So, our sad little planet has made yet another rotation around the sun and by God’s grace, I am still here. My blog entry today is not the usual theological musings or self-absorbed reflections, but just looking at where I am today as the year starts.

The landscape outside our house is blanketed with about twelve inches of the “1 to 4 inches expected” in the Washington DC metro area. Don’t you just love meteorologists? I remember a day many years ago watching “5% chance of rain tomorrow” coming down so hard I was looking for an ark to go floating by.  It is the heavy, wet, sticky, kind of snow – “heart attack snow” – that has brought one of the pine trees in our yard to rest upon the corner of our house. I don’t see any damage initially, but I will know better when the thick carpet of snow melts and reveals the corner of our house. Elizabeth is already badgering me to get outside and cut it down, but this appears to be a dangerous job best left to professionals.

I type this between bites of a dish of “Hoppin John,” which is, from what I understand, a traditional New Year’s Day dish served in the South. I found it in a paper bag resting on my porch New Year’s Day, compliments of Jim and Lori, my new neighbors. Ironic that this is my first taste of this Southern dish, given that I grew up in the South. My parents were transplanted Yankees, he from Philadelphia and she from Stratford, who never exhibited much interest in local customs.  The closest I got to any mannerisms of the South was my mom’s attempt to cook okra. I remember it as a miserable failure, a gummy and disgusting looking mess that I refused to eat. In her defense, this was not her forte at all.  Mom was Italian and her Italian dishes were to die for. To this day I would give good money for one more dish of her Chicken Tetrazzini.  But southern food?  Nope.

Jim and Lori are marvelous neighbors, the kind you really want to have living next door. On the day they moved in, I strolled over to say hi and immediately struck up a friendship. A couple of months ago I found a note tucked into the flag of my mailbox, inviting all nearby neighbors to come celebrate their one-year anniversary of moving in. They set up a fire pit, put out drinks and snacks, and a dozen of us talked for hours, getting to know each other better. They did the same thing for Halloween. In addition, Jim is an avid softball player, so I have someone with whom I can roll on down to the athletic fields on Braddock Road and spend a few hours working on hitting and fielding.

The New Year began with the Sacrament of Confession with my dear friend and spiritual father, Fr. Ellias Dorham. I had prayed for years for a spiritual director to help me with my bumbling and stumbling Christian life, before being introduced to then Father Deacon Ellias Father Ellias is always helpful while at the same time making no excuses for my failures in the Christian walk. But more importantly, what I sense from him is a deep love and concern, which I am sure he gives to anyone who meets him. The week running up to the new year was a tough one and it was gratifying to “clean the slate” and move on from my failures. How long this clean slate before God will last I don’t know. As Father Ellias reminded me during one of our sessions, the saying on Mount Athos is “we fall, we get up, we fall, we get up,” meaning that the Christian life, even for the holy monks of Athos, is one of falling (into sin) and then getting up (confessing) and trying once more. The foundation of my joy should not be centered around me and my attempts to live a perfect life, but rather around the fact that God’s love does not change nor wane, even in our failures. Reflecting on that truth gives me comfort.

I have no idea what the new year will bring. I have some hopes, such as seeing my new book take off in sales and creating for me some speaking opportunities to explain the beauty of God’s universal salvific love in which not one human being will be left behind, nor given over to some fiendish, eternal burning pit of fire. The more I listen to fellow Christians such as Dr. Baxter Kruger, Brad Jersak, and Fr. Al Kimel, the deeper this love goes into my heart.  For so long I walked about in an unconscious fear of God, driven by pulpit-pounders who seemed all too much to relish telling sinners they were going to hell forever – UNLESS – that sinner repented of all the things the pulpit-pounder found obnoxious. The image of God in my heart of a constantly displeased, angry, and vengeful deity is being slowly replaced (hey, you don’t wash out deep stains overnight, do you?) by a sense of the love of the Trinity in which God was in Christ reconciling the world to Himself. (As opposed to Christ standing between the angry Father offering His Blood to keep us from a beatin’!) I hope with Fr. Ellias’s help to go deeper into trust and love for God this year.

I am right now re-reading STORY OF A SOUL, the autobiography of St. Therese of Liseux. The theme of her life is the theme I need in my life – love.  A love that is not just warm and fuzzy, but that is active in praying for others, especially those who are our enemies.

The last book I read as 2020 closed out was THE SHACK by Paul Young. I plan on writing a blog piece on it somewhere down the road, but I first have to figure out what I think about this controversial best seller. I initially liked the book, probably because Paul Young and I come from almost identical dysfunctional backgrounds, therefore I understand him all too well, but at the same time, there as some ideas that Paul has expressed in his videos which I find concerning. When I figure it out, I will take to the keyboard and write.

So that’s it on a snowy January day in which I have really nothing to do.  My shop is cleaned up, my clients are cared for, and I have no ongoing repair tickets. I might do some reading later on.  Or maybe I will take a nap.  Doesn’t matter. What does matter is that today, I am at peace with the world, with myself, and with God. It’s an odd feeling for a guy who is usually running around full speed trying to get things done, but I am enjoying the relaxation of it.  I have no idea what the future will bring, but I strive to put each day into God’s hands and rest in that.

It really is the best place to be.

Ikos 12 from the beautiful Athakist of Thanksgiving:

Ikos 12 What sort of praise can I give You? I have never heard the song of the Cherubim, a joy reserved for the spirits above. But I know the praises that nature sings to You. In winter, I have beheld how silently in the moonlight the whole earth offers You prayer, clad in its white mantle of snow, sparkling like diamonds. I have seen how the rising sun rejoices in You, how the song of the birds is a chorus of praise to You. I have heard the mysterious mutterings of the forests about You, and the winds singing Your praise as they stir the waters. I have understood how the choirs of stars proclaim Your glory, as they move forever in the depths of infinite space. What is my poor worship! All nature obeys You, while I do not. Yet while I live, I see Your love, I long to thank You, and call upon Your name.

 Glory to You, for giving us light.
Glory to You, for loving us with love so deep, divine and infinite.
Glory to You, for blessing us with light, and with the host of angels and saints.
Glory to You, Father, All-Holy, promising us a share in Your Kingdom.

Glory to You, Redeemer Son, who has shown us the path to salvation.
Glory to You, Holy Spirit, life-giving Sun of the world to come.
Glory to You for all things, Holy and most merciful Trinity.
Glory to You, O God, from age to age!