Alas! We are in exile and we do not want to realize it.

We do not want to see from what heights we have fallen. But with our own evil will, we cover our ears and shut our eyes, blinding ourselves willingly so that we might not see the truth.

Woe to us, for we consider the darkness here to be light, and for a paltry pleasure that this world offers, we avoid the light there as if it were darkness.

We avoid it because of the small sorrow that the body encounters, and lose the repose there.

Woe to our wretchedness! For God calls out to us to become His children, but we become sons of darkness.

We exchange eternity for a little bit of honey. For the small pleasure of luxury or glory, we deny and fall away from the glory of the kingdom of God.

So blessed is he who sees this deception and abstains from the fleeting pleasures of this world, and aspires to the enjoyment that awaits us.

—Elder Joseph the Hesychast

On Saturday, May 3, 2008, Sophia Violet was born at home. She weighed 9 lbs. even and measured 22.5 inches in length. It all happened so quickly, the midwife didn’t even arrive in time–so we had an unassisted birth with just Daddy, Mema (my mom), and Evelyn. It was incredible and everyone is doing very well.

On Holy Saturday, April 26, 2008, my husband, daughter and I were baptized into the Orthodox Church. We had looked forward to this day with joy for many months, so it was certainly something I wanted to record in some way.

I worked on the following over a period of days, having made notes on Saturday of things I wanted to remember. It seems a little disjointed to me and it’s an inadequate description of everything, but I post it mostly for my own memory and to try to give you all a glimpse of the event, which was without question among the most significant of my life thus far.

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At 4:54 AM I am awake. I feel Evelyn next to me but I don’t know how long she’s been there; maybe her climbing into bed with me is why I’ve awakened. I try to sleep again, but it doesn’t come easily. Being enormously pregnant makes it difficult, of course, but so does the thought of what this new day will bring. A million things are running through my mind but I know I need rest and I do manage to get some more shut eye.

And then, far too soon, it is 7:00. We leave in an hour, so out of bed I go, and immediately stun myself with the bright light of the bathroom and cold water from the shower. Father James said the water is very cold at St. Joseph, I think, and in some silly way I dread touching it. I want to be comfortable at all times and in all ways, sometimes more than is healthy. I get out, dry off, and pick up our prayer book to read the Order of Confession, wishing I had more time to spend contemplating it but the clock is ticking on. As I am preparing breakfast for me and Evelyn just a few minutes later (nothing for Jonathan, since Orthodox without physical limitation typically fast completely for some time before taking communion), she, too, awakes. I had hoped she’d sleep longer, since Holy Week has meant several very late nights for her, but I think she knows I’m not there.

We eat. I put on my clothes: a white t-shirt, with a long-sleeved button down shirt over that, white shorts and capris over those (I wear two layers because white and wet tend to not mix well). I get Evelyn dressed in her white shirt and shorts and point out to her that Mama and Daddy are both wearing white, too, because today is a special day. “A special day!” she says. “Where’s Father Math?” She means Father Matthew, who has been known to her for several weeks now as the man who will baptize us. “He’s at his church,” I say, “and we’ll see him soon.”

And we’re off. The morning is a bit dark, with plenty of gray clouds. I consider again my sins. I feel very peaceful about the prospect of confessing them, which surprises me. Before I know it, maybe before I have time to work up any nervousness, we arrive at St. Joseph. It’s a beautiful church, very bright and full of natural light. On entering the narthex we see a wall covered in small icons on one side, and another wall with an icon of Christ and candles lit before it, and through a row of arches we can see the nave, which could hold about four hundred people. But right now there are only a few, some seated, some venerating the icons that line the walls.

Also in the narthex, in the center, is the trough that will be used for our baptisms. It’s being filled as I look in and show Evelyn. “Here’s where we’ll be baptized,” I tell her, and she seems mildly impressed. Then Father Matthew appears. He adds two gigantic coffee pots of hot water to the trough to take off the chill, finishes setting things up, and gives us some last minute information and instructions on what the service will entail.

Jonathan goes to his first confession while I show Evelyn the icons and tell her about the saints I’m familiar with. Then it’s my turn. For a moment there’s a little butterfly in my tummy, but then I feel fine. Father Matthew explains to me how confession is done, and I kneel before an icon of Christ who died that I might live. Placing a stole on my head, Father begins with prayers, then a prayer of repentance from me, direct questions from him, and additional confessions I offer myself. He counsels me, blesses me, more prayers, and it’s over. I cannot explain how it felt except to say that if it was painful, it was a good kind of pain.

Evelyn seems to be very tired today. It’s no wonder, with all the late nights and the fact that she didn’t sleep in this morning. She acts very shy around everyone, not even wanting to stay long with my mother, but insisting that I hold her and she lays her little head on me. I can only hope she handles baptism better than I expect.

We three, along with two other converts–a husband and wife, who are baptized Joseph and Fatima–stand facing the west, where the sun disappears, and are exorcised, asked to renounce the world, the flesh, and the Devil (whom we spit upon), and unite ourselves to Christ. We repeat the creed. Having converted, we face the east now, where the sun rises and the world is filled with light.

We are anointed and then baptized. Jonathan goes first. I am second, and I’m surprised that the water is so warm. Then Father puts Evelyn in. She resists with all her might; it’s like trying to bathe a cat. She’s screaming and crying and he dunks her up to the armpits and then pours water over her head since there is no way she will consent to going under. I take my frightened little girl into my arms as her godmother, Missy, places a little gold baptismal cross around her neck, and she cries a long while, especially when her Missy takes her from me for a few moments.

We are chrismated: Fatima, Joseph, Jonathan, me, Evelyn. “The seal of the gift of the Holy Spirit…” says Father Matthew, and everyone cries in a loud voice, “Seal!” Watching as Jonathan is marked with the oil of chrism and sealed, I smile and think how momentous is this day. Father Matthew takes three locks of hair from each of us and burns them in the censer as a first offering of our selves to God.

We are Orthodox Christians. In just a few moments we will partake of Holy Communion for the first time, and as I sit in the front of the church between Mona and Jonathan, with Evelyn falling asleep on my lap, I am stricken anew with awareness of the presence of the saints whose images surround me (and countless others not depicted), and all the people and things that have brought me here, to my Mother. I am grateful. I feel I’ve been embraced by heaven, that I have crossed the first threshold to the fullness of life–and, thrill of thrills, that the journey has only just begun.

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Click here to view photos of the event (thanks to Liza and my mom).

I’ve been mulling over the idea of starting a public blog for a while now. Finally I’ve given in. It’s not that I need to spend more time online (far from it), but I know there are people who want to keep up with my life to some extent in a casual way. I probably won’t post frequently, but you never know.

Do let me know if you’re reading here!