The tension of the liminal

What an emo title. 

As I sit here in our room, the baby sleeping to rain sounds, I reckon with the coming days. It has been a wild ride since I wrote last. I had our fourth child, and I'm currently getting back to feeling like doing something visual, but I'm not there yet. A wild ride because since then, Lucian has successfully applied to become a deacon in the Romanian Orthodox Episcopate of North America. A recent confirmand, I am still getting used to the governing bodies of the Orthodox Church so forgive me if I put a step incorrectly, and call something by a wrong name. 

So here I am, shirking duties, relishing in the relative quiet of a baby asleep. She has cried a lot this morning so I take my rest when I can. This is a little haven to be sure, this working out of words, and although I don't think I'm very good at it, it is something that I hope to continue, for the rush of daily life necessitates little islands of calm and quiet. I've gotten back to Bible reading, not yet to listening to much podcast or music as the noise of four healthy children sometimes drowns out all else. I have new speakers, I have new clothes, soon we'll have new titles, and life will change, irrevocably, in some ways imperceptibly. I've only ever known art, and doing it has brought me here, even spiritually. And by art, I do mean music. I'm not a perfect person, nor musician, or artist, but I pray God's blessing on our imperfections and to make us enough. I am proud of my husband, and I am happy yet cognizant of the power behind our decisions, for as a family, we are no longer living for ourselves. 

And so it goes, the rush is (hopefully) sanctified, and I hold on to quiet moments like these, reading, thinking, writing. I hope to make music and make art soon. If you're reading this, I ask for prayers for Sunday when the ordination happens, and I ask for continued prayers for my family and I. 

Peace and love.