Call me captain obvious, but I’m finding (once again) that there is nothing pretty about entering Lent. Beautiful? Absolutely. Growing? Definitely. Palatable? Less so.
This morning already, even while chocolate cookies bake for fat Tuesday, I’m mentally readying myself for the stark season we embark on tomorrow, and even the mundane to-do list smacks of little deaths and resurrections:
- Take down Valentine décor
- Plant garden seedlings/revive overwintered geraniums
- Own up to biting off more than you can chew with the Lenten devotional
- Enjoy final cup of coffee
As a gardener, the word Lent (which means springtime) resonates with me deeply. It is perfectly matched with the interior work of preparing and cultivating, metaphorically letting worms run wild through the compost of my life with the understanding that the more work done now, the more beautiful growing season it will be. But I’ve got to tell you, I was working in the yard this morning. I was sweating, I was muddy, and all I have to show for it is a bunch of red solo cups full of dirt, and a couple of paltry looking geraniums that spent the winter in a brown paper bag.
This doesn’t bode well for what’s about to take place. I repeat: There is nothing pretty about Lent.
I’ve given in to circumstantial Lents for the past couple years simply because those seasons were growing in and of themselves, bringing me to my knees and offering ample opportunities to die to myself. That said, having the option to personally select my cross this year, feels like a big deal. Thanks be to God for peaks and valleys! Whether you find yourself in on a mountain top, or deep in a valley, I pray that Jesus meets you right in the middle of it all.
As I planted seeds this morning, imagining the garden I’m hoping to cultivate after two summers without one, I couldn’t shake the thought that it is a fitting time to be shoving withered seeds into the earth. Everything about it is counter-intuitive. Just like the Paschal mystery: Dying to rise.
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On a related note, the Lenten reflection booklet was making strides, but in order to provide a thorough and professional option with ample lead time, I’ve decided to offer it for next year. What I can tell you is that I am excited about what’s coming and I think it will be worth the wait. While I was excited to get this into your hands asap, I am grateful to have the space to move a bit slower and to provide a better option next spring.
Enjoy your Mardi Gras celebrations today. I am praying for a nourishing Lenten journey for us all this year.
“ I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch of mine that doesn’t produce fruit, and he prunes the branches that do bear fruit so they will produce even more. You have already been pruned and purified by the message I have given you. Remain in me, and I will remain in you. For a branch cannot produce fruit if it is severed from the vine, and you cannot be fruitful unless you remain in me.” -John 15: 1-4