Koliva

Most assuredly, I say to you unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains alone, but if it dies, it produces much grain. – John 12:24

I love that the church is so physically involved in all the important moments of our life including times of grief. When our parish suffered a difficult loss, I found it helpful to have something tangible to do, to offer for the family.

I used instructions and prayers from the GOA website, although my recipe for kolyva/koliva from a friend varies a little.

The children wanted to help decorate, but I wanted to be sure it turned out nicely, so I let them play decorate some sugar and almonds on a pate, rather than on the kolliva. 

Memory eternal!

Remembering

When I lost my last pregnancy at 14 weeks, I remember walking around in a surreal haze for a long time. The world kept going, the holidays were happening.

I remember walking around the store in this haze, with the girls in the cart and my mind far away. I wandered into the plant section to find something in bloom, flowers for my child. There wasn't much, but I chose a white Thanksgiving Cactus, hoping it would bloom again next year.

I am so glad I did. 

That first year, as I counted the weeks to finish my phantom pregnancy, as I wept in the middle of the day, as I scurried away from babies, I tended to my cactus. When fall came again, and the smell of the house reminded me of the child not in my womb, it ached so. And I was so very sad for the child that no one else seemed to remember. And, as if to tell me, "Don't despair, I remember," my cactus burst forth in new blooms.

Every year, it seems a little bit harder to talk about, as he becomes more distant. We celebrate his name day with much joy, and it seems to wash away the sadness. This year we have a new little one growing and kicking. I am filled with joyful anticipation... but also reminded of someone missing.

To all of those grieving during these holidays, don't despair! Christ remembers, and offers hope of blooms in the darkness.

With the saints give rest, O Christ, to the soul of Thy servant where sickness and sorrow are no more, neither sighing, but life everlasting .

Thanksgiving

I am looking out my window at the odd gray sky: it was warm yesterday, and today the temperature is dropping as an ice storm approaches, all while the new grass we planted is finally growing on my lawn. 

It is an awkward transition, as they so often are. 

My Thanksgiving Cactus is again blooming as Thanksgiving carries us into the Nativity season. I look forward to these delicate blooms each year: to the wonder of shocking color amidst all the gray, as if to say the cloudy skies, frosty mornings and early evenings can not stop the earth from bursting forth with thanksgiving.

I haven't taken care of my houseplants as well this year, since moving into our new home. I'm still finding the right window, and remembering to mend my disrupted routine. And yet they persist, they bloom. Thank God!

Wishing you all a beautiful season of joy and thanksgiving!

I'm thinking how so much so often
comes of showing up, comes of being
willing to arrive, regardless,
as our several mute anxieties subside, and now
I startle, blinking—so much so

that I am for the short term almost wide awake—
and see a bit more clearly how
this willingness or that
can make of the confusion yet
another likely scene, make of the troubled,

packed interior a zone of calm, which calm
avails momentarily a glimpse
to mark among so many frank,
unlikely revelations that I continue
to observe that I am blinking still.

 - From Scott Cairns' Thanksgiving Poem

Perhaps you know I have a special love of house plants, and hope to someday have my grandmothers' green thumbs.  I enjoy tending to them and watching them so much more than I do my vegetable garden (unfortunately for my vegetables).  I think its because they're impractical and needy, but also delicate and beautiful.

 I bought this "Christmas" Cactus last year thinking it would be nice to have blooms in the winter.  I learned that my cactus is actually a Thanksgiving cactus, however; and the name changing is just a bit of tricky marketing.  Nevertheless, I brought it indoors when the temperatures dropped, and I was delighted to find it covered in white buds a few days later.

There is certainly something hopeful about a flower that blooms in the low cold months.  It is a reminder of the joy of spring and what will be.  But it is also the presence of the joy that is.

Yesterday, a few buds opened revealing their breathtaking flowers.  These lovely blooms will last through Christmas, a blessing for which I am very thankful.

With a Flower

I hide myself within my flower,
That wearing on your breast,
You, unsuspecting, wear me too --
And angels know the rest.

I hide myself within my flower,
That, fading from your vase,
You, unsuspecting, feel for me
Almost a loneliness.
 - Emily Dickinson