Journey Stories

From as far back as I can remember, I always had a feeling of nostalgia for something of which I could never clearly describe but which seemed to faintly call to me. Growing up in suburban Chicago, I didn’t have the blessing of enjoying such wonders of God’s creation as enjoyed in the Northwest, but my house was close to some undeveloped railroad land and my father and I would often walk around in it, picking up trash. I came to love that piece of wetland and prairie and as I grew older and I ... [Read more]

I was born and raised in St. Louis, Missouri, until first grade when we moved to Connecticut. My father was Italian and my mother was American and they had a beautiful marriage. I was raised Roman Catholic and attended parochial school in my elementary years. After high school I did a few years at the University of Connecticut. Then my father died, and in 1972 my mom and I returned to St. Louis where I started Chiropractic College. Six months later, I was so homesick for my friends in ... [Read more]

In the beginning, a very well known phrase, I was born into a totally Jewish family in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. I did all the things a normal kid would do, and a lot I shouldn’t have. We really didn’t go to the Synagogue a lot. Back then you had to be a member and pay dues, and for the High Holy Days, you had to buy tickets at an additional cost to the membership dues. I questioned this and all my father would say is that I was too young to understand. As was the custom, I had my ... [Read more]

My journey to Orthodoxy began as a very small child, at the unknowing conditioning of my mother. You see, my parents raised me in the Episcopal Church because, 1) my Presbyterian-raised father wanted “Catholic values without the guilt” and 2) my Roman Catholic-raised mother wanted to marry a man who was going to be an Episcopal priest. Dad never did become a priest. In fact, he wasn’t really involved in my religious or spiritual upbringing. My mom was the head of the household when it came to ... [Read more]

My journey to Orthodoxy began before I was born. It began before my parents were married; before they had even met. My journey to Orthodoxy began with a man in Anchorage, Alaska named Harold Dunaway. In 1971, Mr. Dunaway was able to buy a large piece of property, a former Catholic Monastery in the growing town of Eagle River, Alaska. Mr. Dunaway was only able to purchase the property because of a very generous and unexpected donation. He fondly remembers that this was “how we found our home.” ... [Read more]

It all began late one evening in the spring of 1967. I was sitting alone in our family room watching the movie King of Kings on our first-ever color TV. It was a movie about the life of Jesus, and it held me in rapt attention. At the end of the movie, I started to cry. After I turned off the TV, wave after wave of tears of repentance flooded over me. That night Jesus started me on my journey. The next weeks were the best of my life up to that point. I knew I had a new purpose: to serve my Savior ... [Read more]

I feel blessed to have been born Greek. What a wonderful culture we have with the strong family traditions, the delicious foods, the great stories of how our pappous and yiayias came to this country and made a home for themselves and their family. The celebrations we have for name days, baptisms and weddings truly point to an appreciation for life. What wonderful parties I experienced growing up in a Greek family. The Church was the gathering place for Greeks that were spread throughout ... [Read more]

I was born into an Orthodox family and was baptized at a very young age, thereby making me a “cradle” Orthodox. In looking back on my formative years, I now realize how green the grass was in my own backyard, but at that stage in my life, I did not take full advantage of it. Being a native Oregonian, the bulk of my years, minus a handful during which we lived in California when I was very young, were spent attending Holy Trinity here in Portland. As a child and through my teenage years my ... [Read more]

I was raised in a loving but nominally Christian home. I remember irregular attendance at various Lutheran and Presbyterian churches before the age of twelve. By that time I think my parents had stopped going to church. As a result, my teen years had little to do with Christ. I was just an average kid who (generally) stayed out of trouble, and who was blissfully ignorant of any need for God. One sadly amusing memory from those days was throwing my morning paper route with my cassette player ... [Read more]

My father was raised an Orthodox Jew. As a child, I remember visiting my grandparent’s home as they prepared for the Passover holiday. They kept a Kosher home, which meant that they followed Jewish dietary rules. During the eight days of the Passover season, we would go down to their storage area and exchange their normal set of kitchenware for the special kosher kitchenware. I didn’t understand why we did this, at that early age, but it was tradition. I also experienced going to their synagogue ... [Read more]