What a Holy Week

Sorry I haven't been writing so often lately. I've been trying really hard the past two weeks to engage my children much more than I have done. Let me explain.

William is struggling. We knew he was delayed developmentally, so we addressed the issue with Indiana's child development intervention program, First Steps. When he had his evaluation, the results were devastating to me. I knew he wasn't talking, but I hadn't noticed (how do I not notice?!?) that he had serious social, fine motor, and gross motor delays as well. It's so widespread, and it took my breath away. First, because that scares me for my son. Every parent wants his/her kid to be a functioning member of society--forget all that competitive my-kid's-smarter-than-your-kid nonsense. Second, because I am certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is my fault. I took advantage of his independence to indulge my depression, and I have habitually spent all hours between breakfast and lunch completely disengaged from them, whether only in mind or also in body (meaning...I leave the room, not, I leave the house).

That's a big step for me to say that out loud, let alone in this plenty-public forum. So. Pardon me whilst I vomit.

End tangent. So, anyway, that's what's had my attention. As upsetting as the news was, I'm determined to end this. I can't make my kid pay for my issues. Now, with First Steps and a great developmental therapist on our side, we've got the tools to move this forward. So, I'm trying to point this in a positive direction.

It's actually been pretty fun spending this much time playing. I thought one day I might actually lose my voice from singing John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt 30,879 times. I'm pretty sure it was that many.

Moving right along: in other news, it's Holy Week. Now, George and I are in agreement that this particular Holy Week feels totally off. This year has been hard. Last year, we were at a parish we'd attended for four years, but had only just become deeply connected with the people. We were at services all week, and when that first shout of "CHRIST IS RISEN!" came, my whole body and soul were caught up in it. During "Shine, Shine, O Jerusalem," I had tears of joy streaming down my face, rejoicing in the resurrection of our Lord. This year? Not so much. I feel like all of Lent has been utter chaos and defeat. I've hardly fasted, mostly because I ran out of ideas that actually work for two little kids AND picky me AND my husband. I gave up on prayer and meditation. I'm not sure why. But I did. And now, since I haven't done it in so long, I feel like a hypocrite picking it back up.

Anyway, I asked George if he wanted to go to Holy Thursday services yesterday, and he said he just wasn't feeling it. My instinct was to be furious at how flippant that sounded, but he's right. Neither of us are "feeling it." Not that you're supposed to feel something before you participate, but, I mean, I can relate. I just know that we really need to make an effort to participate even though we haven't much.

To better explain it, I close out with this beautiful portion of St. John Chrysostom's Paschal homily. (Those of you who know me are like, yeah, you would. This is my favorite sermon ever. I look forward to it every year.) It reminds me that no matter what my behavior has "earned," Christ is Risen! Celebrate! All are received equally and are welcome to celebrate the resurrection of our Lord.

And he shows mercy upon the last, and cares for the first; and to the one he gives, and upon the other he bestows gifts. And he both accepts the deeds, and welcomes the intention, and honors the acts and praises the offering. Wherefore, enter you all into the joy of your Lord; and receive your reward, both the first, and likewise the second. You rich and poor together, hold high festival. You sober and you heedless, honor the day. Rejoice today, both you who have fasted and you who have disregarded the fast. The table is full-laden; feast ye all sumptuously. The calf is fatted; let no one go hungry away.

Thank you Lord, for your great and rich mercy.