Endnotes

Recommended are: 1) Repentance and Confession, by St. Nektarios (Roscoe, NY: St. Nektarios Greek Orthodox Monastery, 2002); 2) The Forgotten Medicine:
The Mystery of Repentance, by Archimandrite Seraphim Aleksiev (Wildwood, CA: St. Xenia Press Skete, 1994); 3) Exomologetarion: A Manual of Confession, by St.
Nikodemos the Hagiorite (Thessaloniki, Greece: Uncut Mountain Press, 2006), Part III, "Counsel for the Penitent".
If you do not have a spiritual father, or do not think you need one, consider these materials on spiritual guidance.
You might also consider whether it is a sin to work on holy days. See Elder Paisios the Athonite's comments on feast days and holidays.
See the "The Rule of Fasting in the Orthodox Church," by Fr. Seraphim (Rose) of Platina, and this excerpt from The Exomologetarion concerning fasting on Wednesdays and Fridays.

From The Desk of Father Andrew

Here is a story adapted from Oscar Wilde that was my Father's favorite as a child, he told it to me so many times when I was growing-up, that it has become my favorite. Enjoy! ‘Every afternoon, children would play in the Giant's garden. It was a large lovely garden, with soft green grass, hundreds of flowers, and twelve peach-trees that in the spring-time broke out into delicate blossoms of pink and pearl, and in the autumn bore rich fruit. One day the Giant came back from a long trip that he had taken visiting the Cornish Ogre; when he arrived he saw the children playing in the garden. ‘What are you doing here?’He cried in a very gruff voice, and the children ran away. ‘My garden is my own.' So he built a high wall all round it, and put up a notice-board. ‘TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED'. He was a very selfish Giant.

The children had nowhere to play, they used to wander round the high wall, and talk about the beautiful garden inside. Then Spring came, and all over there were little blossoms and little birds. In the garden of the Selfish Giant, it was still Winter. The birds did not sing as there were no children, and the trees forgot to blossom. Once a beautiful flower put its head out from the grass, but when it saw the notice-board it was so sorry for the children that it slipped back into the ground again. The only ones pleased were the Snow and the Frost. ‘Spring has forgotten this garden; we can live here all the year round.' The Snow covered up the grass with her great white cloak, and the Frost painted all the trees silver. They invited the North Wind to stay with them, and he did, wrapped in fur. He roared all day about the garden. ‘I cannot understand why the Spring is so late in coming,' said the Selfish Giant, as he sat at the window and looked out at his cold white garden; ‘I hope there will be a change in the weather.' But the Spring never came, nor the Summer. The Autumn gave golden fruit to every garden, but to the Giant's garden she gave none. ‘He is too selfish, ‘she said. So it was always Winter there, and the North Wind, and the Frost, and the Snow danced about through the trees. One morning the Giant heard lovely music, it sounded so sweet to his ears that he thought it must be musicians passing by, it was really only a bird singing outside his window, but it was so long since he had heard one sing in his garden that it seemed to him to be the most beautiful music in the world. Then the North Wind ceased roaring, and a delightful perfume came to him through the window. ‘I believe the Spring has come at last,' said the Giant; and he jumped out of bed and looked out. What did he see? Through a little hole in the wall the children had crept in, and they were sitting in the branches of the trees. In every tree were children, and the trees were so glad to have the children back that they had covered themselves with blossoms. The birds were flying about and twittering, and the flowers were looking up through the green grass. Yet, in one corner it was still Winter, it was the farthest corner of the garden, and in it was standing a little boy; he was so small that he could not reach up to the branches of the tree, and he was crying bitterly. The tree was still covered with frost and snow, and the North Wind was blowing and roaring above it. ‘Climb up! Little boy,' said the Tree, and it bent its branches down as low as it could; but the little boy was too tiny. The Giant's heart melted as he looked out. ‘How selfish I have been!' he said; ‘now I know why the Spring would not come here. I will put that poor little boy on that tree, and then I will knock down the wall, and my garden shall be the children's playground.' So he crept downstairs and opened the front door, and went out into the garden. But when the children saw him they were so frightened that they all ran away, and the garden became Winter again. Only the little boy did not run, for his eyes were so full of tears that he did not see the Giant coming. And the Giant crept-up behind him and took him gently in his hand, and put him up into the tree, and the tree broke at once into blossom, and the birds came and sang on it, and the little boy stretched out his two arms and flung them round the Giant's neck, and kissed him. When the other children saw that the Giant was not wicked any longer, they came running back, and with them came the Spring. ‘It is your garden now, children,' said the Giant, and he took a great ax and knocked down the wall. When people were passing by, they found the Giant playing with the children in the most beautiful garden they had ever seen. All day long they played, and in the evening they came to the Giant to bid him good-bye. ‘Where is the boy I put into the tree.' The Giant loved him best because he had kissed and hugged him. ‘We don't know,' answered the children. ‘You must tell him to come here tomorrow,' said the Giant. But the children said that they did not know where he lived, and had never seen him before; the Giant felt very sad. Every afternoon the children came and played with the Giant, but the little boy whom the Giant loved was never seen again. The Giant was kind to all the children, yet he longed for his first little friend, and often spoke of him. ‘How I would like to see him!' he used to say. Years went by and the Giant grew old, he could not play anymore, so he sat in a huge chair, and watched the children play, and admired his garden. ‘I have many flowers,' but the children are the most beautiful flowers of all.' One winter morning he looked out of his window as he was dressing. Suddenly he rubbed his eyes in wonder, and looked and looked, in the farthest corner of the garden was a tree quite covered with lovely white blossoms. Its branches were all golden, and silver fruit hung down from them, and underneath it stood the little boy he had loved. The Giant ran downstairs in great joy, and out into the garden. He came near to the child, and when he was close his face grew red with anger, and he said, ‘who has wounded you?' For on the palms of the child's hands were the prints of two nails, and the prints of two nails were on the little feet. ‘Who hath dared to wound thee?' cried the Giant; ‘tell me, that I may slay him.' ‘No!' answered the child; ‘these are the wounds of Love.' ‘Who are you?' said the Giant, and a strange awe fell on him, and he knelt before the little child. And the child smiled on the Giant, and said to him, ‘you let me play once in your garden, today you shall come with me to my garden, which is Paradise.'

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