daddy's precious princess.

What I want to remember and hope not to forget is how after tucking their weary bodies into bed following the Paschal feast that ended at 4:00 a.m., the voice of my third son rang clear out of the darkness of his bedroom: "Happy Easter Mommy."

What I want to remember and hope not to forget is how they crowded around a beautiful woman, a fellow parishioner who because of a lifelong disability and an illness in her family was unable to join us at the Church, and boisterously sang the Paschal hymns "The Angel Cried" and "Christ is Risen;" how they kissed her cheeks and hugged her neck, practicing resurrection on that Feast of all Feasts.

Christ is Risen!

Kristo Gesso!

Kristos Tenestwal!

El Messieh Kahm!