The Little Ones

Written by my good friend, Tabitha.

During our visit to Nanwalek, I spent the majority of my time working with the children in the village. Beside the children’s activities that we had planned, the construction of the church, cleanup of the graveyards, and food preparation for the many large meals we partook of continued. There are about 70 children in Nanwalek out if a population of 275, all ranging from 2-12 years old. I have never encountered so many children in one small location. The more shocking part about this situation was the fact that the children were so eager and excited to do whatever we were doing. Most kids that I have ever been around want to watch TV, or play video games – some kids as young as three years old. However, in Nanwalek, I experienced something entirely different. There were many great games and activities, that in doing them, made me feel like a child again. There was such a sweet innocence that poured out of them from God’s hands that was blessing us continually throughout our time there.

One of these times in particular was when we dedicated the day completely to St. George’s memory. We read stories about his life and his victory in slaying the dragon. In light of this, we asked the children to perform a small play about St. George. Three children were picked. An adamant boy named Seraphim was cast the part of the dragon. Nicholas was St. George, and a sweet little girl named Tula played the princess. Each child played their part extremely well and with enormous character. They made me laugh so hard by their emphatic efforts in making sure St. George was portrayed with perfection.

So much of a person’s time, when working with children, should be spent simply learning from them. Children’s innocent minds understand a depth that many adults spend a lifetime trying to reach. I have noticed through my experience with children and my own childhood growth that the simplicity of children is being lost. Instead of playing “house” they are placed in front of a tube for hours playing video games, every ounce of imagination being sucked out.  However, the children in Nanwalek were quite the opposite. It was so refreshing to see a large group of children still so full of love and life. Being with them brought me back and reminded me of the innocence that I hope to regain.

——-I also was able to go on this trip to Nanwalek, and experience the joy of these children. The memory of taking my violin there on the plane and learning and sharing with the villagers really opened my eyes and heart. Thank you! 

Genuine Music

A beautiful memory from 2013

Every man is given a precious and unique heart that is created expressly for the glory of God. When this heart is open, the Holy Spirit becomes active and alive within, causing the light of Christ to shine forth. What a wonderful thing it is to see this radiance in the eyes of those around you. It is like a breath of fresh air, a reprieve from the troubles of this world.

My heart leapt as I took my first steps in the village of Port Graham. Before me, snow-laden spruces and evergreens soared into the misty sky, while white-capped mountains peaked over them with stately grandeur. The powdery ground glistened in the failing light of evening, causing the whole village to fall into peaceful silence. With open arms and the touching words, “Welcome home!” the villagers greeted ten weary travelers to this breathtaking world. With awe I greeted this new land before me, how far removed it was from the hubbub of everyday life. God’s creation truly rejoiced in this place, as was evident on the faces of those who welcomed us.

Our small group of travelers was sent to Port Graham to learn the warmth of an open heart. How often the world suffocates and shrink-wraps our hearts, shutting God out and hiding our souls in small cocoons. Each human being suffers from this malady in some way, and spends considerable time chipping away at the outer shell. How much I must give of myself before I can even splinter the iceberg. From the first day I arrived in Port Graham, I wondered at the hospitality and generosity of the villagers. We were supplied with more than we could ever want for our week stay. A beautiful house, warm food, and the gift of the loving hands who prepared everything for us. Through our host’s generosity, their hearts were wide open, ready to receive the light of Christ.

I was given the opportunity to open my heart through sharing my love for music. With a timid voice I began to sing the familiar hymns each morning at liturgy, and to harmonize in the endearing starring melodies that we sang from house to house. Through the many days I spend attending music school in San Francisco, my heart becomes hardened by the coldness of city life. What a different world cities are compared to the quietness of village life in Alaska. Though cities may be exciting for a time, the bright lights, billboards, public transit, and general public moral wears on your body and soul, oftentimes closing off any warmth in your heart. A protective wall is put up, many layers thick, to guard against too much stimulation and unpleasantness. When I arrived at Port Graham, my heart was still walled in against any intrusion, and my actions were very selfish.

Starring is a tradition handed down to the Natives from the people of Ukraine. Just like Christmas caroling, starring shares the grace of Nativity in each house and church. A group of singers follow the brightly decorated Christmas star from house to house, singing carols and hymns of the birth of Jesus. Each family lays the table with delectable treats and homemade goodies. In order to make the Joy of Christmas shine in each home, you must give of yourself through singing. As we visited the village homes, starring with singing and instruments, it was as if a new layer of my shell was peeled off right before my eyes. The more I gave of myself, trying to make our pieces as beautiful and genuine as could be, the more layers were peeled away. The more hospitality I received, the warmer my heart became, and my voice sang out with new confidence.

In music school, I train specifically as a violinist, learning how to shape musical phrases, play sensitively with others, and perform under great pressure. Through individual lessons and classes, my professors strive to cultivate musicality in the hearts of their students, encouraging them to play melodies straight from the soul. Letting your voice come out from under a cocoon can be rather challenging. Even with all the years of training and hours practicing, I still struggle with letting my heart speak through my instrument, letting true feelings and stories be portrayed in my playing. Right before my eyes, this onion was being peeled away rapidly as we sang and played for the people of Port Graham.

What thousands of dollars could not buy, the people of Port Graham were allowing to surface.   Each morning we attended Liturgy in the village church dedicated to St. Herman, and afterwards gathered together for a meal. At a few of these repasts, Father Paisius asked if I could play a few short violin pieces for everyone gathered. Usually, when asked to play at school, I censor the feeling I would truly like to put into my playing and instead connect with my audience using fancy technique or captivating pieces. Here in Port Graham, playing perfect violin concertos and achieving a music diploma had no relevance. What mattered was being genuine and true in the Lord. Letting my true voice speak.

With a short prayer on my lips, I raise my violin to my chin, and gently began to glide the bow across the strings. The sound resonated on the tall ceiling, bouncing back to my ears in a pleasant manner. My left hand’s fingers fell with ease as my right hand wove through phrases with the bow. Being a perfectionist, I usually refuse to play for an audience without first warming my fingers up with a scale or short exercise. There was no time for these obligatory warm-ups, no time to get my feelings sorted, but it didn’t matter. I felt God with me, as if His angels were playing along with me, pulling my bow for me.

Until this time, I hadn’t heard such music resound from my violin. It was as if my heart was opened, and rejoiced with the sound of poetry. The love and openness of those around me helped my stingy heart to give up a large layer of its facade and to speak from within. These things cannot happen on a one-way avenue, but when two or more are gathered in the Lord’s Name. Christ was in our midst.

Returning to San Francisco to resume studies for the Spring Semester, I have tried to maintain some of this grace. As momentary as it may seem, true music can be a gift to any man who has ears to hear. I strive to share this Light of Christ with as many people as possible, giving of myself for the Glory of God.

Saint Olga (Elena)

What intricate handwork!

A few months ago, I found this ikon of my baptismal saint, St Olga. She was a Russian princess born in the village of Vybuta, several miles from Pskov. Before becoming a Christian, she was married to Prince Igor of Kiev, and ruled with him there in the 10th century.

Their marriage was ended rather abruptly when Prince Igor was murdered by opposers, and left Princess Olga to reign with their three-year-old son Svyatoslav. She spent the following years after his death, avenging her husband, and creating order in Russia. Much of her work included creating culture and bettering domestic life for her subjects. She fortified and strengthened the cities in her realm and strove to develop trade with other countries.

Her work brought her to many regions outside of Russia including Byzantine Constantinople, then under the rein of Emperor Constantine Porphyrogenitos. There she fell in love with Eastern Christianity, and was baptized with the name, Helen (or Elena) after the Empress Helen of Constantinople. After being received into the church, Patriarch Theophylactus said, “Blessed are you among Russian women, for you have forsaken the darkness and have loved the Light. The Russian people shall bless you in all the future generations, from your grandson and great-grandson to your furthermost descendants.”

She indeed is still remembered by the Russian people as the mother of Christianity in Russia. Upon her return to Kiev, she spread the Gospel to the Russian people, built churches, and devoted her time to the furtherance of Christianity in Russia. Her work was later taken on by her grandson, Vladimir.

St. Olga remained strong through much opposition and turmoil in Russian, and died a true Christian on July 11th, 969. She was a strong and clever woman, and was much admired for her beauty. Though she had many suitors after her husband’s death, she never remarried, but joined herself to the Lord and devoted her time to her country.

*****

My parents must have know that I would be a true redhead and need a strong woman for my saint. Instead of naming me Olga, they chose to name me after her baptismal name, Elena, which was also my paternal grandmother’s name. (Eleanor)

For more on St. Olga:

http://oca.org/saints/lives/2013/07/11/102003-st-olga-the-princess-of-russia-in-holy-baptism-called-helen

The ikon, crafted by Denshchikov Vladimir:

http://www.arthit.ru/applied-art/0127/macrame-art-1.html

For the Sake of Beauty – Episode 1

“Beauty will save the world.” – F. Dostoyevsky

Topsy Turvy

Playing music is like taking a journey.

Sometimes, you take this journey alone, and other times with others. It’s amazing and unpredictable when two or more people converge journeys at the same time. It resembles what it might be if we were all in heaven – no need for words.

If you’re willing, playing well means wearing your soul on your sleeve. No hiding allowed! It’s quite a scary proposition.

If you know what a musical conversation feels like, no other communication feels quite as close or real.

Making love is like playing music. There is chemistry, time and place for everything. Patience and intuition.

“Marry a nice Orthodox Christian man,” they say. What does nice mean?

“Show me your soul,” I say. That’s what close feels like. Not nice, not Orthodox, not Hindu.

Play harmonies with me.

God gives you the strength to be able to make yourself vulnerable.

I wont love you just because you’re Orthodox. I’ll love you because you’re you.

Play music with my heart, and we will be one. Together, and with God.

May your prayer be to feel the intimacy of heaven.

Superficial masks are not becoming. Become who God created you to be, and I will play music with your heart.

Perfection is not mandatory, but a desire for betterment is quite an attractive color.

I’m not just a “Nice Orthodox Christian Girl.”

If you can’t meet me in song, you can’t meet me in prayer.

Take a musical journey, and play the language of the angels.

Writing Tunes

I love Earl Grey tea. The smell reminds me of a rich purple silk, and tastes even better. Like a field of lavender that  stretches out to meet the sunset, or purple roses whose petals are the softest. If I knew how to use the brush, I might attempt to do justice to these words, but I’ll leave those pictures to your own imagination.

Now, suppose that these images were in a different medium? A dance, a sculpture, a tune? If a graceful hand or pointed toe were like the dance of waving lavender, the curving of a vase lip might be like the smooth petals of a purple rose. The key and contour of a tune might paint the pictures of sunset over the flowering field. Our ears could be our eyes, our hearts could be our words.

Hearing tunes can be a lighthearted or a deeply thought provoking experience. It’s quite amazing how a series of frequencies can stir our hearts to a large panorama of feelings and thoughts. As William Shakespeare observed, “Is it not strange that sheep’s guts should hale souls out of men’s bodies.” Not everyone uses sheep guts to convey sentiments, but the saying still rings true with the use of modern instruments. If played well, the tones of a flute can somehow resonate inside us, and through catharisis, cause us to feel first angry, then at peace, and leave us with exalted feelings of joy.

A composer must take these things into mind. Before a performance, came a tune, and before a tune, came an inspiration. Consider drinking a cup of purple Earl Grey tea on a rainy day, warming before the fire in a very contented manner. As the rain drips serenely down the window panes and tickles the chimney top with drips, you sit there brewing a tune. Through your head flies thoughts of friends, family, obligations, and suddenly, the field of lavender comes to mind. The sun is setting in the distance, peeking over rolling bluish hills, casting warm hues of crimson over the purple field of swaying flowers. Between each row of green, there lies a dusty path of tannish clay. The rows run straight into the far-off hills and give a sense of eternal journey.

For some, these images may only be a jumble of words, but to others, it might be the prelude to a song. As you hum to yourself, you realize that the tune sounds just like the sequence of imaginings in your head. Perhaps C Major would do the scene justice. As the tune grows on you, you wander to piano and haltingly plunk out the first notes. At first very roughly, but then as chords and embellishments are added, the tune takes shape. A song has been born.

If you fancy the song enough, you might even write the notes on a five lined staff. Sometimes in this process, the analytical brain takes over too much of the job with worrying about rhythm, tempo, continuity, chords, and counterpoint. Hopefully, the inspiration wont be pushed out by the hard facts of music notion, and your tune can still soar. Even the great J.S. Bach waded through a multitude of rules of functional harmony and counterpoint to come up with some of the most beautiful masterpieces. He didn’t let the dots on the page hinder him too much.

It’s quite amusing to see how many times Bach cleverly broke the rules of Baroque theory, and added new flavors to his works. While you’re writing your tune, take risks, write all your ideas down, and don’t let the whiteness of the page stop you. (or computer) Last, but not least, your tune must be named. The tune would have so much more character if you didn’t title it “Sonata in C Major for flute and piano…”. Call it rather “Spring Sonata”, or “Dot the Dragon’s Eye”. To keep on our Lavender theme, maybe “Sprigs of Lavender” would be more fitting.

Music does not live on the page, but must be played to be heard. True music doesn’t know the limits of the dots, but weaves in-between the lines. Let friends listen to your tune, let dancers move to it. Maybe one friend will glean a different image than the purple roses. Embrace his image too – songs can have many layers. It’s surprising how that one cup of Earl Grey tea on the rainy day could later hale the hearts of men.

Illustration Fascination

Have you ever picked up a book just because the cover was pretty? Or when you skimmed through, your eyes couldn’t let go of the illustrations? I think I’ve adopted more books on merit of the pictures than anything else. Especially children’s books. Yes…. I’m not a kid anymore on the outside, but there’s still that 10 year old version of me still hiding inside. That same version of me that secretly wants to jump in every puddle, and take the lid off when the popcorn’s popping on the stovetop.

I’ll begin by sharing one of my favorite illustrators, Tasha Tudor – Tales from Hans Christian Andersen

Lord of the Rings, as seen through the eyes of the Brothers Hildebrandt

Most everyone that spent time with me during grade school and beginning of high school knows what my favorite topic was. You guessed it: Lord of the Rings! I’m not as ardent now in my fandom, but still enjoy a good LOTR painting any day.

The two brothers, Greg and Tim Hildebrandt began their artistic career in 1959. Coined “Brothers Hildebrandt”, they illustrated science fiction and fantasy books, calendars, posters and trading cards. Some of their most famous projects include Star Wars posters, Marvel and DC Comics, Trans-Siberian Orchestra albums, Harry Potter oil paintings, and Lord of the Rings calendars. Greg still continues his work after the death of Tim, in 2006.

Though not my absolute favorite style of art, the Lord of the Rings calendar paintings bring such genuine simplicity, that I can’t help falling in love with them. The movies were quite a highlight, but there’s something to be said about illustrations. They still allow the viewer to use his imagination to complete the the whole picture. Enjoy!