Orthodox Writers, Readers, and Artists: Jennifer Hock, “Finding that Inspiration”

The candle flickers its light and casts a shadow on the living room wall in the evening darkness. My dad moves the match across the mantle of our fireplace to our small family censer and ignites the charcoal cradled in its basin sending momentary sparks into the air. Soon after placing the incense on top of the burning hot charcoal, the sweet fragrance wafts through the room and an instant sense of peaces washes over me. My parents gathered all of us every evening for family prayer time before crawling into our beds for the night. This memory from my childhood, along with countless others, are the foundation of my fervor for my faith today.

Do you have similar fond memories from your childhood? Maybe yes, maybe no. All of our stories are unique as each of us is on a different journey in life. Where do you find the knowledge or the inspiration to teach your children to pray at home or to celebrate the feast days throughout the year if this was not something you grew up with in your own family? What if you’re just looking for a pick-me-up to ignite your own fervor once again? Thankfully, we have many resources to refer to: such as an archdiocese or metropolis website or outreach program, Orthodox companies selling anything from books to icons, individual families blogging about their Orthodox life throughout the year – to so much more! Over time, I’ve gathered links to many of these resources, with the help of others, and provided a hub for finding them on a single website. You can browse these resources at Illumination Learning (www.illumination-learning.com) at any time – and don’t forget to contribute additional resources as well for the benefit of all!

I’ve found my own flame dimming from time to time and needing rejuvenation. Our lives are busy, even hectic, and I find myself yearning for a moment of inspiration as I start to drag in the weight of my everyday happenings. There are a few Orthodox blogs I frequent for just such a boost. In an age of technology, I think we have a rare opportunity in history to help each other. It’s easy to get caught up in our children’s extracurricular activities, schoolwork, and our own jobs, let alone all the other stuff that goes with our everyday lives. Taking a few moments to read an article or post from a fellow Orthodox Christian can sometimes help us on our journey to Christ.

Looking for that little inspiration? On February 9-11, 2012, Illumination Learning will be hosting an Orthodox Education Webinar (www.orthodoxconference.com) showcasing some of the resources available to us as Orthodox Christians. We have gathered together many fantastic Orthodox speakers for you to listen to and watch during this three-day event. Virtual tickets will go on sale January 13, 2012. Information about the speakers and their topics are being updated on the website daily in addition to ticket and door prize information. Join us for what promises to be another phenomenal event!

Jennifer Hock is married with four kids ages 17 – 6 with one on the way. She enjoys writing for her blogs, writing curriculum, and organizing events. She has been homeschooling her four children for many years now and hopes to continue to do so in the years to come.

Orthodox Writers, Readers, and Artists: Jane G. Meyer, “Becoming Jane…For the Hearts of Children”

It has been my absolute delight to be working in the world of children’s literature these last—almost–twenty years. It started with writing simple stories, leading to longer ones with plot lines and chapter breaks. It blossomed when my first son was born and he was (still is) a child who gobbles stories, eating them for both dinner and dessert. His delight in a book is tremendous, and being a mama who loves words, and languages, it was a perfect naptime match—he napped and dreamt of other worlds, and I wrote.

Fast forwarding many years, and many stories. Now, I sit here at my desk, marveling at the winding road God has paved for me. Not a road of financial success and worldly gain, but a road where truths have been discovered, where my obedience has been tested, and where a longing for potato chips has become an obvious sign that I need to get back to work! It’s still true, after all these years, that I like stories, but it’s even more true that I like children, and it’s triply true that I love Christ. And as an artist, that is how I try to live out my days. Liking stories, but loving Christ.

For many years I had the honor of not only writing, but being part of a team that acquired, edited and produced children’s books. I was able to work with dozens of authors to help shape their stories. To me this was a little taste of heaven, and I’m grateful I had that time rooting others on. It taught me that Community is a powerful thing. That joining forces, producing a book, or doing any sort of work together, makes something better than what could be done alone. We are the body of Christ.

Orthodox children deserve beautiful words and images to inspire them, don’t you think? We should labor over every aspect of a book for these children who openly (or even reluctantly) are led into that land of saint or story. That is my joy, knowing the potential is there to inspire deeper thinking or change a heart. Yes, the heart! We must, as parents and guardians, as teachers and grandfathers, nurture the minds and hearts of children, with loving time together, and with stories that build deep faith in a little one…

Liking stories, but loving Christ. If we, as a community of writers and illustrators and book designers and publishers, can keep Christ before the story, then we will accomplish exactly what God intends. We will be part of a team that changes real, beating and feeling hearts! And in that work, my heart will also be changed. For the stories that flow from my pen are not mine alone. God helps, aids, teaches, inspires, gives me courage. His hand appears when least expected, and I try to keep a prayer begging for His presence on my lips when I’m working—it sounds a lot like this: Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me!

My ultimate goal is to be completely, fully, totally enveloped by Christ, and becoming the Jane that God has envisioned. And if there are still stories to write as I become that Jane, then you can bet that I’ll be here at my desk, praying the Jesus prayer, rooting on my fellow workers and their stories, and dreaming about little ones and their beautiful hearts.

Jane G Meyer is a children’s book author and editor. She lives in Santa Barbara, California with her husband and three children, where they attend Saint Athanasius Orthodox Church. Her next book due out is The Hidden Garden: A Story of the Heart, and will be published by Conciliar Press in the fall of 2012. You can see more about Jane on her website, www.janegmeyer.com —she also blogs about bread baking at www.janegmeyer.wordpress.com, hoping to inspire others to stretch and give just a little more, and she welcomes you to be part of her community of friends on Facebook, where she shares her blog posts, snippets of her life, and photos…

Orthodox Writers, Readers, and Artists: Barbara Shukin

When Melinda asked me if I would be interested in writing a blog post about writing, I thought, “Well, I am an author, I self-publish my books… Oh! Sure. I’d be glad to contribute.” But then it occurred to me, “Oh, she wants writers: people who ‘write.’ But, I don’t really ‘write.”’

You see, my background is in art. I have a Master’s degree in sculpture, and furthermore, my experience lies along the lines of conceptual art. After all, I went to the University of Illinois at Chicago during the ‘80’s. That’s what we did there and then. I have ideas.I make things. Making art and teaching is what I am “qualified” for. But, regardless, the truth is, over the past 10 years I have found myself doing quite a lot of writing.

What got me into this position, where I needed to express myself this way, is that I had an idea for a series of history notebooks: the History Portfolio books. These are books which the children build by adding written work and images according to the provided outline, and in the end function as a record of their history studies and a keepsake. Part of this original vision included publishing books for Orthodox Christian children as well, and so several years ago, I published a book called Journaling Throughout the Liturgical Year, which is a notebook as well. You see the theme? Making things. The initial idea and the production of the Portfolios didn’t require much writing, just the original vision, tons of research, and artistic decisions. Concepts, researching, making. These were areas I was familiar and comfortable with. But what happened next was that I needed to explain how to use the books, write introductions, web content, etc.  And, further down the line, I wrote Teacher’s Guides for each of the books. So, it’s snowballed.

But, “how did I get here” is not what I want to write about today. I want to write about “here I am,” and how to make the best of it. One of the first things that came to mind when gathering my thoughts about this blog post was sharing a couple of revelations I’ve had about “here I am.” About 11 years ago, I became very involved with a consuming project with our church. With the blessing of our Bishop, our group had just purchased a temple which needed to be remodeled. At this time, I had just my two oldest children.  Nearly every day from May – September, for some part of the day, we went to work on the church. I remember, one day, sitting in the church in the mess of lumber and dust and half-painted projects, and the letters of St. Theophan the Recluse came to mind. In this book, The Spiritual Life: And How to Be Attuned to It, St. Theophan replies to a young woman’s recent letter.

“What has happened to you? What kinds of questions are these? ‘I do not know what to do with my life. Should I be doing something in particular? Should I define some particular purpose for myself?’  I read this and I was dumbfounded; where could such odd thoughts have come from?” (87)

The chapter continues, and he makes it clear that she is not to waste time on these questions, but to do the work which God has put before her! This resonated with me because at this time I was personally a little conflicted because I had left other projects at home. But I looked around and thought, I did not look for this, I did not choose it, but it was put before me. And, I was so thankful for the work which had been put before me, and thankful that I didn’t have to choose between projects or be the navigator.

Earlier this year, I had another experience which reminds me of the experience I just described. I was listening to the radio, while alone in the car. As a homeschool mom, let me tell you, this occurrence is rare!  But, I heard the story of a man involved in some charitable organization, who was working in a faraway land bringing roads and, as I remember, communication capabilities. I thought, “Oh, I’d love to do something like that! It’s so meaningful!” For just a moment or two I contemplated this. But, I quickly turned my mind to something more constructive and thought, “Well, what would I do, if I could?” And, I thought, envisioning a faraway land, “I would like to teach… to work with children… to somehow touch their lives with books, good books…” and as I narrowed it down, I realized… “That’s what I do! I’m doing it! I am living my dream!” It was a very delightful surprise. And, again, I was so thankful for the work which has been put before me.

Sometimes, I clearly have jobs before me, and the work is rich and full of challenges. But, there are plenty of times that I flounder in my work. I recently heard a Russian proverb, “Pray to God, but keep rowing to shore.” In the lull between projects, or in the middle of a project which seems to be feebly coming along, I feel the need to gather some kindling to get the fire going. Back in my art school days, we had a guest visit by a curator of a gallery, and she gave some advice which I think is applicable here. She said, “Everyday, you need to be with your art, working and thinking to some degree. Some days will not be as productive or creative, and on those days you need to at least be in your studio cleaning your brushes or preparing your work space.” With my writing, I may not have the same tools of the trade as a painter or sculptor, but I do find that the more I stay away from my craft, the more distant I feel from it, a chasm opens up, and the less inclined I am to plunge in as soon as an idea strikes me.

To keep moving along, or stoke the fire, it has proven to be a good thing for me to take up small projects which are just above my comfort level. This forces me to keep learning new things. Many of these projects are teaching opportunities, giving me the reason, and deadline, to create new activities along the lines of the Portfolio and the Liturgical Year Journal. Speaking or presenting workshops has been an area which has given me the opportunity to collect my thoughts, and write. Definitely outside my comfort zone, but good for me. Deadlines and accountability can be good.  I just take each opportunity as a challenge to develop.

To really keep a good fire burning, I have found that, for me, a good length of time for a big project is about 5 or 6 months. I love to really live in a project for a while, immersing myself as much as I can, and then gaining that sense of completeness when it is done. Once I get some distance on a finished project, I find that if I can look back at my year and know I’ve finished something, it seems to provide a semblance of order, and satisfaction. Of course, completing a project… raising the curtain on the show, presenting myself and my work as if saying “this is the best I can do,” has its own problems. It can be hair-raising at worst, and humbling at best. I have repeatedly watched myself delay the end of a project, not wanting that creative fire to end. Apparently, my thinking was, “It was safe working on this project. I have a job to do, I have a clear direction, I know what I’m doing. And… when this project is over, what am I going to do?! Oh no, I’ll have to come up with something all over again, and it’s going to be messy!”

Mess or not, writing or building, it can’t be helped. It’s what I do. I make things.

Barbara Shukin is an Orthodox Christian mother of five children from ages 21 down to 4, and has homeschooled since the beginning. After receiving her MFA in sculpture from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, she taught for several years at the college level, and was concurrently the director of a college art gallery. She continues to teach through local homeschool co-ops, and by offering art classes for homeschoolers. Barbara is the author and publisher of the History Portfolio Series, the Nature Portfolio, and Journaling Throughout the Liturgical Year, offering a notebooking approach to the study of history, nature study, and the Orthodox faith.

Orthodox Writers and Readers Series: Jonathan Kotinek, “One thing is needful.”

On a recent Saturday morning, I was riding through dusty-brown rural Texas with the priest from a neighboring Orthodox parish; we were on our way to look at a piece of land to see if it might be a good spot for an Orthodox eco-village (it turned out not to be). We shared small bits of news with each other along the way: new members, new catechumens, new visitors. He told me about a young man, an avowed athiest, who had started attending Divine Liturgy intermittently. The reason the young man gave was that he loved the beauty of our prayers.

I was quiet for a moment, captured by the simple and powerful testimony of this man I did not know. I responded, halfway meaning the comment as a prayer, that given our cultural milieu in 21st-century America, perhaps that love of the Liturgy would prove to be somehow salvific. Reflecting on the conversation later, I realized that I was drawing on a few key perspectives to inform my hope:

•  The content of our prayers in the Eastern Orthodox tradition gives direct insight to our theology; we pray what we believe.
•  The certainty expressed by Dostoyevsky in his bold statement, “Beauty will save the world.”
•  St. Seraphim of Sarov’s saying that if we acquire peace, thousands around us will be saved.

I was reminded, too, of a statement given by Met. Kallistos Ware in Sobornost and quoted in Madeleine L’Engle’s Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art: “…an abstract composition by Kandinsky or Van Gogh’s landscape of the cornfield with birds…is a real instance of divine transfiguration, in which we see matter rendered spiritual and entering into the ‘glorious liberty of the children of God.’ This remains true, even when the artist does not personally believe in God. Provided he is an artist of integrity, he is a genuine servant of the glory which he does not recognize, and unknown to himself there is ‘something divine’ about his work. We may rest confident that at the last judgment the angels will produce his works of art as testimony on his behalf.”

A link on Facebook last week led me to read Melinda Johnson’s post “Poets and artists…” at St. Lydia’s Book Club, where I found a similar quote from St. Barsanuphius: “Poets and artists who are satisfied only by the delights experienced through art are like people who arrive at the doors of the Royal Palace, but do not go into the bridal feast, although they are invited to do so.”

I wrote to Melinda, thanking her for the post and inviting her to read a blog post I had written recently about my experience working with a group of university students who were exploring the idea of transcendence in art. That interaction led to Melinda’s invitation for this guest blog.

Before anyone else has the opportunity to do so, I should accuse myself of being a dilettante. I have not given enough time or effort to be considered an artist, though I enjoy photography, painting, and singing. Perhaps the athiest asthete mentioned earlier felt a little like I do in engaging these things: that I might apprehend some truth serendipitously by doing what little I can.

As an adult convert to the Eastern Orthodox faith, I’ve discovered that I want a faith perspective that provides a robust and coherent explanatory framework for my subjective experience. The Orthodox emphasis on the coherence of the faith, of engaging all the senses in experiential worship and understanding that theology is something lived, not just contemplated, underscores for me that the feeling of belonging and completeness I feel when moved by a particularly well-written piece of literature or well-composed piece of art may just be part of the Divine plan.

The genius of art, I think, is that it distills a particular person’s perspective and renders it in language accessible to and resonant with others. Following Met. Kallistos and St. Barnasuphius, when this art points toward the source of all beauty it becomes a vector for grace. I think this is true for secular art in the same way (though perhaps not in the same intensity) as it is for icons of Christ and the Saints. These icons which intentionally represent a spiritual and physical reality simultaneously give us some insight to all of our sacraments by demonstrating “matter rendered spiritual.” In this sense, we who have the privilege of worshipping in the Eastern Orthodox tradition are not only surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses when we sing the Divine Liturgy, we are also immersed in a spiritual treasure trove.

I wonder if I don’t sometimes become so habituated to the beauty of Christian worship that I fail to see the treasure in front of me. I read a story recently about the discovery of a $22 billion treasure in a temple vault in India. There are 500 million people living in poverty in India, many of them passing right by this temple, or even adding to the treasure through their offerings. There is some talk of accounting for the treasure, but no apparent plans to use it to alleviate the poverty outside the walls of the temple. Clearly, proximity is not enough for treasure to have an affect. Likewise, the treasure of our faith will not enliven me through osmosis. Every Sunday I have the opportunity (and the obligation) to approach the chalice with fear and trembling, having prepared myself for the most mind-boggling of all transcendent events: the soul-quickening, evil-vanquishing, illuminating, healing, sanctifying entrance of the body and blood of Christ into my person. And I fail, every time.

Christ told Martha, “One thing is needful.” If I took this to heart I would arrange my whole life around this weekly judgment. I would live a coherently Christian faith. I would order my thoughts, my actions, my interactions with others so that I would prepare prayerfully and fully, instead of distractedly and in haste. God, in His grace, grants me to grow a little in this manner every week, every month, every year. The Church is not only a spiritual hospital, it is also a school of repentance. I am learning how to want and need that one thing: communion with God.

I determined last year that I have been working in education too long when I decided I needed learning objectives for parenting my two boys, now aged four and two. I decided that I would feel successful as a parent if they learned to love, to trust, and to wonder. The first, love, seems to me to be the groundwork for all of Christian living: seeing and loving Christ in the face of every person we see. Trust is an exercise of faith: trusting that God will bless that love with a protecting hand. The last, wonder, is an act of living gratitude: as the Psalmist says, “I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” In this endeavor, I am hoping to establish for my whole family a coherence between the life we live and the faith we profess, despite the daily distractions of television, toys, and video games.

I am an early-adopter of technology and I fear that my boys will have to struggle past their genetics in this respect. I am fond of Arthur C. Clarke’s statement that “any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” However wonderful technology might be, though, I hope that my children are more often in awe of their direct experience of God’s creation. I hope, too, that they will find ways to share that wonder by developing talents to distill their experience through a lens, or a paintbrush, or a pen and let the love, trust, and wonder they cultivate in church permeate their whole lives.

Jonathan Kotinek is a convert to Orthodoxy, father of two, and constantly in awe of his veterinarian wife. An educator, amateur artist, and writer who likes to ponder the intersection of faith, social issues, and education, Jonathan blogs occasionally at http://jkotinek.blogspot.com.

Orthodox Writers and Readers Series: Christy Pessemier

Years ago, as a teenager, I became disillusioned with the Orthodox Church and decided to stop attending. When certain events led me back to the church as a young mother, I was hungry to learn more about the faith I took for granted. I devoured as many books as I could find. One of them was Father Arseny.

Part of the reason I left the Church was because I couldn’t find that personal connection of what Orthodoxy meant to me. I wanted to do more than just show up on Sunday and go through the motions. I needed something more, and somehow I just wasn’t finding it.

When I came back to the Church, Father Arseny was a comfort to me. Added to the icons and the hymns and sacraments of the Church, the book gave me a sense of the life and sufferings and amazing selflessness of a not-yet-canonized saint. I read in awe about a highly educated man who became a priest and was imprisoned in the Russian labor camps during the Communist regime under Stalin. Somehow, Father Arseny managed to stay alive by the grace of God while dodging starvation, bitter cold temperatures, regular beatings, and an inhuman workload designed to kill prisoners. In the midst of all this, he often gave up his food rations to other prisoners, cared for the sick, and never stopped praying and glorifying God.

Crossing myself openly in church, or anywhere for that matter, took on new meaning. Kissing the icons hanging throughout my house brought me a new sense of gratitude.  I didn’t have to worry about Communist prison guards beating me, or about being turned in by someone who I thought was a friend. Instead of skimming a collection of short paragraphs on saints, I was reading about real-life accounts of an amazing man who turned to God under the worst circumstances, and blessed and touched countless other lives. Suddenly, I felt so much more aware of how blessed I was to pray and live freely as an Orthodox Christian in this country.

Reading Father Arseny was a part of my journey back to Orthodoxy. It made everything so much more meaningful for me. Recently, though it had been many years since I had read it, I found myself referring to it often when talking with my children about spiritual miracles. One day, I picked it up off the shelf and started reading it to my thirteen-year-old daughter. Soon, the stories started coming back to me. The hardship, the struggles, and the amazing Christ-like love that Father Arseny shared with so many.

Now, when I go upstairs to kiss my daughter goodnight, she gives me that familiar inquisitive look and asks, “Father Arseny?” which means she wants to read another chapter. And so I read one chapter, and then I find myself turning to the next page and saying, “OK, just one more chapter.”

Christy Pessemier is an award-winning freelance writer who has written numerous articles for South Sound Home | Garden | Life magazine.  She also worked as a reporter for the Eatonville Dispatch Newspaper, and continues to work as a copywriter for local businesses as well as 425 Magazine. Christy lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband, two daughters, and their Beagle-Basset, Scout.

Keep an eye out in Western Washington bookstores for Christy’s latest article on an eco-friendly home in Issaquah in Premier Media Group’s 425 Magazine. You can find some of Christy’s articles at: http://christypessemier.wordpress.com/christys-published-articles/

“Orthodox Writers and Readers” Series Launch: Molly Sabourin

It’s 9:38 am on any given Sunday and I’m at church–or rather, I’m physically present at St. Elizabeth’s but not yet “there,” if you know what I mean. Ideally, I’d have spent the previous ninety minutes or so in quiet prayerful anticipation of the communal worship I was about to enter into, as opposed to yippin’ and yappin’ at my younguns with the hair in need of brushing and sometimes surly attitudes in need of adjusting.

And it certainly would have been lovely to have arrived ten minutes early and caught a bit of the matins service preceding Divine Liturgy, instead of screeching into the parking lot with but 30 seconds to spare before our priest kicked things off with, “Blessed is the Kingdom of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit!”  But my life as a mother of four rarely caters to my preferences, thus here I stand in a cloud of incense reciting the Beatitudes, still trying to harness my wandering and frazzled thoughts (“Did I turn the iron off? Oooh, chicken stir-fry sounds good for dinner. Maybe that missing library look is in the back of the van!”).

It’s really, really hard to ignore them, to not engage them. It takes everything in me to tune out the noise of my runaway mental impulses and digest the enormity of what is taking place all around me: Christ is in our midst!  And that truly is my ongoing, overarching battle – to somehow cut through the fluff and fog buffering my body, my spirit, my mind from the intensity and demands of a life lived fully for Christ, Christ as Love. I’d drift unknowingly into a comfortable lukewarm state of blasé-ness without the Church. Without the Church and Her sacraments, mystery, iconography, hymnology, antiquity, martyrs, saints to help lift my gaze up from the media-driven, materialistic mire, I’d merely pass the time instead of seizing it – making every second count.

We are about halfway through liturgy when our priest comes out from behind the altar reverently carrying the gifts, the bread and wine that will become the body and blood of Christ. He bows to us and we bow to him, singing, That we may receive the King of all who comes invisibly upborne by the angelic hosts. Oh my gosh, I think then, this is so much bigger than my fears, selfish desires, dinner plans and unsightly shortcomings.  What’s happening right here, right now is unequivocally more real, more important, more fulfilling, more victorious, more consequential than absolutely any and everything else.

I participate in (or maybe “cling desperately to” would be a more accurate choice of phrasing) the life of the Church to stay mindful of the fact I have a soul in need of saving. The Church is a hospital and I am sick. The Church is my ultimate source of healing. And as a very thankful member of the Church, the Body of Christ, I’m called to present to Her my first fruits, my God-given gifts, as a sacrifice.

Eric Henry Liddel, winner of the 1924 Olympic men’s 400 meters race, and inspiration for the movie Chariots of Fire, was once quoted as saying, “When I run, I feel His [God’s] pleasure.”  I totally get that. From the tender age of eight, I’ve been putting my ponderings down on paper. Writing has consistently been my ever-present hobby, and my primary method for coping with the good, the bad and the ugly.

When I write to be noticed, respected, appreciated, I find zero joy in it – only pride and insecurity (two troublesome sides of the same tired coin). When I write as a means of prayer, however, or with the singular goal of spreading light, love and hope, I too feel God’s pleasure – a deep satisfaction. Writing is what I know, is what calms me. Writing as a means of communion with the living God is my widow’s mite offered meekly in faith. That Christ can utilize my meager gift, despite my abundant weaknesses, to break through complacency or despair and pierce hearts with His mercy is nothing short of miraculous. It will take a concerted effort on my part, however, to keep my eyes on the prize to the very end. Get behind me doubts and self-serving intentions! I’m busy dying to myself in order to thrive. My computer keyboard and I have much significant and salvific work to do!

We have finally arrived at the pre-communion prayer. My head is lowered and my arms crossed submissively in front of my chest in anticipation of being fed by the Holy Eucharist. …of Thy Mystical supper, O Son of God, accept me today as a communicant, I pray aloud with my parish family, for I will not speak of Thy Mysteries to Thine enemies, neither like Judas will I give Thee a kiss but like the thief will I confess Thee. Remember me, O, Lord in Thy Kingdom. And I am fully here. I am fully present. I remember now from whence comes all enlightenment, grace, fortitude and yes, even my drive to write and create.

I may be a pen, but Christ is the ink. Only by emptying myself, of myself, can His Truth, His words, flow through me.

Molly Sabourin is a writer, podcaster and amateur photographer who reflects primarily on issues pertaining to family, faith and community. She is the author of “Close to Home: One Orthodox Mother’s Quest for Patience, Peace and Perseverance.” Molly blogs regularly at http://mollysabourin.typepad.com.

Final Countdown to “Orthodox Writers and Readers”

In bloom

One week from today, the Orthodox Writers and Readers series will begin on this blog. September 1 is the official start of the Orthodox church year, so it seems a good day for a new beginning.

I am thrilled to announce that our first guest in the series will be Molly Sabourin. Molly is a multi-talented woman. She’s an author, a blogger, a speaker, a podcaster, and a gifted photographer. I don’t want to spill all the beans before she gets here, but I do want to tell you a little story about her book and its place in my own life. To my mind, it’s the perfect introduction to the Orthodox Writers and Readers series.

Last year, one of my friends at church told me she had just read an incredible book called Close to Home by Molly Sabourin. My friend is a mom, just like I am, and we often talk to each other about our struggles to raise our kids the way our love for them and our faith in God inspire us to. We also talk to each other on the bad days, when we fall short. She gave me Molly’s book because she could identify with it so strongly she just had to share it. She said it made her want to round up all the moms at church so we could read it together. She knew it would help us talk to each other about our lives. I took the book home and started reading.

Close to Home blew me away. Over and over again, I would read a chapter and think “I do that! I think that! I felt that! Now I wonder how Molly dealt with it when she did it/thought it/felt it.” Then I would read on and find out.

The book is powerful because it’s so true!  I think my friend felt this also, and that’s why she had to share it with me. When I finished reading it, I wanted to share it, too.

Why did this experience stick with me? Because it was perfect. It’s exactly what should happen when you read a good book, and I’m sure it’s what every author hopes for. Books are such human things. Animals don’t write them. Ditto on birds, bugs, and machines. Books are an expression of us and our human experiences, and they are meant to be shared and talked about and passed around.

In the Orthodox world I have come to know and love, there are gifted people who are using their abilities and their faith to create beautiful books, podcasts, videos, curricula, blogs, and other works of art. I believe all of these creations should be shared as often as possible, with as many people as possible. And I believe we can all learn something about faith and creativity by learning about these people and how they do their work.

The Orthodox Writers and Readers series will launch in the same spirit that moved my friend to share Molly’s book with me. I hope you will enjoy hearing from the wonderful writers and readers who will be featured here. I hope you will respond to them with comments and by visiting them at their online homes and exploring their work firsthand.