the new

When our 21-year old, James, was one and learning to speak, enthusiasm drove him. I got a kick out of watching his whole body respond to a puppy's fur, water boiling, stereo music. Everywhere you looked, listened, touched, or smelled, life was interesting.

As we have been a wordy family, certain phrases got remembered and repeated long, I'm sure, past the date when James wished we would stop. One such exclamation of his was, "Da new!" He relished the opening of a jar or tub of something smooth. Fresh Skippy peanut butter was a favorite, as were margarines and yogurts. You couldn't beat that amazing, unblemished look. I knew the stuff we peered at had been processed, plunked, and formed, but for those moments before the knife sank in, thanks to James, I was wowed.

Right now the thought of slipping into a life of Orthodoxy is looking rather da-newish. Only, I'm the butter knife who will discover how the texture suits me as I go. Yesterday Tim and I talked to Father David in his office. We arrived a while before "6th Hour," which is a short service at noon. Father David said I should feel free to hang around St. John's as much as I want.

From a Jewish family, David was, years ago, training to be a rabbi when he converted to Christianity. Hints of his story spark my wordy instincts. I appreciate that he spoke a little more about himself yesterday, along with explaining reasons behind some Orthodox practices.

Sunday morning there will be a brief ceremony in which I'll be dubbed a catechumen, or, "a person undertaking instruction in religious beliefs, usually before Christian baptism."

In line with my household's fun-with-words penchant, this morning seeing Tim in the kitchen I bounced up to him, saying, "I'm going to become a cataclysmic!" which made him pause a moment.

His response: "That goes without saying."