Next Sunday is our last Sunday at our parish, and though I have a few more things I'm planning on posting about that situation, including our letter to the vestry, I think I'm almost done.
But before I post those last few, I wanted to say something, just in case it hasn't been clear:
I love the people of my parish. When I've mentioned that I'm glad our family is almost out of the Episcopal Church, I do not mean that I'm glad that I'm leaving the people in our parish. I'm heartbroken about that. I don't talk about the heartbroken part that much, because, as someone smart once said: you can't fix normal. I can't make the heartbreak go away - it's a normal emotional response - so I don't talk about it much; I just accept it.
When I say, "I'm glad it's almost over," I mean that I'm glad the stress of it will be over soon. When you've something awful to go through, it's nice when you reach the other side and don't have it looming over you anymore.
So, that's that. I am glad it's almost over. I'm still not glad it's happening.
peace of Christ to you,
Jessica Snell
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
thrift store find: advent wreath candle holder
One small part of my vacation - after we got back from the Sierras - was to go thrift store shopping. I love thrift stores, and I've found great stuff there over the years, from pretty things like the beautifully-framed Constable print that hangs in our living room and to ordinary household items, like our bathroom scale.
But this time I found something I've been wanting for about six years now: the perfect candle holder for our yearly Advent wreath.
Ugly, eh? Yes, that's what was on it when I found it at the thrift store: ratty old pink flowers and an incongruous Christmas ribbon. It looked hokey. But I realized that neither the flowers nor the ribbon were permanently attached and underneath them was a simple and serviceable brass candle-holder with a spot for each of the four candles of Advent, and a spot in the middle for the Christ Child candle:
And even the pink flowers helped me see how to use it: with an evergreen wreath in their place, it'll look just right in December.
And I also noticed that when you look at it from overhead, it's cruciform:
It seemed like the sort of subtle, solemn reminder that was perfect for Advent.
peace of Christ to you,
Jessica Snell
But this time I found something I've been wanting for about six years now: the perfect candle holder for our yearly Advent wreath.
Ugly, eh? Yes, that's what was on it when I found it at the thrift store: ratty old pink flowers and an incongruous Christmas ribbon. It looked hokey. But I realized that neither the flowers nor the ribbon were permanently attached and underneath them was a simple and serviceable brass candle-holder with a spot for each of the four candles of Advent, and a spot in the middle for the Christ Child candle:
And even the pink flowers helped me see how to use it: with an evergreen wreath in their place, it'll look just right in December.
And I also noticed that when you look at it from overhead, it's cruciform:
It seemed like the sort of subtle, solemn reminder that was perfect for Advent.
peace of Christ to you,
Jessica Snell
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
An Oppressive Week and God's Love
Last week, my family and I went camping in the Sierras (grand and breath-takingly beautiful), and I hope to write about it soon, but before I did, I wanted to blog about something that happened just before we left.
What Happened First
The week before vacation, I felt like I had a hangover from General Convention. We’d left church after arguing with one of the deacons about whether GenCon mattered or not – he seemed to think nothing of the fact that they’d declined to pass a resolution stating that Christ was the only way to the Father. We, of course, saw this as denying the heart of Christianity itself. (To be fair to the deacon, I think he meant that it didn’t matter politically, not theologically. I’d argue about how entwined those two are. Still, not how you want to leave mass.)
Anyway, the week got harder as it progressed. By Thursday, I felt like I was in the middle of a storm. I hadn’t had a day that bad in ages – I felt like I did back in the days when I had a baby or two awake at all hours of the night and inconsolable during the day. I felt like I was getting beat up all day long – really. I remember standing in the kitchen feeling like I was trying to remain upright while someone was hitting me.
It did occur to me at one point “this feels like spiritual warfare.” And I managed several times to cry out to the Lord Jesus, asking for His help. And I believe He did help me: otherwise, I would not have bit my tongue as many times as I did. It would have been a lot worse without His help; I believe He kept a rein on my temper that day, when I was no longer able to. I think He spared my children a lot of yelling and granted them more kindness through me than was in my heart to give.
It was also a swimming-through-molasses day. Every time I looked at the clock, I was dumbfounded by how little it had moved.
Finally it ended. The next day was Friday, and Adam was home, in preparation for our vacation. That day was hard too – I kept wanting to snap at him as well as the children – but his presence was, as always, a grace, and things went a little better.
But that night, one of the babies, Anna, cried for hours after she had fallen asleep. We kept comforting her, telling her it was okay, but she kept waking us with her cries. Then, I myself woke up from a nightmare.
It was a demonic nightmare. It was easy to tell, because it was saturated with that particular feeling of hate and terror. That message of “we are going to kill you; be terrified”. Also it was easy to tell because as soon as I realized what it was, and spoke the name of Jesus in the dream, the demons revealed themselves, jumped at me and I woke up. They always end that way. No demon can withstand the power of Christ.
When I woke up, Anna was crying, and I realized that she might be being oppressed by the same things I was, so I prayed properly, and prayed for her, and told them to leave in Jesus’ name. She slept soundly the rest of the night, and so did I. (I prayed for the rest of the children too.)
What Happened Next
Now, here is where it gets interesting.
The first interesting thing is the dream itself. In it, I found myself in the company of other people who had left the Episcopal Church. Adam and I were living with them, and we were surrounded by the enemy. Once I woke up, I realized that this dream confirmed what my horrible week was about: it was spiritual warfare, and it was about what’s going on at church.
It sounds strange, but having that dream ended up being a relief! Even as I fell asleep afterwards, I was laughing in my prayers, laughing at the cleverness and the frugality of our Lord: He let me be oppressed for a time, but He made even the oppression serve His purpose, by making His enemies reveal why they were oppressing me. (And, as always, by letting the presence of my enemies remind me to hold myself closer to Him.) Truly, He is the Lord of all – even the wind and the wave obey Him, even the storm, even the fallen angels. Jesus is Lord of Heaven and Earth.
The second interesting thing is that back in the middle of that oppressive week, I got a very encouraging email from my mom. I didn’t think much of it at the time – its compliments on my mothering seemed very far removed from my then very cranky self – but it was a bright spot in a hard week.
But on the weekend, I told her about my weird week, and about its culmination in my dream, and she laughed and said, “Oh, that’s why the Lord told me to pray for you! Do you remember that email I sent you? He told me when I sent it that you wouldn’t be able to hear what I was saying, but that I should send it anyway, and not say, ‘you might not see yourself this way.’ That I should just send it. You were on my heart so much, and I prayed for you a lot.”*
Do you see what this means? It means that in the midst of that dry, horrible time, when I felt like the worst of sinners, and was struggling just to take a breath without cursing, trying to be faithful when it felt like there was no point, that AT THAT MOMENT, the Lord Jesus was seeing me and loving me. He was prompting someone else to pray for me. He had not forgotten me.
I know this is true all the time, but it is so rarely I am shown it so concretely. This time though, He gave me the privilege of seeing His love for me. Looking back I can see that in the moment when I felt the worst, when I felt dry and beaten and discouraged, He saw me, He loved me, He helped me. And He was kind enough afterwards to show me that it was so.
I know it’s corny, but I’ve loved that poem Footprints since I was a small child. A beach house we stayed in once had it on the wall of the bathroom, and I read it over and over. And that week, I got to see that the idea I loved as a child was true: in our darkest of hours, when we feel most besieged, our Lord is not just with us, He carries us.
Call on His name, for He cares for us.
peace of Christ to you,
Jessica Snell
*When I was talking to my mom, and asking her what she thought about my experience, she told me she was going to answer like we were back in the village she worked in as a missionary. In that village there was a lot of witchcraft, and things that are usually hidden here in the States were much more open there. (You can read more about the reality of spiritual attacks in Jen's post here. My own take on it is still there in the comments, and the discussion following that post of hers was really good, I think.) Anyway, Mom pointed out that spiritual oppression is exactly what you ought to expect in a church that just coporately denied Christ. Leaving individuals (and even individual parishes) aside for the moment, at GenCon, the coporate church declared that they didn't need Jesus to save them. To be frank, when you take yourself out of the protection of Christ, you're vulnerable to the forces of evil.
-And because of that, I add my second note: please, when you think of it, pray for my friends who are still in the Episcopal Church. The Christians who remain there remain on hostile ground. They are beseiged. It's a dark place to be and they need your prayers. Thank you.
What Happened First
The week before vacation, I felt like I had a hangover from General Convention. We’d left church after arguing with one of the deacons about whether GenCon mattered or not – he seemed to think nothing of the fact that they’d declined to pass a resolution stating that Christ was the only way to the Father. We, of course, saw this as denying the heart of Christianity itself. (To be fair to the deacon, I think he meant that it didn’t matter politically, not theologically. I’d argue about how entwined those two are. Still, not how you want to leave mass.)
Anyway, the week got harder as it progressed. By Thursday, I felt like I was in the middle of a storm. I hadn’t had a day that bad in ages – I felt like I did back in the days when I had a baby or two awake at all hours of the night and inconsolable during the day. I felt like I was getting beat up all day long – really. I remember standing in the kitchen feeling like I was trying to remain upright while someone was hitting me.
It did occur to me at one point “this feels like spiritual warfare.” And I managed several times to cry out to the Lord Jesus, asking for His help. And I believe He did help me: otherwise, I would not have bit my tongue as many times as I did. It would have been a lot worse without His help; I believe He kept a rein on my temper that day, when I was no longer able to. I think He spared my children a lot of yelling and granted them more kindness through me than was in my heart to give.
It was also a swimming-through-molasses day. Every time I looked at the clock, I was dumbfounded by how little it had moved.
Finally it ended. The next day was Friday, and Adam was home, in preparation for our vacation. That day was hard too – I kept wanting to snap at him as well as the children – but his presence was, as always, a grace, and things went a little better.
But that night, one of the babies, Anna, cried for hours after she had fallen asleep. We kept comforting her, telling her it was okay, but she kept waking us with her cries. Then, I myself woke up from a nightmare.
It was a demonic nightmare. It was easy to tell, because it was saturated with that particular feeling of hate and terror. That message of “we are going to kill you; be terrified”. Also it was easy to tell because as soon as I realized what it was, and spoke the name of Jesus in the dream, the demons revealed themselves, jumped at me and I woke up. They always end that way. No demon can withstand the power of Christ.
When I woke up, Anna was crying, and I realized that she might be being oppressed by the same things I was, so I prayed properly, and prayed for her, and told them to leave in Jesus’ name. She slept soundly the rest of the night, and so did I. (I prayed for the rest of the children too.)
What Happened Next
Now, here is where it gets interesting.
The first interesting thing is the dream itself. In it, I found myself in the company of other people who had left the Episcopal Church. Adam and I were living with them, and we were surrounded by the enemy. Once I woke up, I realized that this dream confirmed what my horrible week was about: it was spiritual warfare, and it was about what’s going on at church.
It sounds strange, but having that dream ended up being a relief! Even as I fell asleep afterwards, I was laughing in my prayers, laughing at the cleverness and the frugality of our Lord: He let me be oppressed for a time, but He made even the oppression serve His purpose, by making His enemies reveal why they were oppressing me. (And, as always, by letting the presence of my enemies remind me to hold myself closer to Him.) Truly, He is the Lord of all – even the wind and the wave obey Him, even the storm, even the fallen angels. Jesus is Lord of Heaven and Earth.
The second interesting thing is that back in the middle of that oppressive week, I got a very encouraging email from my mom. I didn’t think much of it at the time – its compliments on my mothering seemed very far removed from my then very cranky self – but it was a bright spot in a hard week.
But on the weekend, I told her about my weird week, and about its culmination in my dream, and she laughed and said, “Oh, that’s why the Lord told me to pray for you! Do you remember that email I sent you? He told me when I sent it that you wouldn’t be able to hear what I was saying, but that I should send it anyway, and not say, ‘you might not see yourself this way.’ That I should just send it. You were on my heart so much, and I prayed for you a lot.”*
Do you see what this means? It means that in the midst of that dry, horrible time, when I felt like the worst of sinners, and was struggling just to take a breath without cursing, trying to be faithful when it felt like there was no point, that AT THAT MOMENT, the Lord Jesus was seeing me and loving me. He was prompting someone else to pray for me. He had not forgotten me.
I know this is true all the time, but it is so rarely I am shown it so concretely. This time though, He gave me the privilege of seeing His love for me. Looking back I can see that in the moment when I felt the worst, when I felt dry and beaten and discouraged, He saw me, He loved me, He helped me. And He was kind enough afterwards to show me that it was so.
I know it’s corny, but I’ve loved that poem Footprints since I was a small child. A beach house we stayed in once had it on the wall of the bathroom, and I read it over and over. And that week, I got to see that the idea I loved as a child was true: in our darkest of hours, when we feel most besieged, our Lord is not just with us, He carries us.
Call on His name, for He cares for us.
peace of Christ to you,
Jessica Snell
*When I was talking to my mom, and asking her what she thought about my experience, she told me she was going to answer like we were back in the village she worked in as a missionary. In that village there was a lot of witchcraft, and things that are usually hidden here in the States were much more open there. (You can read more about the reality of spiritual attacks in Jen's post here. My own take on it is still there in the comments, and the discussion following that post of hers was really good, I think.) Anyway, Mom pointed out that spiritual oppression is exactly what you ought to expect in a church that just coporately denied Christ. Leaving individuals (and even individual parishes) aside for the moment, at GenCon, the coporate church declared that they didn't need Jesus to save them. To be frank, when you take yourself out of the protection of Christ, you're vulnerable to the forces of evil.
-And because of that, I add my second note: please, when you think of it, pray for my friends who are still in the Episcopal Church. The Christians who remain there remain on hostile ground. They are beseiged. It's a dark place to be and they need your prayers. Thank you.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
A Saturday Night Experiment: Momtini
-4 parts gin
-1 part dry vermouth
-squeeze of lemon
-1 Sir Isaac Lime Otter Pop, crushed
Stir all ingredients with ice for 30 seconds. Strain into glass. Enjoy.
All I'm sayin' is: sometimes you gotta work with what you have.
peace of Christ to you,
Jessica Snell
-1 part dry vermouth
-squeeze of lemon
-1 Sir Isaac Lime Otter Pop, crushed
Stir all ingredients with ice for 30 seconds. Strain into glass. Enjoy.
All I'm sayin' is: sometimes you gotta work with what you have.
peace of Christ to you,
Jessica Snell
links - mostly on writing
But there's also this.
I'm not entirely certain it's appropriate for a church . . . but it seems appropriate for a wedding, and where should a wedding be but in a church? (Actually, on further thought, it seems to me that it would be most appropriate if they did it going out of the church rather than in - concentrate on the joyful solemnity on the way in, and party at the accomplished fact on the way out! Either way, it's a great video.)
(And yes, I know I show my true nerdiness in that I can't just enjoy the film, I have to enjoy it and then think about it.)
Then there's this fascinating post on having 1000 True Fans. The author points out that to make a living as an artist, you don't necessarily need to be the platinum-selling artist; instead, you need a certain, finite number of true fans, people who to whom your art has an absolute appeal, people who will buy everything you make. It made me wonder if I was anyone's true fan, and I was surprised to find that I was. I'll buy any of Caedmon's Call's cds, Carla Kelly's Regencies, and anything Lois McMaster Bujold cares to write about Miles Vorkosigan. I also thought about artists of whom I'm a sort of secondary fan - I won't go out of my way to buy their stuff, but if it falls in my path, I'll always pick it up and read it/listen to it/watch it.
This also led to the sad reflection that many of the people of whom I am a True Fan are dead: Rich Mullins, Dorothy Sayers, Anthony Trollope, Essie Summers etc.
I think my new goal as an artist is to keep making True Fans after I die. :)
I could be wrong, but I think this next link might be interesting to readers as well as writers, because it reveals one of the tricks of the trade: how to reveal your character's backstory without a huge info-dump in the first chapter. You know, "Joe was desperately attracted to Mindy. Sadly, he couldn't marry her because she had cheated his brother in a business deal. But what Joe didn't know is that Mindy was forced into this dastardly dead by her wicked uncle who had been holding her beloved poodle Butterscotch hostage. Thus, the lovers were star-crossed. Commence story." Ever read a book that started like that? Theresa Stevens reveals that you can avoid that boring info-dump by turning it into conflict! Neat trick.
Finally, an unlikely pairing: Writer's Digest interviews Stephen King and Jerry Jenkins together. I'll admit, I've never read any of King's work, but I'm always impressed when I read his interviews.
Enjoy your weekend!
peace of Christ to you,
Jessica Snell
I'm not entirely certain it's appropriate for a church . . . but it seems appropriate for a wedding, and where should a wedding be but in a church? (Actually, on further thought, it seems to me that it would be most appropriate if they did it going out of the church rather than in - concentrate on the joyful solemnity on the way in, and party at the accomplished fact on the way out! Either way, it's a great video.)
(And yes, I know I show my true nerdiness in that I can't just enjoy the film, I have to enjoy it and then think about it.)
Then there's this fascinating post on having 1000 True Fans. The author points out that to make a living as an artist, you don't necessarily need to be the platinum-selling artist; instead, you need a certain, finite number of true fans, people who to whom your art has an absolute appeal, people who will buy everything you make. It made me wonder if I was anyone's true fan, and I was surprised to find that I was. I'll buy any of Caedmon's Call's cds, Carla Kelly's Regencies, and anything Lois McMaster Bujold cares to write about Miles Vorkosigan. I also thought about artists of whom I'm a sort of secondary fan - I won't go out of my way to buy their stuff, but if it falls in my path, I'll always pick it up and read it/listen to it/watch it.
This also led to the sad reflection that many of the people of whom I am a True Fan are dead: Rich Mullins, Dorothy Sayers, Anthony Trollope, Essie Summers etc.
I think my new goal as an artist is to keep making True Fans after I die. :)
I could be wrong, but I think this next link might be interesting to readers as well as writers, because it reveals one of the tricks of the trade: how to reveal your character's backstory without a huge info-dump in the first chapter. You know, "Joe was desperately attracted to Mindy. Sadly, he couldn't marry her because she had cheated his brother in a business deal. But what Joe didn't know is that Mindy was forced into this dastardly dead by her wicked uncle who had been holding her beloved poodle Butterscotch hostage. Thus, the lovers were star-crossed. Commence story." Ever read a book that started like that? Theresa Stevens reveals that you can avoid that boring info-dump by turning it into conflict! Neat trick.
Finally, an unlikely pairing: Writer's Digest interviews Stephen King and Jerry Jenkins together. I'll admit, I've never read any of King's work, but I'm always impressed when I read his interviews.
Enjoy your weekend!
peace of Christ to you,
Jessica Snell
Monday, July 20, 2009
dates of note: St. Macrina and the Moon
Today is the anniversary of the first lunar communion. If you've never heard this story, it's well-worth reading about. Yes, Eucharist in space! Weird as that sounds, it's true.
Also, yesterday was the feast day of St. Macrina. (Of course, often observed earlier or not observed because the weekly celebration of the Resurrection takes precedence.) I don't know of any particular way her feast day is usually celebrated at home, but I think it's worth rereading a brief biography of her, just as a mom of young siblings. To put it simply: she and her brothers turned out really, really well. It's kind of the result we're all working towards every day. (Though I admit that I selfishly want grandchildren.)
peace of Christ to you,
Jessica Snell
Also, yesterday was the feast day of St. Macrina. (Of course, often observed earlier or not observed because the weekly celebration of the Resurrection takes precedence.) I don't know of any particular way her feast day is usually celebrated at home, but I think it's worth rereading a brief biography of her, just as a mom of young siblings. To put it simply: she and her brothers turned out really, really well. It's kind of the result we're all working towards every day. (Though I admit that I selfishly want grandchildren.)
peace of Christ to you,
Jessica Snell
The Homeschooling Mom and the School Board Member
On Friday, my family and I went to Sam’s Club, and Bess, our oldest, was dressed in a bright purple t-shirt, bright orange-and-pink-striped shorts, hot pink boots and sunglasses. Yes, she dressed herself.
A friendly older couple commented on her outfit and laughed, saying that their daughter used to do something similar when she was little. Then they realized they recognized me, and introduced themselves as the parents of one of my friends from middle school. So we stopped and chatted, and I asked how their son was doing and they asked about my kids. On hearing that Bess was turning five, they asked where she was going to go to school.
“Oh, we’re planning on homeschooling her for kindergarten.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, our local kindergarten only offers full-day, and it’s a very frantic atmosphere – so high pressure. I just don’t think it’s appropriate for a five-year-old.”
It was at that point that the lady of the couple reminded me of something that I’d forgotten – but that I should have remembered from seeing her last name on posters all over town around election time: she’s on the school board.
Whoops.
I really didn’t mean to criticize the local public schools to a member of the school board, who no doubt works very hard to make them good public schools. I felt a little badly, especially as, after that, her husband kept chatting with us, but she stayed mostly silent. (Her husband was assuring us that our local school was an excellent one, to which our answer was, I think, “yes, we’ve heard that.” Unspoken was, I suppose, “but we don’t agree.” The conversation really did end on a friendly note – but the lady really did look pretty put out.)
But, on reflection, the fact that I gave my reaction to the school before knowing who she was probably was a good thing. I bet most school board members don’t get honest feedback from homeschooling parents – if they get any at all. Maybe, if it ever comes up, talking to me might encourage her to vote for restoring half-day kindergarten?
I still feel a bit badly about it. But it’s the kind of random encounter that you just can’t quite view as random. So, who knows what will come of it? Good things, I hope.
A friendly older couple commented on her outfit and laughed, saying that their daughter used to do something similar when she was little. Then they realized they recognized me, and introduced themselves as the parents of one of my friends from middle school. So we stopped and chatted, and I asked how their son was doing and they asked about my kids. On hearing that Bess was turning five, they asked where she was going to go to school.
“Oh, we’re planning on homeschooling her for kindergarten.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, our local kindergarten only offers full-day, and it’s a very frantic atmosphere – so high pressure. I just don’t think it’s appropriate for a five-year-old.”
It was at that point that the lady of the couple reminded me of something that I’d forgotten – but that I should have remembered from seeing her last name on posters all over town around election time: she’s on the school board.
Whoops.
I really didn’t mean to criticize the local public schools to a member of the school board, who no doubt works very hard to make them good public schools. I felt a little badly, especially as, after that, her husband kept chatting with us, but she stayed mostly silent. (Her husband was assuring us that our local school was an excellent one, to which our answer was, I think, “yes, we’ve heard that.” Unspoken was, I suppose, “but we don’t agree.” The conversation really did end on a friendly note – but the lady really did look pretty put out.)
But, on reflection, the fact that I gave my reaction to the school before knowing who she was probably was a good thing. I bet most school board members don’t get honest feedback from homeschooling parents – if they get any at all. Maybe, if it ever comes up, talking to me might encourage her to vote for restoring half-day kindergarten?
I still feel a bit badly about it. But it’s the kind of random encounter that you just can’t quite view as random. So, who knows what will come of it? Good things, I hope.
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