Good Day Sunshine

With a completely open Friday and an itch to leave the house and embark on a trip, Angela's morning phone call extending an impromptu invitation to visit and ride her two horses, Sunny and Roni, in that exotic city of Milan (pronounced MY-lan for non Quad-Citians), was easily accepted. Though we were a bit delayed when, after maneuvering all the boys into the van, I realized Jared had inadvertently taken our single set of van keys to work (good news: he only works down the hill from our house), we arrived at Angela's and her mother's home in the lovely, historic Highland Park district of Rock Island more or less without a hitch.

Bumbling up the concrete steps to Mrs. Spurgetis' full-length porch, Russell and Elliot greeted "Yaya" (that is Greek for Grandma in case you don't know) with the sloppy, open mouth kisses that has become their trademark. Joining us on our venture were our priest's wife, Kh. Maria, as well as some other friends from church: Lori, her niece Gwendolyn, and her twin daughters, Nina and Nicole. While we waited for Lori and crew to arrive, Thomas reveled in the offering of yellow plastic-wrapped Kraft cheese, while the boys assisted Yaya in watering her flowers, and Maria, Angela, and I leisurely sat on the porch drinking in the beauty of the neighborhood and of the day.


Following a picnic lunch at the stables where Sunny and Roni are housed - a lunch during which a comment was made about English riding prompting Thomas to ask whether there was such a thing as Korean riding - we moved into the barn for the main attraction. The children were enchanted by these creatures and as Nina and Nicole quipped, "I would like to ride the horse," Elliot raised his arm in the air indicating his sign for "elephant." (Guess we better work on our animals.)

Besides Sunny and Roni, we met two miniature ponies, which Russell promptly poked in the eyes, and a horse named Gracie who was receiving a bath from a young woman named Joanna who allowed us to bend down and view Gracie's belly button. (When I asked Russell where his belly button was, he pointed to his knee. Better work on body parts too.) It is not every day you get the chance to see the belly button of a horse. The boys absolutely delighted in their first horse ride, and, when not busy riding, found great pleasure tunneling through and shoveling up the pile of sawdust located outside the ring.

With dirt smudged faces and hair full of sawdust, we returned home from our horse adventure, and in exhaustion fell promptly asleep. Yes, even I took a nap. After all it was Friday and it had been a good day.

Providence

By the time of our scheduled departure - high noon last Friday - it had already been raining, pouring really, for several hours. Streams of water cascaded down our block; water pooled into puddles outside our door. While I love thunderstorms and a good walk in the rain, this was the kind of day which necessitated remaining inside, snug and dry, cherishing a cup of strong, hot coffee appropriately creamed and sweetened (yes, that would be 1 TBS. half and half and five Splenda packets), and reading stories to my children. Jared and I had no other option, however, than to leave the comfort of the house, grab umbrellas and hightail it to the car: We had an appointment for 12:30 to be fingerprinted at the Scott County jail.

Ah yes, round one of adoption paperwork needed to be completed. Besides the fingerprinting, which was $15 per person, and the criminal background checks, which were $13 times three since we have to check both my married and maiden name, we also needed an FBI background check for an additional $36. Grand total for this round: $105. While I am not unfamiliar with adoption expenses, each time I start adding up numbers and signing checks, my chest tightens and I begin to feel a wee bit anxious. And so when I opened up a card sent by dear friends last Wednesday and found a check for $100 as a contribution for baby number four, I was incredulous and thanked God for making Himself known through this concrete gift and once again providing for our needs.

Inspired and humbled by our friends who once again are willingly and generously donating items for our upcoming garage sale fundraiser, I have launched into rummaging through cabinets and closets in order to purge our own house of excess and forgotten items. Sitting in a basement cabinet was our old microwave, which was rendered irrelevant three years ago when we moved into our home with its built-in microwave. Though knowing we would more than likely never have a use for this convenience, I have been reticent to ship it off to Goodwill and even include it for the garage sale for primarily sentimental reasons. You see, the microwave was a wedding shower gift, kindly given to Jared and I nearly twelve years ago by the women of the church in which we were married. So on Wednesday afternoon, I called Cheryl, the "hostess" (manager) of the St. Joseph Catholic Worker House whom I met two months ago. "Would a microwave be useful at St. Joseph's?" I questioned. Perhaps it was because I was drained at that particular moment, but when Cheryl excitedly responded that there just happened to be a woman in transitional housing who had nothing to cook with and who could most certainly use a microwave, I nearly lost my composure and wept on the phone.

Last Sunday afternoon, Jared and I had the pleasure of attending the wedding of a lovely young couple from our church. Throughout the ceremony, the various priests officiating the Orthodox wedding service invoked prayers of blessings, harkening back to men and women of faith whom God had called: the Patriarchs and their wives - Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebekah, Jacob and Rachel - the aged couple Joachim and Anna whom God granted a child, Mary, the Theotokos, and the Priest Zechariah and his barren wife Elizabeth who were also bestowed a child who would serve as the forerunner of the Christ. Likewise prayers of protection were offered for Frank and Juliana that like Noah in the ark, Jonah in the belly of the fish, and the Three Holy Youths who were cast into a furnace of fire, they too would be preserved from harm. Instead of the vows typical to most Western marriage ceremonies, crowns of flowers were placed upon the couples heads symbolizing not only the crowns they wear as the king and queen of their home, but more importantly the crowns of the martyrs; that by dying to themselves for the sake of each other, they would bear witness to Christ's love for us while also helping their beloved work out his or her salvation. Once again I found myself a bit teary. (Jared admitted he got a bit teary, too.)

What I appreciated when I first began learning about the Orthodox Church and what I continue to love as I experience the richness and fullness of this ancient Faith is that while God is passionately concerned about our individual lives - so much so that sometimes money or microwaves arrive with miraculous timing - ultimately my significance is to be found as simply a small part of the larger story. You see, I cannot do any of this on my own but desperately need the visible manifestations of God so clearly revealed every time I receive an act of kindness, compassion, and love. You, my brother and sister, are my life; there is no me without you.

Knee High By The Fourth Of July

Thomas was skeptical of our plans to take advantage of Jared's day off and journey to Miss Effie's Flower Farm. "Will there be other children there?" he queried. "Are there things to play on?" My answers were noncommittal and vague because I was pretty confident that there would be no play ground equipment cluttering up Miss Effie's farm, and, as for children, well, I did not know. As we drove out of Davenport and exited off Highway 61 to our adventure, a mere twenty-five minutes away, Jared and I marveled at how near the country is to us city folk. Pretty quickly, paved roads transformed into graveled passageways scattering dust behind the vehicles treading upon their surface. Neatly manicured yards opened up into vast stretches of lush green land sprawling with corn stalks. As we finally pulled into our destination, we were greeted by a sign promising farm fresh eggs, an antiquated shabby-chic farm house, and sundry lilies hued in magnificent oranges, vibrant yellows, deep crimsons, and delicate pinks.

As we stumbled out of the van, banana chips caked onto tiny bottoms, Miss Effie, clad in a straw hat, exactly the kind one would venture a woman operating a flower farm might don, warmly welcomed our family to her home. From a garden shed, she emerged with a newborn kitten, eyes still unopened. All the boys were enthralled. We were also introduced to Miss Effie's unique collection of chickens; one of which she found on Craig's List for free. With names like Cindy Lou Who, Liz Taylor, and Cruella De Vil, these birds were unlike any fowl I had ever seen. And though initially a bit hesitant, the boys ultimately delighted in touching the fluffy feathers of the birds as a rooster crowed in the background.

Upon collecting our bucket of flowers, expertly shorn by Thomas, and a short diversion of watching him roll multiple times down a small hill, the five of us gathered under a tree bearing a swing, which the boys took full advantage of, and picnicked on yogurt, leftover cold pizza, and more banana chips. Before our departure, we purchased a dozen of the promised farm fresh eggs, whose colors mirrored the diversity of the creatures from which they came - they were beautiful. (Thomas was especially fond of the blue egg.) With a hug from Miss Effie, we assured her we would be back, and as we drove off Thomas related, upon being questioned by his father whether he was the city mouse or the country mouse, that he was more of a country mouse and that his time at Miss Effie's Farm had been "more fun than he had expected." Thank you Miss Effie. We enjoyed a lovely day and look forward to our return!