I witnessed something special today. It is hard to articulate, so bear with me. You’ve seen the movie in which the aged man, knowing his days are few, stares out across the waters into his distant past. A past now strangely alive with eerie childhood sing-song and chatter, the smells of grandmother’s house, and the mist-draped images of loved ones lingering just beyond the reach of recollection. In that moment of otherworldly perception, he stands on the precipice of eternity itself, no longer bound by pain, dementia, and poverty.
I ran beside my teenage son and watched in wonder as the sun illuminated his tall, strong frame. The auburn hues of his full, shaggy mane glinted in the long rays of light. His laughter filled my ears, interspersed with ever-streaming adolescent nonsense and the fall of agile footsteps in fast cadence on pavement. The moment was surreal and appropriately marked by gooseflesh, just as it is now, writing these words.
Today, I stood on the precipice of eternity, forever changed by the specter of future recollection. For a moment, a rare gift was offered and I pulled it close. Like the aged man at water’s edge.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
Opus Rob - Reflections on Work Life
Opus Robert
Aspirations
I grew up around content but relatively unaccomplished family members. In my earliest memories, I remember watching my grandfather leave for his church post, where he was the pastor of a congregation of 200 souls. He seemed to be a happy man, so I determined that I, too, should follow the Lord’s calling and do likewise if ever called upon by God. My mother, divorced and in her early twenties, worked at a soda counter at a local pharmacy/mercantile. She, too, seemed happy. My uncles, who were all working in the family construction business, seemed unhappy. Therefore, I viewed construction as something I wouldn’t particularly enjoy and soda dispensing and saving souls as definite possibilities. I had no idea how correct these early impressions would prove to be.
Early Years
My very first job was as a push-broom-boy at a small textile manufacturing shop in Brooklyn, New York. Vinnie was a kind boss when dealing with 10-year old, Caucasian upstarts, but not so nice when supervising the work of the dozen-or-so Latina women in his employ. When this job reached its end, I was apprenticed as the after-school “Boy Friday” for a private day care, where I repaired broken cots, raked leaves, and mopped floors. Although the money was great for a youngster of 11 years (.75 an hr), I felt that I was undervalued in my role there and began my longing for the ever-elusive job satisfaction.
A lack of contentment characterized my work in the years following my 12th through my 34th birthdays. This can be attributed to the work of all malcontents in my family-construction. Eventually, perhaps inevitably, I, too, was lulled into the family “work-camps” by the siren song of big money and “real” manhood. You see, in my family, “real men” swung hammers, slung paint brushes, and shoved shovels. Here I felt undervalued, but manly, nonetheless. The money I received for my labor seemed unjust compensation for the pre-dawn to post-dusk hours and the looks I received on hot days when standing in line at fast food establishments for lunch. It was not long before I began examining the job market outside the family-construction segment.
During my senior year in high school, my academic counselor reviewed my impressive body of school work and pronounced a sentence of one-to-two years in the community college of my choice. The problem with this plan was the lack of support and funding available to me by my wildly talented, yet barely successful, blue-collar-clad family. Mother had no money for rent, let alone college, and no rich relatives were there to lend a hand or a couple thousand dollars. It was then that my thoughts, widely ranging and sometimes debilitating, crystallized. The United States Air Force would be my home. I had spent an hour talking to an elderly gentleman who claimed to have “slipped the surly bonds of earth” and flown Air Force jets in the Vietnam War. His 60 minutes with me were the best (and only) vocational counseling I ever received.
I made it thorough Air Force boot camp in San Antonio, Texas and moved on to my technical school. It was here that I came to the sobering realization that I had been suckered into working in a field that the Air Force considered a “shortage” career-field. After learning to pack wheel bearings with grease, inflate tires with air, and fill fuel tanks with gas, I understood why there was a shortage. However discouraged, I resigned to completing my training and moving on to my first duty station at Eglin Air Force Base, Fort Walton Beach, Florida, as an Aerospace Ground Equipment (AGE) Mechanic. There I excelled, was promoted early, and decided to get married by age 20.
After marrying a college graduate and comparing our work days at the dinner table, I again became increasingly discontent with grease, air, and gas. I wanted more, but didn’t know how to get it. Sage advice came from a friend who suggested taking community college courses that were sponsored by the Air Force. I jumped in with both feet in hopes of obtaining a commission as an officer in the Air Force. The problem with this plan was that I hated doing school work and the Okaloosa County Community College insisted that I do school work. After agonizing for a week, I decided to drop the courses and revisit school again when my schedule and my point of view were more conducive to academic achievement. This was just as well, as later that year I received orders to move to Elmendorf A.F.B. in Anchorage, AK.
Grease, air, and gas, although exhibiting different properties in subzero temperatures, were the same in Alaska. I needed a change. I applied for a special-duty assignment as an AGE Maintenance Instructor. After competing for the honor, I was selected and soon found myself feeling better about what I did for a living. However, grease, air, and gas, were still ever-present elements of my daily lesson plan. I spent the next three years in this role, when with the birth of my son, my wife asked if I would consider requesting an assignment closer to her home in Glasgow, Kentucky. I had no idea what I was getting into when I agreed to her request and accepted a position as an Air Force Recruiter in Louisville, Kentucky.
Later Years
Recruiting had its positive points. Now, instead of grease, air, and gas, I had long hours, long drives, hundreds of phone calls, and a quota. The long hours, which topped 60 hours many weeks, and the quota, referred to as “goal,” were the most challenging. In this position I learned a great deal about sales, public speaking, office management, and putting up with the antics of skittish young-adults who had never lived outside a five-mile radius. I got the opportunity to discuss careers choices with these young adults and vowed to be honest with them - unlike my recruiter. This value of honesty, however, proved to be a millstone about my neck. After two years of refusing to mislead people in order to gain enlistments, my numbers began to suffer. This created a snowball effect that culminated in my family and me becoming increasingly dissatisfied with the Air Force. After nearly 11 years of service, I decided to hang up my stripes and join the civilian sector. Once again, I had no idea what I was in for.
Civilian life proved more challenging than anticipated. Most hiring managers had no idea how transferrable my grease, instruction, and career-planning skills really were. After spending some less-than-idyllic months as an insurance agent, the unthinkable happened. Attackers destroyed the World Trade Center towers and the entire world changed. My wife and I felt that we would have better success in the land of opportunity, Alaska. I found work as a case manager for the Workforce Investment Act (WIA) program within the Alaska Department of Labor (AKDOL). Working with WIA participants was a welcome challenge that paid fairly well. I soon found myself rising through ranks in the AKDOL and landed a job as the manager of the state’s largest job center. This position brought me into contact with people from many disciplines, but none attracted me like those working for the Alaska Division of Vocational Rehabilitation (DVR).
My time with AKDOL proved fun and challenging, but I always felt myself drawn to anything related to DVR. I signed up for DVR training, networked with DVR professionals, coordinated services with DVR clients, forced my staff to collaborate on DVR service plans, and became an obsessed DVR fan. Soon, I was making friends with lots of DVR managers and staff and outgrowing my role, yet again. This time, though, I was not finding myself discontent. Rather, I wanted to grow and expand my territory. As Providence would have it, my time at the AKDOL was soon to end. My wife was afforded a wonderful opportunity to be promoted and receive an all-expenses-paid relocation to warmer climes. I resigned my position and we relocated to Phoenix, Arizona.
Finishing Strong
While working as an Employment Service Manager with the AKDOL, I realized that the work I really wanted to do involved addressing the “real issues” affecting people and their work. In the typical Alaska Job Center, it seemed that we danced precariously on the edge with individuals as we tried to avoid the issues they faced, mainly because we lacked the credentials and expertise to “go there” with them. I wanted to really make an impact in people’s lives and my friends in DVR seemed to identify with their clients and shared a camaraderie that comes from doing the “right thing.” Also, the Certified Rehab Counselor (CRC) credential seemed to be a valuable grouping of letters to add to your title, as it signifies that you have obtained a high level of expertise.
Unlike me, others within the AKDOL seemed to avoid migrating to DVR because their (AKDOL) culture was more aligned with the business community than with the clients we served. Further reinforcing my decision, my experience with gender distribution in the field of vocational rehabilitation seemed rather evenly divided, whereas in the AKDOL it seemed that women filled most of the case-manger positions. Perhaps the greatest contributing factor was the encouragement of a senior manager within DVR. Duane unwittingly recruited me by being a good friend and confidant and displaying integrity, dedication, and a positive regard for people he came in contact with.
Work is a life activity that occupies most people’s waking hours. I find it necessary to have meaningful work, but do not mistake it for meaningful life. I feel that my life should be about helping as many people as I can. Therefore, my work should be a natural outgrowth of my life. I suppose in a way I am helping save souls from some form of self imposed or culturally-relegated doom. While working as a vocational rehabilitation counselor it is my goal to help many people with disabilities to find meaningful work, even if their meaningful work involves grease, air, and gas. Pardon me if I’m not sure about construction.
Aspirations
I grew up around content but relatively unaccomplished family members. In my earliest memories, I remember watching my grandfather leave for his church post, where he was the pastor of a congregation of 200 souls. He seemed to be a happy man, so I determined that I, too, should follow the Lord’s calling and do likewise if ever called upon by God. My mother, divorced and in her early twenties, worked at a soda counter at a local pharmacy/mercantile. She, too, seemed happy. My uncles, who were all working in the family construction business, seemed unhappy. Therefore, I viewed construction as something I wouldn’t particularly enjoy and soda dispensing and saving souls as definite possibilities. I had no idea how correct these early impressions would prove to be.
Early Years
My very first job was as a push-broom-boy at a small textile manufacturing shop in Brooklyn, New York. Vinnie was a kind boss when dealing with 10-year old, Caucasian upstarts, but not so nice when supervising the work of the dozen-or-so Latina women in his employ. When this job reached its end, I was apprenticed as the after-school “Boy Friday” for a private day care, where I repaired broken cots, raked leaves, and mopped floors. Although the money was great for a youngster of 11 years (.75 an hr), I felt that I was undervalued in my role there and began my longing for the ever-elusive job satisfaction.
A lack of contentment characterized my work in the years following my 12th through my 34th birthdays. This can be attributed to the work of all malcontents in my family-construction. Eventually, perhaps inevitably, I, too, was lulled into the family “work-camps” by the siren song of big money and “real” manhood. You see, in my family, “real men” swung hammers, slung paint brushes, and shoved shovels. Here I felt undervalued, but manly, nonetheless. The money I received for my labor seemed unjust compensation for the pre-dawn to post-dusk hours and the looks I received on hot days when standing in line at fast food establishments for lunch. It was not long before I began examining the job market outside the family-construction segment.
During my senior year in high school, my academic counselor reviewed my impressive body of school work and pronounced a sentence of one-to-two years in the community college of my choice. The problem with this plan was the lack of support and funding available to me by my wildly talented, yet barely successful, blue-collar-clad family. Mother had no money for rent, let alone college, and no rich relatives were there to lend a hand or a couple thousand dollars. It was then that my thoughts, widely ranging and sometimes debilitating, crystallized. The United States Air Force would be my home. I had spent an hour talking to an elderly gentleman who claimed to have “slipped the surly bonds of earth” and flown Air Force jets in the Vietnam War. His 60 minutes with me were the best (and only) vocational counseling I ever received.
I made it thorough Air Force boot camp in San Antonio, Texas and moved on to my technical school. It was here that I came to the sobering realization that I had been suckered into working in a field that the Air Force considered a “shortage” career-field. After learning to pack wheel bearings with grease, inflate tires with air, and fill fuel tanks with gas, I understood why there was a shortage. However discouraged, I resigned to completing my training and moving on to my first duty station at Eglin Air Force Base, Fort Walton Beach, Florida, as an Aerospace Ground Equipment (AGE) Mechanic. There I excelled, was promoted early, and decided to get married by age 20.
After marrying a college graduate and comparing our work days at the dinner table, I again became increasingly discontent with grease, air, and gas. I wanted more, but didn’t know how to get it. Sage advice came from a friend who suggested taking community college courses that were sponsored by the Air Force. I jumped in with both feet in hopes of obtaining a commission as an officer in the Air Force. The problem with this plan was that I hated doing school work and the Okaloosa County Community College insisted that I do school work. After agonizing for a week, I decided to drop the courses and revisit school again when my schedule and my point of view were more conducive to academic achievement. This was just as well, as later that year I received orders to move to Elmendorf A.F.B. in Anchorage, AK.
Grease, air, and gas, although exhibiting different properties in subzero temperatures, were the same in Alaska. I needed a change. I applied for a special-duty assignment as an AGE Maintenance Instructor. After competing for the honor, I was selected and soon found myself feeling better about what I did for a living. However, grease, air, and gas, were still ever-present elements of my daily lesson plan. I spent the next three years in this role, when with the birth of my son, my wife asked if I would consider requesting an assignment closer to her home in Glasgow, Kentucky. I had no idea what I was getting into when I agreed to her request and accepted a position as an Air Force Recruiter in Louisville, Kentucky.
Later Years
Recruiting had its positive points. Now, instead of grease, air, and gas, I had long hours, long drives, hundreds of phone calls, and a quota. The long hours, which topped 60 hours many weeks, and the quota, referred to as “goal,” were the most challenging. In this position I learned a great deal about sales, public speaking, office management, and putting up with the antics of skittish young-adults who had never lived outside a five-mile radius. I got the opportunity to discuss careers choices with these young adults and vowed to be honest with them - unlike my recruiter. This value of honesty, however, proved to be a millstone about my neck. After two years of refusing to mislead people in order to gain enlistments, my numbers began to suffer. This created a snowball effect that culminated in my family and me becoming increasingly dissatisfied with the Air Force. After nearly 11 years of service, I decided to hang up my stripes and join the civilian sector. Once again, I had no idea what I was in for.
Civilian life proved more challenging than anticipated. Most hiring managers had no idea how transferrable my grease, instruction, and career-planning skills really were. After spending some less-than-idyllic months as an insurance agent, the unthinkable happened. Attackers destroyed the World Trade Center towers and the entire world changed. My wife and I felt that we would have better success in the land of opportunity, Alaska. I found work as a case manager for the Workforce Investment Act (WIA) program within the Alaska Department of Labor (AKDOL). Working with WIA participants was a welcome challenge that paid fairly well. I soon found myself rising through ranks in the AKDOL and landed a job as the manager of the state’s largest job center. This position brought me into contact with people from many disciplines, but none attracted me like those working for the Alaska Division of Vocational Rehabilitation (DVR).
My time with AKDOL proved fun and challenging, but I always felt myself drawn to anything related to DVR. I signed up for DVR training, networked with DVR professionals, coordinated services with DVR clients, forced my staff to collaborate on DVR service plans, and became an obsessed DVR fan. Soon, I was making friends with lots of DVR managers and staff and outgrowing my role, yet again. This time, though, I was not finding myself discontent. Rather, I wanted to grow and expand my territory. As Providence would have it, my time at the AKDOL was soon to end. My wife was afforded a wonderful opportunity to be promoted and receive an all-expenses-paid relocation to warmer climes. I resigned my position and we relocated to Phoenix, Arizona.
Finishing Strong
While working as an Employment Service Manager with the AKDOL, I realized that the work I really wanted to do involved addressing the “real issues” affecting people and their work. In the typical Alaska Job Center, it seemed that we danced precariously on the edge with individuals as we tried to avoid the issues they faced, mainly because we lacked the credentials and expertise to “go there” with them. I wanted to really make an impact in people’s lives and my friends in DVR seemed to identify with their clients and shared a camaraderie that comes from doing the “right thing.” Also, the Certified Rehab Counselor (CRC) credential seemed to be a valuable grouping of letters to add to your title, as it signifies that you have obtained a high level of expertise.
Unlike me, others within the AKDOL seemed to avoid migrating to DVR because their (AKDOL) culture was more aligned with the business community than with the clients we served. Further reinforcing my decision, my experience with gender distribution in the field of vocational rehabilitation seemed rather evenly divided, whereas in the AKDOL it seemed that women filled most of the case-manger positions. Perhaps the greatest contributing factor was the encouragement of a senior manager within DVR. Duane unwittingly recruited me by being a good friend and confidant and displaying integrity, dedication, and a positive regard for people he came in contact with.
Work is a life activity that occupies most people’s waking hours. I find it necessary to have meaningful work, but do not mistake it for meaningful life. I feel that my life should be about helping as many people as I can. Therefore, my work should be a natural outgrowth of my life. I suppose in a way I am helping save souls from some form of self imposed or culturally-relegated doom. While working as a vocational rehabilitation counselor it is my goal to help many people with disabilities to find meaningful work, even if their meaningful work involves grease, air, and gas. Pardon me if I’m not sure about construction.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Call of the Wild
Yesterday, my family and I spent the afternoon at the Phoenix Zoo. The desert climate was absolutely perfect in late January with mild temperatures and light wispy clouds drifting aloft in the upper atmosphere. As we passed the myriad species of mammals, reptiles, amphibians, and flora, I began to wax metaphorical. I thought (deeply), "We are like these animals (monkeys, wolves, spiders), confined by our sinful natures (bars, cages, pens)." But then I stopped thinking deeply. We are actually like the humans (Rob, Jimmy, Jocelyn) walking about the zoo peering into the cages of the monkeys, wolves, and spiders. We are free to roam about in our nearly perfect habitats and peer inquisitively into the somewhat tragic and always interesting half-lives of many of earth's residents. Yes, there are the lost living in their self imposed, sometimes congenital, and other times adopted chains and shackles. But there are also the terrible, the cunning, the powerful creatures who ascend heights, climb seemingly insurmountable pinnacles, and bound across limitless chasms-all to the thrill and delight of us earth-bound denizens.
As my wife and I strolled hand-in-hand, following behind our teen, I remembered a dream I had. In this dream, I was sitting around the glowing hearth in my home with a distinguished pipe between my teeth and a glass of something very civilized in my hand. As the vision continues, I am drawn away from the warm fire by the faint cry of something yet untamed out in the dark of night. Intrigued, I wipe the condensation from the inside of the window to peer into the black night. After searching the landscape, I am unable to distinguish the shape lurking just beyond the my property line. To my dismay, something inside me wants to follow the beckoning apparition into the night, yet I am restrained by my will to remain beside the life-giving fire within my home.
Much like Jack London's White Fang, each of us hears that call of the wild. Wrestling with our nature, we choose between a life driven by instinct and the taste of flesh and the life characterized by loving those around us and self sacrifice. For me, the call is more alluring some times than others. Thankfully, I usually remain faithfully at the side of my master, but when the nature masters me, I find myself panting after the prints of the pack as they lead me into the night. There they await me, fur and fang, in pursuit of the flesh of our quarry. Then, with dawn's light returns the exiled conscience, like the man bitten by the wolf. Only this man really is not cursed to spend his nights baying at the moon and craving after flesh, but has been saved from his nocturnal wanderings. A silver bullet is not part of his destiny.
The zoo was great. I plan to return soon and hopefully catch the Mexican Wolf strolling about his pen before he succombs to his afternoon nap. Yes, wolves have always been my favorite.
As my wife and I strolled hand-in-hand, following behind our teen, I remembered a dream I had. In this dream, I was sitting around the glowing hearth in my home with a distinguished pipe between my teeth and a glass of something very civilized in my hand. As the vision continues, I am drawn away from the warm fire by the faint cry of something yet untamed out in the dark of night. Intrigued, I wipe the condensation from the inside of the window to peer into the black night. After searching the landscape, I am unable to distinguish the shape lurking just beyond the my property line. To my dismay, something inside me wants to follow the beckoning apparition into the night, yet I am restrained by my will to remain beside the life-giving fire within my home.
Much like Jack London's White Fang, each of us hears that call of the wild. Wrestling with our nature, we choose between a life driven by instinct and the taste of flesh and the life characterized by loving those around us and self sacrifice. For me, the call is more alluring some times than others. Thankfully, I usually remain faithfully at the side of my master, but when the nature masters me, I find myself panting after the prints of the pack as they lead me into the night. There they await me, fur and fang, in pursuit of the flesh of our quarry. Then, with dawn's light returns the exiled conscience, like the man bitten by the wolf. Only this man really is not cursed to spend his nights baying at the moon and craving after flesh, but has been saved from his nocturnal wanderings. A silver bullet is not part of his destiny.
The zoo was great. I plan to return soon and hopefully catch the Mexican Wolf strolling about his pen before he succombs to his afternoon nap. Yes, wolves have always been my favorite.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Becoming (ARRGHH!!)
I was doing a little light reading this morning. The author of the piece in the monthly religious journal was going on about leadership. I've read the stuff before. So have you. What struck me was that, at age 40, I'm still looking for something to shed light on the great mystery. Like the quasi-inebriate, Captain Jack Sparrow, I'm always setting sail in search of the treasure or the map, or both. Now, this so happens to coincide with more information found in the religious journal. According to the author (quoting another author), it's not the finding, leading, or the conquering of the other vessels flying the Union Jack. Rather, it's the question(s) we ask ourselves after such forays into the forbidden forests, backyards, and enchanted isles. What did I learn from that experience? What's different about me? Can I see more clearly, now? I added the pirate stuff, because pirates liven up any conversation. Invite one to dinner this month. ARRGHH!!
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Reflection at Christmas
Allow me to quote, in full, the first Christmas sermon ever preached, by St. John "The Golden Throat" Chrysostom in 386. The Antiochian Christans were the first to celebrate the Incarnation with its own feast day, December 25, and here's how Chrysostom addressed those assembled on the morning of the Christ Mass:
I behold a new and wondrous mystery! My ears resound to the Shepherd's song, piping no soft melody, but chanting full forth a heavenly hymn.
The Angels sing!The Archangels blend their voices in harmony!The Cherubim hymn their joyful praise!The Seraphim exalt His glory!
All join to praise this holy feast, beholding the Godhead here on earth, and man in heaven. He who is above, now for our redemption dwells here below; and he that was lowly is by divine mercy raised.
Bethlehem this day resembles heaven; hearing from the stars the singing of angelic voices; and in place of the sun, enfolds within itself on every side the Sun of Justice.
And ask not how: for where God wills, the order of nature yields. For He willed, he had the power, He descended, He redeemed; all things move in obedience to God.
This day He Who Is, is Born; and He Who Is becomes what He was not. For when He was God, He became man; yet not departing from the Godhead that is His. Nor yet by any loss of divinity became He man, nor through increase became he God from man; but being the Word He became flesh, His nature, because of impassibility, remaining unchanged.
And so the kings have come, and they have seen the heavenly King that has come upon the earth, not bringing with Him Angels, nor Archangels, nor Thrones, nor Dominations, nor Powers, nor Principalities, but, treading a new and solitary path, He has come forth from a spotless womb.
Yet He has not forsaken His angels, nor left them deprived of His care, nor because of His Incarnation has he departed from the Godhead.
And behold,Kings have come, that they might adore the heavenly King of glory;Soldiers, that they might serve the Leader of the Hosts of Heaven;Women, that they might adore Him Who was born of a woman so that He might change the pains of child- birth into joy;Virgins, to the Son of the Virgin, beholding with joy, that He Who is the Giver of milk, Who has decreed that the fountains of the breast pour forth in ready streams, receives from a Virgin Mother the food of infancy;Infants, that they may adore Him Who became a little child, so that out of the mouth of infants and sucklings, He might perfect praise;Children, to the Child Who raised up martyrs through the rage of Herod;Men, to Him Who became man, that He might heal the miseries of His servants;Shepherds, to the Good Shepherd Who has laid down His life for His sheep;Priests, to Him Who has become a High Priest according to the order of Melchisedech;Servants, to Him Who took upon Himself the form of a servant that He might bless our servitude with the reward of freedom;Fishermen, to Him Who from amongst fishermen chose catchers of men;Publicans, to Him Who from amongst them named a chosen Evangelist;Sinful women, to Him Who exposed His feet to the tears of the repentant;
And that I may embrace them all together, all sinners have come, that they may look upon the Lamb of God Who taketh away the sins of the world.
Since therefore all rejoice, I too desire to rejoice. I too wish to share the choral dance, to celebrate the festival. But I take my part, not plucking the harp, not shaking the Thyrsian staff, not with the music of pipes, nor holding a torch, but holding in my arms the cradle of Christ. For this is all my hope, this my life, this my salvation, this my pipe, my harp. And bearing it I come, and having from its power received the gift of speech, I too, with the angels, sing: Glory to God in the Highest;and with the shepherds: and on earth peace to men of good will.
I behold a new and wondrous mystery! My ears resound to the Shepherd's song, piping no soft melody, but chanting full forth a heavenly hymn.
The Angels sing!The Archangels blend their voices in harmony!The Cherubim hymn their joyful praise!The Seraphim exalt His glory!
All join to praise this holy feast, beholding the Godhead here on earth, and man in heaven. He who is above, now for our redemption dwells here below; and he that was lowly is by divine mercy raised.
Bethlehem this day resembles heaven; hearing from the stars the singing of angelic voices; and in place of the sun, enfolds within itself on every side the Sun of Justice.
And ask not how: for where God wills, the order of nature yields. For He willed, he had the power, He descended, He redeemed; all things move in obedience to God.
This day He Who Is, is Born; and He Who Is becomes what He was not. For when He was God, He became man; yet not departing from the Godhead that is His. Nor yet by any loss of divinity became He man, nor through increase became he God from man; but being the Word He became flesh, His nature, because of impassibility, remaining unchanged.
And so the kings have come, and they have seen the heavenly King that has come upon the earth, not bringing with Him Angels, nor Archangels, nor Thrones, nor Dominations, nor Powers, nor Principalities, but, treading a new and solitary path, He has come forth from a spotless womb.
Yet He has not forsaken His angels, nor left them deprived of His care, nor because of His Incarnation has he departed from the Godhead.
And behold,Kings have come, that they might adore the heavenly King of glory;Soldiers, that they might serve the Leader of the Hosts of Heaven;Women, that they might adore Him Who was born of a woman so that He might change the pains of child- birth into joy;Virgins, to the Son of the Virgin, beholding with joy, that He Who is the Giver of milk, Who has decreed that the fountains of the breast pour forth in ready streams, receives from a Virgin Mother the food of infancy;Infants, that they may adore Him Who became a little child, so that out of the mouth of infants and sucklings, He might perfect praise;Children, to the Child Who raised up martyrs through the rage of Herod;Men, to Him Who became man, that He might heal the miseries of His servants;Shepherds, to the Good Shepherd Who has laid down His life for His sheep;Priests, to Him Who has become a High Priest according to the order of Melchisedech;Servants, to Him Who took upon Himself the form of a servant that He might bless our servitude with the reward of freedom;Fishermen, to Him Who from amongst fishermen chose catchers of men;Publicans, to Him Who from amongst them named a chosen Evangelist;Sinful women, to Him Who exposed His feet to the tears of the repentant;
And that I may embrace them all together, all sinners have come, that they may look upon the Lamb of God Who taketh away the sins of the world.
Since therefore all rejoice, I too desire to rejoice. I too wish to share the choral dance, to celebrate the festival. But I take my part, not plucking the harp, not shaking the Thyrsian staff, not with the music of pipes, nor holding a torch, but holding in my arms the cradle of Christ. For this is all my hope, this my life, this my salvation, this my pipe, my harp. And bearing it I come, and having from its power received the gift of speech, I too, with the angels, sing: Glory to God in the Highest;and with the shepherds: and on earth peace to men of good will.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Parties
When was the last time we went and just hung out with friends or family-without a holiday, birthday, or other "official event?" It occurs to me that such people are fun to be around. So, why wait a whole year to get together? Our lives are so filled with the pursuit of happiness that we fail to pursue relationships with people. I know, I know, we've heard that all before...
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
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