Even in the midst of the boxes and piles and generalized mess causes by unpacking, bits of home are coming together. I’m making little pockets of peace: a clean countertop, an organized bookshelf; a folded pile of laundry. Focusing on these pockets instead of the chaos helps me keep my sanity.

Of all the rooms in the house, Michael’s nursery is the closest to being set up. I still have shelves to hang and books to sort, but otherwise, it’s safe for him to crawl around in and explore.

I’m so proud of the work I put into his room. My goal was to create a space that nurtures delight and imagination, evoking nature and its Creator. It’s nowhere near perfect, but I’m incredibly happy with the result.

The ceiling is my favorite part. I hand-painted stars in gold leaf and interspersed them with verses from the Orthodox Sunday morning prayers (The Song of the Three Holy Youths). I used a stepladder and I’m sure the angle contributed to my wrist pain over the last few weeks. It took me quite a few hours, but what better use of the time while waiting for PG&E and the county?

I remember singing these verses as a catechumen at St. Michael’s and being awed by the beauty of the words. They reminded me of the prayers of Saint Patrick in how they invoked all of Creation in their praise.

I painted them with Michael in mind, praying he grows up with these words etched on his heart, falling asleep dreaming of the stars singing their celestial hymns to their Creator.

However, I didn’t foresee the blessing they would be to me. We’ve only been in our house for a few days, but already I’ve read these verses over and over as I rocked Michael back to sleep at all hours of the night.

It’s been rather humbling to exhausted, middle-of-the-night me. I definitely don’t feel like praising the Lord at 3 am when I’ve hardly had any sleep. But through the fog of weariness and frustration, I still have the refrain in my head, barely visible in the glow from the nightlight, bless ye the Lord: praise and exalt Him above all forever.

It’s inspired me to cultivate intentional reminders to pray throughout my home, whether it’s an icon of our Lord placed above the sink or a prayer taped to the wall of my laundry room. If you have ways you keep prayer in the forefront of your mind, I would love to hear them!

Growing up, one of my favorite books was A Swiftly Tilting Planet, by Madeline L’Engle. I read it over and over, and I still return to it in times of turmoil. It is a powerful fictional example of spiritual warfare and the triumph of good over evil.

One of the things that it taught me was the power of prayer against demonic forces. In the book, the main character Charles Wallace is given a rune to battle the evil forces that try to stop him from saving the world.

In this fateful hour
I place all Heaven with its power,
And the sun with its brightness,
And the snow with its whiteness,
And fire with all the strength it hath,
And lightning with its rapid wrath,
And the winds with their swiftness along their path,
And the sea with its deepness,
And the rocks with their steepness,
And the earth with its starkness:
All these I place,
By God’s almighty help and grace,
Between myself and the powers of darkness.

St Patrick’s Rune

L’Engle borrowed this rune from Saint Patrick. I memorized it because I was a nerdy middle school student, and it was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. This rune and Saint Patrick’s Breastplate continue to be prayers I cling to when overwhelmed by darkness or chaos or grief.

This past Thursday we buried my uncle. It was one of the hardest days of my life, with the funeral, burial, reception, and the different difficulties that came with all of them. Grief and suffering do ugly things to us, if we let them. They are so easily twisted into despair, tools for the demons, and barbs against those around us instead of steps towards our sanctification.

On Friday, Jake and I carved out a beautiful day in the middle of all the pain and heaviness of grief. We went to our tiny local zoo — Michael’s first time at a zoo. Watching his delight at the animals and wandering around the quiet exhibits brought such a sense of peace to us.

When Michael fell asleep in his stroller, Jake and I were able to walk under the old oak trees and breathe in the beauty of the park. The trees reached their leaves to heaven, and the squirrels argued in their branches, and ladybugs danced at their roots. There I was struck by the rune from my childhood: the rocks with their steepness and the earth with its starkness.

So in the face of the ugliness of grief and this brokenness of the world, I held to this rune and Saint Patrick’s Breastplate. I continue to hold both of them, and the beauty all around us, as a shield against despair and against the snares of the Enemy.

Our world is quick to scoff at the idea of immaterial forces beyond our ability to see or fully understand, but as Christians we know that there is more to our world than mere materialism. Spiritual warfare is real, and manifests in many ways. And there is nothing the demons want more than to drag us down with them.

So if you have experienced spiritual warfare in the form of grief, or suffering, or heaviness of heart, know that you are not alone. I hope you too can use beauty as a shield, and that an old rune from a simple children’s book can give you as much courage as it has given me.