This has been the strangest Lent. I have never felt so busy, so pressured, in a long time. And it’s all good and necessary stuff — the puppy, teaching a class at a local Evangelical university, a catechumen/goddaughter, parish council.
Then, interspersed in there, the necessary and welcome services of Great Lent. I feel like I haven’t had time to catch my breath. Instead of finding God in the whispers and the silence, I’m trying to catch him like a DC Metro train at 6 p.m.–squished and packed and heart-pounding as the doors close behind me.
It isn’t how I want to do Lent, and it makes easy for me to justify not doing it right, not polishing up that image of God and working toward His likeness. I mean, I’m so busy, right? Who has time to be a human being?
Last Lent, with my friends on their blog and the fury and the fire of what happened to them, my heart seemed just broken and raw through the whole season. I wanted, craved, the safety of the Church and the rhythm of the season. I was Mary, sitting at the feet of my Savior and begging to feel whole.
This year, man, I am all Martha–a white rabbit going everywhere and getting nothing done. In a couple weeks, we’ll be at the end, with the darkness and flickering hope of Holy Week leading us to the bright and raucous light of Pascha. With a little luck, and probably a whole lot more discipline, I’ll find some kind of rhythm by then. But I’d be fooling myself to think this is not how it’s going to be from here on out. I’m heading into married life, I’m approaching 40 (EEEK) and our culture shows no sign of giving anybody room to breath. Even if it’s just baby steps, I’m going to have to come out of the kitchen and listen to what’s going on with the Teacher.
In other news, Helo’s still a pretty awesome puppy. One of these guys met him and said he’s well-socialized. To me that’s like having Michael Jordan tell me good shot.
Last week, he learned to swim. ‘Twas pretty darn cute.