alleluia

/ Rachel Fenton / 3 Comments

Alleluia, Christ is risen!

I feel like I’ve talked about Holy Week and Pascha without going into much detail, so I want to share the beauty of our traditions with you. We’ve just finished Lent and Holy Week and now we are celebrating Pascha! Pascha is the most important day of the liturgical year: it is the pinnacle of our faith.

Pascha is another word for Easter: it’s a transliteration of the Hebrew word for Passover: pesach. Orthodox Christians celebrate it on the Julian calendar instead of the Gregorian Calendar like Catholics and Protestants, which is why we’re celebrating this week instead of last week. (If you’re interested in the lingual history and more general information on calendars and traditions, here’s a good resource).

The entire liturgical year leads up to Holy Week and Pascha. Lent ends with Lazarus Saturday, and Holy Week begins with Palm Sunday, celebrating Jesus’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem. We remember that triumphal entry in our own church service, with children waving palm branches as hymns are sung.

Michael having fun with his palms on Palm Sunday

There is a church service every day of Holy Week. The Holy Week services are so poignant and striking — every year I attend, I find myself pierced to the heart. Some day, I would love to write reflections for each day of Holy Week. However, this is not that day. For brevity’s sake, we’ll talk about Good Friday and Holy Saturday, leading to Pascha.

Flowers from the bier

On Good Friday, (also known as Great and Holy Friday) we remember Christ’s crucifixion and sing lamentations, decorating the tomb with flowers.

At Liturgy on Saturday morning, the priest throws bay leaves and rose petals around the church, signifying the earthquake that occurred when Christ descended into Hell. It’s a beautiful anticipation of Sunday — the lament of Friday has passed, and our grief turns to joy as Christ breaks the gates of Hell and raises up Adam and Eve and all the faithful.

Icon of the harrowing of Hell by Uncut Mountain Supply

We come back to church that evening, around 10 pm. The lights are dim, and the choir sings the Odes of Holy Saturday, one of my favorite pieces of music in the Eastern Orthodox tradition.

Today a tomb holds Him who holds the creation in the hollow of His hand; a stone covers Him who covered the heavens with glory. Life sleeps and hell trembles, and Adam is set free from his bonds. Glory to Thy dispensation, whereby Thou hast accomplished all things, granting us an eternal Sabbath, Thy most holy Resurrection from the dead.

Hymns of the Ainoi

In the Western Orthodox tradition, my favorite piece of church music is sung at the Vigil, called the Exsultet. I’ve linked a full version here but here’s a snippet of my favorite lines:

The power of this holy night
dispels all evil, washes guilt away,
restores lost innocence, brings mourners joy;
it casts out hatred, brings us peace, and humbles earthly 
pride. 

Night truly blessed when heaven is wedded to earth
and man is reconciled with God!
Therefore, heavenly Father, in the joy of this night,
receive our evening sacrifice of praise,
your Church’s solemn offering.

Exsultet

Then the lights are fully turned off, and the congregation prays in darkness until the priest brings forth a single lit candle from the altar, singing: “Come, receive the light from the light that is never overtaken by night.”

Receive the Light!

We all light our candles from this single flame, and process singing outdoors and around the church, finally stopping at the doors. Scripture is read, prayers are said, and then finally the priest approaches the doors.

Grandma got Michael his own candle
Michael demonstrating why he gets a fake candle

The priest bangs on the doors of the church, reciting the words of Psalm 24: Open your gates you princes, and be lifted you eternal gates, and the King of Glory shall enter.

From inside the church, behind the closed doors, a voice replies: Who is this King of Glory?

The priest responds: The Lord strong and mighty, the Lord mighty in battle.

This is repeated three times, and the third time, the priest replies “The Lord of might. He is the King of Glory!”. The doors spring open, the lights blaze to life, and the choir sings Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death and to those in the tomb bestowing life! as the congregation processes back into the brilliantly lit church. We then have morning prayer (Orthros) and Liturgy to celebrate Pascha!

The Paschal Homily of St John Chrysostom is read: I’ve linked the full text here for anyone who’s interested. It’s one of the most profound homilies I’ve ever heard. If you haven’t read it, I strongly encourage you to. For me this year, much of the Liturgy was spent rocking a sleeping baby (given it was 1 am at the time) but I could listen to it being read in the narthex.

Snoozing baby during Liturgy

People bring Pascha baskets to the Vigil, all stuffed to the brim with things we’ve been abstaining from during the Lenten fast: cheeses and meats and eggs and alcohol, among other treats. The priest blesses them at the end of the service.

A peek at our Pascha basket this year

And then, after the service, we feast! The jubilation and joy is so infectious: everyone brings a Pascha treat to share, whether it’s bacon or quiche or donuts or cheesecake or sausage, and we all feast together at two o’clock in the morning. Sometimes Pascha feasts can go past four or five in the morning! Jake and Michael and I made it home and in bed by three am this year, though.

Pascha traditions vary depending on the church, but our family makes Pascha cheese (think a spreadable, delectable cheesecake like substance eaten with fruit or on bread) and dyes red eggs. Traditionally, the eggs are dyed naturally with yellow onion skins. This year I started dying them a little late, so I added some natural food dye to my pot of onion skins to help things along. (Also, as a tip: brown eggs make a deeper, more of radiant red, and if you polish them with a little olive oil once they’re cool, they shine brilliantly!)

There are many different origin stories for the tradition of red eggs at Pascha, some of which can be found here. My favorite is the one that attributes it to Mary Magdalene:

According to tradition, after the Ascension of Jesus, Mary went to the Emperor of Rome and greeted him with “Christ has risen,” whereupon he pointed to an egg on his table and stated, “Christ has no more risen than that egg is red.” After making this statement it is said the egg immediately turned blood red.

Many icons of St Mary Magdalene have her holding a red egg as a symbol of the resurrection for this reason.

A Byzantine icon from Legacy Icons

And now we head to Agape Vespers: a short church service before our parish BBQ!

It’s an exhausting, beautiful, whirlwind, poignant, joyous week, and now we celebrate! As St John Chrysostom says in his Paschal homily:

O Death, where is your sting? O Hell, where is your victory? Christ is risen, and you are overthrown. Christ is risen, and the demons are fallen. Christ is risen, and the angels rejoice. Christ is risen, and life reigns. Christ is risen, and not one dead remains in the grave. For Christ, being risen from the dead, is become the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep. To Him be glory and dominion unto ages of ages. Amen.

Blessed Pascha, dear friends! Christ is risen! Alleluia!

holy week

/ Rachel Fenton / 2 Comments

Although Catholics and Protestants are already in the Easter season, we Orthodox are in the middle of Holy Week. Lent is ended, and it’s the final push to Pascha.

There are a few small ways I’m bringing my attention to Holy Week for the next few days. Inspired by Kh. Destinie from The Ascetic Life of Motherhood, I’m playing music quietly in the background while I do my daily chores. My current choice is also from Kh. Destinie: Apostolos Hill English Orthodox Chant.

Palm Sunday Shenanigans
Matching for Lazarus Saturday liturgy

I’m also taking a few moments to read main passages from the services I’ll be attending this week. I know my attention will be divided between worship and making sure Michael doesn’t accidentally throw a toy at the priest: it’s helpful if I’ve looked at the service beforehand so I can recognize the snippets I hear while distracted.

Today is suspended on a tree He who suspended the earth upon the waters.
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.

Antiphon Holy Thursday Evening

I love the church’s Holy Week hymns. It was hard to choose just one to feature as a quote for this post. They’re profoundly moving, and I find them running through my mind as I go about my day.

Even with the daily church services and the preparation for the Paschal celebration, the homestead still requires attention. Plants need to be watered, lawns mowed, garden beds assembled and filled, meals made, eggs gathered — the list goes on.

Happy in their new coop, our chickens continue to lay beautiful eggs. I love the variety of colors we get, and look forward to dying the brown ones with onion skins to make red eggs for Pascha. My dad also hung the signs that my mom ordered for the coop — I think they’re absolutely adorable.

I’ve been taking advantage of the warmer weather and doing what garden and yard work I can with Michael following me. I have 1.5 more beds to assemble, and a handful of seedlings waiting to be planted. I’m wonderfully sore from all the shoveling as I moved dirt into these beds — the physical labor is so satisfying.

Two beds are filled and planted, the garden shed is organized, the bird feeders are installed and filled, and my dad mowed down the weeds for us. It’s so exciting to see it look more like a yard and less like a construction zone.

My evenings after our church services are still filled with knitting or mending or sewing or spinning. I’ve even knit up a little of my hand-spun yarn, and I love it in all of its beautiful imperfection.

Once upon a time, I would’ve wondered if my daily work was a distraction from the holiness of this week. Somehow though, the presence of these daily chores doesn’t lessen the solemnity and profundity of Holy Week. If anything, they make it even holier.

I go from chasing a toddler through my house to chasing him in the narthex of the church. I go from gardening to doing prostrations during the Lenten Prayer of Saint Ephram, dirt still under my fingernails.

O Lord and Master of my life, take from me the spirit of sloth, despair, lust of power, and idle talk. 

But give rather the spirit of chastity, humility, patience, and love to Thy servant. 

Yea, O Lord and King, grant me to see my own transgressions, and not to judge my brother, for blessed art Thou, unto ages of ages. Amen.

Lenten Prayer of Saint Ephram

This is what I love about liturgical living: the eternal meets the mundane and transforms it. Even the simplest tasks can be pierced through with holiness, if we let them.

spring fever

/ Rachel Fenton / 4 Comments
killdeer nest

I recovered from strep throat to immediately fall victim to a nasty cold, and Jake and Michael and my dad joined in on the fun. My mom is the sole survivor of this illness so far. We’ve been lying low at home, trying to regain health. It’s given us the chance to work on some spring projects we’ve wanted to do for a while, though progress is slow.

For the first weekend in a while, we’ve had clear skies and bright sun, though there’s still a chill to the air. The spring fever has hit all of us, and there’s much to be done to prepare the garden for all we want to do.

Jake began building the fence for our front garden, citing that the fresh air and exercise would help him kick his cold. Given we’re still hacking our lungs out, I don’t think it worked. We all seemed to regress in illness after our weekend in the fresh air, but it’s still nice to see the progress. I’m looking forward to having a contained outdoor space for Michael to explore. He has a tendency to go as far and as fast as he can if left to his own devices outdoors. I’m glad he has such an adventurous spirit, but I’ll feel better when I can garden for a few minutes without being worried about him.

I built two of my four raised beds, and filled and planted in one of them. I have drooping seedlings waiting to be planted in the others, and plans for many other vegetables and herbs. Given this is my first solo attempt at a robust kitchen garden, I’m trying not to aim too high — but I’m excited to plant and cultivate as much as I reasonably can.

My dad finished building the larger chicken coop and we shifted our current hens over to their new home. Too bad we didn’t have anyone getting video footage of that process: my mom and I chasing and catching very unwilling hens was quite a sight.

Ultimate farm girl selfie

Michael loves the hens and isn’t afraid of them in the slightest even though they’re half his size. He calls them “bawk bawks” and loves opening and shutting the coop door. They are not his biggest fans.

The hens have settled into their new place quite nicely. We also have a handful of new baby chicks to be introduced to the flock when they mature. They’ll bring our chicken count up to sixteen.

As the days grow lighter, the hens have started laying eggs more frequently. There’s nothing better than fresh eggs: the yolks are so golden and vibrant. My favorite treat right now is a yolky latte: I put a fresh yolk, cream, and honey in a mason jar, shake it up until it’s foamy, and pour it into my morning coffee. I also enjoy doing the same with matcha instead of coffee. It’s a great energy boost that doesn’t leave me feeling jittery.

We installed a baby gate on our side porch, cleaned it off, and organized the various items stored on it, thereby extending Michael’s playing space. He loves having an outdoor space to kick his ball or throw things over the gate with a cheerful “uh oh!”.

The porch was important to us when we chose the design for our home. We wanted a place sheltered from the heat of the day, where we could sit and listen to the birds and watch the owls swoop over the trees at sundown.

While the majority of the porch space is focused on being a play space for Michael, I’d had a vision in mind for the corner ever since I saw it. I wanted a peaceful space to knit and drink coffee in the early mornings, or sit with a cocktail and talk with my husband or friends on summer evenings. It’s nice to see that vision becoming a reality.

My mother bought Michael a water table for the porch as well, and he adores it. We haven’t actually put water in it yet, given the temperature has been in the low 60s, but it’ll be perfect for when the warmer weather rolls in. I’m grateful he has a nice outdoor space to safely play in right now — while we’re all sick, we’ve had more screen time than I prefer and this is a much better alternative. Parenting while sick is probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I’m very ready for all of us to be healthy again.

So please pray for us, dear friends. Lent has taken its toll on us, and the exhaustion is heavy. Holy Week services are coming up for us Orthodox Christians, which will require both energy and health (something we are all currently lacking). I usually look forward to these services, but I find myself wondering how we’ll make it through this year. Pray for a swift recovery so we can throw ourselves back into the choir and service preparations!

To all my Catholic and Protestant friends: may you have a blessed Holy Week and Easter! To my Orthodox friends, press on! Palm Sunday is near, and so is Pascha.

galavanting and gardening

/ Rachel Fenton / 6 Comments

I’ve been rather quiet because we’ve been galavanting across the country and recovering from illnesses that hit as soon as we made it through our front door (isn’t that always the case?).

This post will be full of photos, be warned!

We traveled first to Southern California, where we spent some lovely time with Jake’s parents and younger brother.

Michael got to go to his first baseball game, and he absolutely loved it. He spent most of the time holding onto the fence or Jake, shouting “ball!” at the top of his little lungs.

We then headed to San Diego for my best friend’s bachelorette party. It was so great to see her again (and some old friends too)!

We had an amazing day full of food, drink, and companionship, and then went to the Safari Park for a mimosa safari. It was quite a weekend: perfect for celebrating one of the smartest, funniest, and kindest persons I’ve had the pleasure of befriending.

I needed a black cocktail dress for the bachelorette, and I didn’t have any that I really liked — so I decided to make one! I have a new, handmade little black dress for fancy occasions and you can see it in the photos. I’ll write a post with more details on my sewing projects later, but I’m really pleased with how this one turned out.

We drove back home and then flew to Ohio to visit more of Jake’s family — all but one sister was there! (Sorry Jillian, we’ll see you next time!). For his first time flying, Michael did a really good job. There were a few rough spots, but all in all, not as painful as we were fearing.

It was so lovely to see everyone for the first time in quite a long time. Michael adored meeting all of his cousins, and was never bored or without a playmate.

Playing with Aunt Jacque
Playing with Aunt Justine

We played games, knit and crocheted together, ate amazing food (courtesy of Aunt Johannah!) and had a wonderful week catching up and enjoying each other. So many babies, so many laughs, so many delightful people under one roof.

Michael was confused between Uncle Joe and Dada for a little bit
Allllll the cousins!
Birthday cake decorating
Stretching with Uncle Jacob
Nighttime crafting
Playing with Aunt Johannah

On the plane trip back, I began feeling a bit under the weather, and then the next morning I woke up with the sorest throat I could ever remember having and a 101 degree fever. Urgent care confirmed I had strep throat. I’m still making my way through the antibiotics, but feel much better. Thankfully, only one other person of the whole group seems to have gotten it, and Jake and Michael escaped without strep. However, now both of them are fighting colds, so all three of us are laying low and resting as much as possible.

While we were gone, my small garden efforts sprung to life.

I planted daffodil bulbs back at the beginning of the year: they were 60% off at the store and I figured I would see some nice blooms next year, since it was too late for them to bloom this year. I was mistaken! They grew anyway! They have the most beautiful blossoms. It was such an unexpected source of life and beauty, and I delight in them every time I walk in my front door.

They’re one of my favorite flowers. I memorized the poem Daffodils by William Wordsworth as a child, and it still runs through my head every time I see one.

More of my beets survived Max’s munching than I expected! I’m hopeful I’ll have some homegrown beets in a few weeks. My little strawberry plant has also been blooming.

My lavender has been soaking up all the rain we’ve been having recently, and I plan on harvesting some of the blossoms to dry for tea and tinctures.

Even my onions, planted hastily in a grow bag, have pushed green fingers out of the soil.

There’s still much to do, especially as the weather warms. Beds to assemble, fences to build, seedlings to harden and plant, and so much more. I’m hopeful we’ll have more garden updates in the near future.

handspun

/ Rachel Fenton / 6 Comments

If you follow me on Instagram, you already know: a few weeks ago, my amazing husband surprised me with a belated birthday/Valentine’s Day gift:

A spinning wheel.

We had talked about it before, and I’d told him my dream wheel as we discussed future purchases and goals in the upcoming months and years. So imagine my shock and delight when he came in from work with an Ashford Kiwi 3 in his arms.

He even spent his evening assembling it for me while I watched YouTube videos on using a spinning wheel for the first time. I’m absolutely in love (with him, and with my spinning wheel).

I had been greatly enjoying learning how to use my drop spindle, but often found my arms and wrists fatigued at the end of a long spinning session. Also, it’s very slow. It took me a few weeks to spin a skein of yarn on my drop spindle: after the learning curve of my wheel, I’ve completed three skeins. While I delight in slow crafting, I only have so many minutes in a day to dedicate to my crafts, so I’m excited to practice my spinning and have more handspun yarn to knit.

My trial skeins were rough, and I think they’re some of my favorites. I love that I have physical, visual progress: I can look back at my first warped and uneven work, and see how much I’ve improved in just a few short weeks.

My first spin after my trial skein was using Nest Fiber’s Cabin Fever, a BFL (Blue Faced Leicester) fiber. It’s a good wool for beginners. I decided to do a 2 ply, which means I spun two bobbins of singles and plyed them together for the final yarn.

I also decided to do a fractal spin: first, I split the fiber in half. I kept one half as it was, and then split the other half into quarters. I then spun the half end to end on one bobbin and the quarters end to end on another bobbin. This means one bobbin is a long, stretched out color pattern, and the other bobbin is that color pattern repeated in much shorter segments. Plying them together gets you a beautiful mosaic where you rarely have two of the same colors in the same place.

There are places where it’s overspun, and places where it’s underspun. It varies in thickness in many places, anywhere from a fingering weight to a light worsted weight. There are places where a stray blep of fuzz sticks out. But I’m really happy with the way it turned out, despite its flaws. I have plans to make a color-work cowl or hat, pairing it with a natural cream yarn.

Chai isn’t quite sure about my wheel yet

I’m in the process of my fourth spin, using another Nest Fiber product: Andromeda, a Targhee fiber. My sister fell in love with the sunset colors, so I’m spinning it for her. I’m halfway through the plying process.

I have always been mesmerized by the act of spinning yarn. There’s something incredibly ancient about it: since the dawn of human history, people have been spinning fiber for cloth and rope: a necessity for survival. The cloth that clothed the poorest farmer and the tapestries that hung in the halls of kings: each and every thread was spun by hand.

There’s also something deeply feminine about spinning. Though I don’t think fiber arts should exclude men who want to participate, it would do a disservice to our forebears to ignore that this is the work that historically fell to women. This is the art that gave our ancestors power and agency when they had none: we get the term “spinster” from an unmarried woman who could support herself through her skills with fiber.

According to the ancient source the Protoevangelium of James, the Virgin Mary herself spun the red and purple thread that became the veil in the Temple. Many icons and paintings of the Annunciation depict the Theotokos with a spindle and distaff in her hand.

We have become so desensitized to thread and cloth we take it for granted: work done by machines or by invisible hands. But since learning how to spin, I’ve begun to notice cloth all around me: from the rugs underfoot to the garments we wear.

I’ve also begun to see cloth referenced in the Gospels in a different light: The swaddling cloth that Christ wore at His birth, and the tunic the soldiers cast lots for at His crucifixion. The hem of His robe touched by the woman with the flow of blood, a conduit of His healing. His grave clothes and face covering in the empty tomb. All made by women, some by women He knew. Perhaps even His mother.

It brings to my mind how Christ does not work through the grand and lofty, but rather the humble. The humblest people, women, the first to behold His resurrection. The humblest items such as hems and grave clothes, used for the holiest of purposes.

He has cast down the mighty from their thrones,
and has lifted up the lowly.
He has filled the hungry with good things,
and the rich he has sent away empty.

The Magnificat, Luke 1:51-53

I’ve had some people ask me why I got into spinning. To many, it may seem an obsolete and unnecessary art. I started it because I wanted to better understand the fiber I knit with, but from there I grew a whole new appreciation of so many things: fiber, history, women, the Church. A casual curiosity has branched into a joyful passion. I’ll be spinning and knitting for the rest of my life, as long as my body allows it. Above all, I am grateful for the ways spinning draws my attention to that which is often overlooked, and the ways it keeps me humble.

little hobbit update

/ Rachel Fenton / 2 Comments

At nearly fourteen months, Michael is growing like crazy in every way. He’s officially in 12-18 month clothing, and even the odd 24 month/2T item. He’s been teething a lot, and is cutting his upper molars.

Sleep continues to be the hardest part of all our lives. He takes one nap, usually around 10:30 am, anywhere from 45 to 90 minutes. Bedtime is a trial. Earlier this week, two days in a row, he gave us an unheard of 4.5 hour stretch of sleep. However, he’s now fighting a cold and is back to being up every 1.5 to 2 hours. Still, having that 4.5 hour stretch two days in a row gave us some hope. Maybe the end of this insane sleeplessness is close?

Michael has taken to hiding toys in shoes. Jake and I have found several balls, toy cars, blocks, Cheerios, and the tv remote hidden in the toes of our boots. We’re now in the habit of dumping our shoes out before putting them on.

He loves putting things inside containers, shutting the lids, and then opening them and removing their contents. Anything from Tupperware to kitchen cabinets — if it has a door, he will open it and put something inside.

He hates the car, still — any drive longer than 20 minutes is a gamble. We’ve tried everything, but what seems to distract him from screaming the best is Jake and I singing the jingle “Bumblebee Tuna” at the top of our lungs in harmony. We’ve tried hymns, Irish ballads, pop songs, nursery rhymes — none of them make him stop screaming like the Bumblebee Tuna jingle. Go figure.

His language has continued to explode: he now says “Cosmo” (one of the dogs’ names), “Grandpa”, “Grandma”, “Bubba” (pacifier), “keys”, “down”, “shoes”, “book”, and “Jesus”. His favorite word right now is “uh oh”: anytime anything drops or crashes or makes a loud noise, we hear an adorable “uh ohhhhh”.

He currently loves cars and making car sounds — he delights in “driving” the car with Jake or the tractor with my dad. He has some of my dad’s vintage matchbox cars that he carries around with him wherever he goes.

Currently, his favorite books are Moo Baa La La La, Hand Hand Fingers Thumb, and Organic Chemistry for Babies. He often points to the atoms on the page and brightly explains “ball”!

He loves making animal noises: he willingly obliges when you ask him what a cow says, or a sheep says, or a dog says. We credit Moo Baa La La La for this skill set.

We’ve all been fighting colds the past week so I’ve utilized screen time more than usual. He loves Ms Rachel’s Songs for Littles channel on YouTube. I love that she gives me a chance to make dinner or fold laundry without a screeching barnacle. He giggles and dances along to the music, and she’s helped him find several new words. She’s also helped us learn how to best teach Michael new words. Often in the mornings or late afternoons, Michael and I will snuggle on the couch and watch an episode together.

As always, he adores being outside. He prefers pushing the stroller to being pushed in the stroller, and loves playing with the rocks in my parents’ driveway and throwing the ball for the dogs. It’s been raining a lot lately, and the resulting mud is fascinating to Michael.

His favorite foods currently include grapes, mozzarella balls, applesauce, mashed potatoes, rice, and black bean soup. He loves having his own spoon and has started learning how to use it to move food to his mouth instead of the floor.

I love watching my bright-eyed, curious, kind little boy explore the world around him. In spite of all the difficulties and growing pains, being his mother is the greatest honor.

lent & motherhood

/ Rachel Fenton / 5 Comments

For us Orthodox Christians, it’s been the first week of Lent (also known as Clean Week). For my Catholic and Protestant friends, Lent began the 22nd of February with Ash Wednesday.

It’s easy to misunderstand Lent as medieval legalism, or punishment, or self-flagellation. In reality, it’s none of these things. It’s medicine for our sick souls and bodies. During Lent, we focus on prayer, fasting, and almsgiving to become more like Christ as we prepare for His Passion and Resurrection.

But, the Church spares no effort in revealing to us that fasting is but a means, one among many, towards a higher goal: the spiritual renewal of man, his return to God, true repentance and, therefore, true reconciliation.

Protopresbyter Alexander Schmemann

The upcoming weeks will be full of beautiful church services. However, I have a complicated relationship with these Lenten duties now that I’m a mother.

Watching Michael grow comfortable in church has been a delight. He loves pointing at the icons, or running in circles around the icon on the stand at the front, or looking to his right and brightly exclaiming “Dada!” as he sees Jake chanting the Psalms. During more sparsely-attended services the sanctuary looks like a spacious and exciting place for an active one-year old. He doesn’t stay still for a moment: I get my steps in as I follow him to the front of the church, pick him up before he can get too close to the iconostasis, walk to the back of the church again, set him down, and the cycle repeats.

But it’s also easy to fall into resentment, or self-pity, or dread. The drive is 45 minutes both ways, and usually cuts into dinner time. Michael often is exhausted and low on resources — Divine Liturgy is in the middle of his naptime, and Vespers and the midweek Lent services are during his bedtime. We made it to one service this week, and had to leave halfway through because he was melting down. My husband will be fulfilling his duties as choir director and reader, my dad singing in the choir, and my mother helping with her goddaughter, so I will be wrangling Michael by myself — either in church or at home.

One of the things I love about Lent is the sense of community. We are all undertaking this great fast together, praying together; growing in holiness together. But lately I’ve been struggling because Lent looks different for me than for the rest of the church. It’s easy to get discouraged and think I’m not good enough because I can’t make all the services, or fast completely, or even focus on the services I do attend. And it’s easy to feel isolated and alone as I stay home, or stand on the patio with a wild toddler.

But when I stop to think about it, I am indeed praying, fasting, and almsgiving: just in ways that look a little different.

My prayer looks different in this season of life. Instead of singing with the choir, I pace the church with my tired toddler, letting my mind cling to the fragments of the Psalms I hear. I nurse or rock him to sleep in the cry room, listening to the bells on the censor as the priest passes by. I offer up my frustration, my exhaustion, my distraction, as imperfect prayer.

My fasting looks different in this season of life. As a breastfeeding mother and the cook for our family, we aren’t adhering to the strict Lenten diet most of the church does, though we are abstaining from meat. Instead of carefully curated Lenten fare, I eat either standing at a counter or with a curious toddler on my lap, trying to stick his hands in my bowl. Or I forget to eat, distracted by the multiple bids for my attention that surround me every day. I fast by denying myself and my desires as I stay home from church to tend to Michael instead of going to the services.

My almsgiving looks different in this season of life. While we also look for ways to give to those around us who are in need, I also recognize that my gift of self to my family — through presence, through menial household labor, through listening and soothing and playing with a one-year old — is in itself a form of giving.

I don’t have to enjoy every moment of Lenten motherhood: in fact, I often long for the days of quiet prayer when I could focus on the words of Liturgy. But when I’m tempted towards resentment or anger or despair, I take hold of this truth: my Lenten motherhood is just as pleasing a sacrifice to God as the singing of the faithful. As He accepts the distracted, childlike love of my son toddling from icon to icon, He accepts my exhausted, scattered love as I follow my child to the patio outside with Cheerios.

Piety, piety, but where is the love that moves mountains?

Mother Maria of Paris

So if you also are entering Lent carrying the weight of distraction and frustration and imperfection — whether because of motherhood or grief or mental illness or just exhaustion from the events of life — know that you are not alone. Many of us are carrying our Lenten struggles alongside you. And your prayer, your fasting, and your almsgiving — whatever they may look like, in whatever season of life you may be in — can be just as effective tools for your sanctification as the prostrations of the most devout monk.

aslan is on the move

/ Rachel Fenton / 3 Comments

We’re currently weathering another winter storm, though this one isn’t as severe as the ones in January. It’s snowing in the foothills, and we had some sleet make its way to us here in the valley. Stuck indoors, cozy while the wind and rain howl, I realized that it’s been a while since I’ve given a generalized homestead update. Be warned: this one will be brimming with photos.

Despite our current wind, rain, and ice, we’ve had a delightfully warm past few days. I always fall for fool’s spring: that brief warmth and sunshine that makes the trees stir to life and the gardeners get excited. All up and down the block, the almond trees are in full bloom. Every February, when they unfold their lacy white petals, I’m reminded of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe: “Aslan is on the move.” As I go on my walks, dark asphalt carpeted with fallen blossoms and leaves peaking out from dark buds, I feel as though Aslan is indeed on the move, driving out winter before him.

I’m itching to finish assembling my raised beds. I have never had a garden of my own: just potted herbs and plants that either thrived or died rather dramatically. So this is a novice’s experiment and I’m taking all of you along with me!

Work on our homestead has stalled some due to weather, work, and generalized exhaustion, but we’ve still managed to complete a few projects. Jake finished paving our front garden path, despite all the rain. It looks lovely, and I’m so glad it’s decreasing the amount of mud tracked into our house. My father also leveled out part of our front yard with the tractor.

We planted some of our trees in our backyard: peach, plum, and almond. Our current plan is to have the majority of our kitchen garden in raised beds in our front yard, where our house shelters it from the wind. The backyard will have more of our fruit trees and some in-ground rows for vegetables we want to grow for preserving.

I planted beet seeds in January and thought they didn’t make it after I saw my parents’ yellow Lab Max scarfing down the top layer of compost on my raised bed. However, against the odds, I’ve had some beet seedlings pop through the soil. I have no idea how many survived Max, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed.

My mother and I started some seeds for our gardens in the beginning of February — a variety of herbs and vegetables that now quietly grow under grow lights in the garage. Sunflowers, oregano, kale, calendula, and so many more.

Our next homestead project is to build the fence for our front garden: my parents’ dogs have a habit of munching on homegrown produce, so I don’t want to plant anything else until it’s safe from them. The fence will also help me keep a closer eye on Michael while I garden: now that he’s steadier on his feet, he’s exploring further and further and faster and faster.

My dad is finishing up the larger chicken coop in time for spring chicks: we will be increasing our flock soon, in hopes we will have a surplus of eggs this summer and enough to waterglass/preserve for winter. Michael loved stopping by to say hi and learn about the (powered down) staple gun Grandpa was using.

We have a few more joint homestead projects coming up: our beehives didn’t make it last winter, unfortunately, so we’re replacing them with hopes of a honey harvest in the late summer. My mom is very excited to get Michael his very own beekeeping suit — I’ll be sure to post pictures when she does.

Also, my dad and I — the Lord and free time willing — are planning on brewing some beer that should be ready in time for Pascha/Easter. He has brewed his own beer before, but this will be my first time helping in a major way and I’m excited to learn the process (and taste the results).

I’ve had a few knitting projects on the needles, but I’ve had to slow down due to hand and wrist pain. I have a few gift knits that are only a few hours away from completion: I just need to sit down and find the focused time to finish them. However, they’re all simple garter stitch or stockinette stitch pieces, and the repetitive motion irritates my hands and wrists dreadfully. It’s quite frustrating.

During a particularly rough day this week I decided I needed a comfort cast-on so I picked up the yarn I got for my Nightshift shawl as a Christmas gift from my parents. It’s bright and colorful and squishy and exactly what I needed to lift my spirits.

As my hands and wrists allow, I’m slowly moving between knitting projects, sewing projects, and my newest adventure: spinning my own yarn.

My dear friend Sarah Gene taught me while she visited over Christmas, and I’m absolutely hooked. It’s like magic: a stick, twist energy, and wool combine to make yarn. I feel like a wizard every time I spin.

I’ve acquired a few drop spindles and dyed top/wool and I’ve made two skeins of wonky yarn. It’s uneven and often overspun or underspun in areas, but it’s handmade and it’s mine. I’m quite proud of it.

So that’s our fool’s spring update: slow and simple progress as we wait for spring to actually arrive. But as I said before, even if spring isn’t truly here yet — it is coming. Aslan is on the move.

always we begin again

/ Rachel Fenton / 2 Comments

I feel like I say every room in our house is my favorite — but of all my favorites, I definitely spend the most time in the kitchen. It’s the first place I go to when I stumble out of bed in the morning, and the last place I tidy before I head to sleep.

I love the sage green of the walls — a color both calming and alive. I love the hanging pots and pans. I love our counters, lovingly sealed and installed by my dad and my husband. I love the large sliding door that opens to our porch and invites the breeze to blow through our home. I love the deep sink and the window that looks west over our backyard, and how the sunset trails its fingers down our walls every evening before dinner.

As I said, I spend the greater part of my hours in the kitchen. Putting away groceries, preparing food, eating food, cleaning up after meals, preparing snacks for my little one, cleaning out the fridge, emptying the dishwasher, filling the dishwasher — the list goes on.

However, some days I don’t see the green walls or the hanging pots and pans or the sink or the sunset. I see a never-ending cycle of chores that makes Sisyphus look like a man taking his pet rock for a stroll. No matter how many dishes I wash, more will be dirty in an hour or two. No matter how many meals I make, we will all be hungry and ready to eat again shortly. Every day when I wake up, the same tasks await me.

Much of motherhood and homemaking is cyclical and repetitive: somehow both always changing and always the same. My days all look very similar to each other, but just as I feel like I have a grasp on our routine, Michael hits a new growth milestone, and it causes a domino effect on my previous schedule or routine, and I begin again.

St. Benedict, the father of Western monasticism, has a famous motto I memorized back when I studied Latin in school: Ora Et Labora, which means “pray and work”. All of our work is an opportunity for prayer and beauty and sanctification: not just the parts I enjoy like writing or knitting or gardening, but also the dishes and the laundry and the vacuuming.

I can look at my labor as drudgery (and on my worst days, Lord have mercy, I admit I do), or I can embrace the work, offering it up as prayer and sacrifice and turning it into love. Even the constant and unending chores. Especially the constant and unending chores.

I’ve created small places in my kitchen to remind me to offer up my labor as I cook or clean. Our prayer corner is the eastern(ish) corner by the table. I have icons of Christ and St. Euphrosynus (the patron saint of cooks/kitchens) on the window sill above my sink. I also have a small card with the Hours printed on it: whenever I’m doing dishes, I try to find the closest hour and pray the corresponding Psalm.

Becoming holy is a labor that takes as much persistence as doing the dishes or laundry (if not more). No matter how many times you repent, you will have to repent again. Becoming more and more like Christ takes constant toil in the gardens of our hearts. Our faithfulness in these small, seemingly insignificant chores will translate over to our faithfulness in larger things. Luke 16:10 comes to mind: One who is faithful in a very little is also faithful in much.

Many of the venerated saints of the Church speak about this constant struggle towards holiness. St. Benedict also says, “Even when we fail, always we begin again”. And St. Anthony of the Desert says, “Everyday I say to myself, today I will begin.” It is here, in the daily struggle and daily choices, that saints are formed.

So tomorrow, when I enter my favorite room in our house and have a dishwasher to empty, meals to cook, and laundry to wash, dry, and fold, may I look at as an opportunity to begin again; taking steps toward my sanctification through work and through motherhood.

little hobbit update

/ Rachel Fenton / 2 Comments

Now that Michael is one, I would rather not chronicle his life by month: I’d like to record the moments and milestones as they come. I’ll be posting updates on our little hobbit as the pictures and life skills accumulate (most likely more than once per month, knowing me).

Michael’s favorite book currently is Moo Baa La La La by Sandra Boynton. He anticipates each animal sound before we turn the page and joins in BOW WOW WOW with gusto. We all have it memorized by now.

His baby babble has become much more sophisticated: Mama, Dada, yes and no, eyes, nose, ball, and “num” (food) are all regular parts of his vocabulary. He mirrors back to us words we’re saying, and he talks to himself constantly while playing — I know he’s getting into something he’s not supposed to when the babble ceases.

We transitioned from a crib to a floor bed, hoping it would help him sleep longer. So far it hasn’t improved much, but it’s easier for Jake and me to put him down and soothe him back to sleep, so I’m calling it a win. I need all the wins I can get, especially now that he’s down to one nap.

His favorite game is Bonk, which is exactly what it sounds like. He gently (and sometimes not so gently) bonks his forehead against ours and giggles uproariously when we proclaim bonk! (Or sometimes ouch). He also adores opening and closing cabinets. It keeps him quite busy at church during the homily.

He’s officially walking everywhere, and prefers walking to crawling. We hear little padding footsteps followed by a loud splat as he loses his balance, often a frustrated screech, then footsteps once more as he gets up and tries again.

Grandpa and our cat Chai are tied for his best friend. Grandpa likes Michael a lot more than Chai does, but she’s tolerant of him and allows him to pet her. He’s remarkably gentle with pets for his age. He also enjoys chasing her with his toy mop (a behavior we’re trying to discourage).

He continues to love music, just as he did in the womb and as an infant. We often listen to music in the afternoons together while playing in his room. Whenever our washer or dryer plays the ditty that announces the cycle is finished, he often pauses and bounces in place along with the beat. He’s especially enjoying Nickel Creek and Chris Thile. Maybe he’ll play fiddle or mandolin when he grows up.

His frustration tolerance is low — if he gets stuck or something is in his way, he displays an impressive lung capacity. My favorite quote from Moby Dick often comes to mind: a bellow “like that of a heart-stricken moose” (Ch 36, for those interested). We’re slowly and surely helping him learn patience. He might be impatient, but he’s resolute and has all the virtues that come with stubbornness.

Being outside in the garden is one of his favorite pastimes. I have to keep a close eye on him to make sure he doesn’t eat the compost or behead one of my seedlings with his trowel, but he loves playing in the dirt with his garden tools. He helped Jake plant a tree, and helped me plant some blackberries.

Currently, he’s a ridiculously adventurous eater. Anything I’m eating, he wants to eat it too. To name a few, he’s eaten kimchi, kombucha, wasabi pea chips, and sauerkraut (and come back for second, third, and fourth bites)

He is a very loved little boy: GG and PaPaw dote on him, as do his grandparents. Living in community has its difficulties, but seeing Michael grow up surrounded by so many who love him is one of the brightest parts.

I watch him grow with a bittersweetness: this walking, talking toddler was my tiny baby not that long ago. I feel like I blinked and he became a little boy.

Even in the midst of the sleeplessness and other challenges motherhood brings, I cherish these beautiful moments and collect them in my photos and in my heart.