Lent begins

 Yesterday was Ash Wednesday, so I've been thinking about ways to enter the spiritual dessert in order to draw closer to Christ, to become more like him, and to prepare to celebrate the resurrection. However, today was a bit of a slow start.  Our daughter has stayed home for school two days with a low but persistent fever, headache, and lethargy. 

I've felt a bit lethargic myself, but not because of the flu. I was lying awake contemplating last night and realized I've been falling prey to acedia, aka sloth, particularly spiritual sloth.  The irony is that I used to pride myself for being busy and productive, although as I look back over the years, I have definitely fallen into slothful ways many times in the past.  In fact, I wonder if for most of my life, I have been busy and productive, but as a way to procrastinate, a way to avoid being attentive to the things that matter.  

My oldest daughter asked me for photos of herself when she was two, so I was looking back in the photo albums and was saddened by the few, poor quality photos that we have.  Of course, those were the years when we actually developed film or sent digital images to CVS to be printed because there were no phones for taking, storing, and reviewing photos. I wished I had more photos of those days.  The memories of them have faded, although the pictures bring them back.  I haven't printed photos in years, even though I treasure looking at prints.  Is this procrastination? Yes, but also a way to recall happy memories. But I also wondered if perhaps I didn't have many photos because I wasn't attentive in the moments...

So for Lent, I'm going to try to fight acedia and re-devote myself to avoiding those things that only offer distraction, especially distractions from doing what is right and good. Number one offense: social media, especially Facebook and Instagram. I'm excusing blogging because it is contemplative.  Those other platforms used to be ways to keep up with family. Now they are just a waste of time watching content that someone else made that serves to anger or to numb. 

The physical fasting is easier because we have done this now for serveral years: no sweets, drinks, meats, or good coffee. (I'm still drinking coffee, but not as much and not the good kind.)

I intend to offer up long showers, in union with my Laudato Si class, as well as being late. This is a recommendation from my husband, and it will be hard. It is related to acedia though, because I am late when I am wasting time - not because I have really important things to do, but because I either don't plan or don't pay attention.  

Same thing with staying up late. Both things inconvenience him. They are selfish. So to bed!  Praying for a fruitful and blessed Lent. 

The latest

March came in like a lion, but it is now lamblike. The season of Lent has arrived with sunny skies and mild temperatures. Meanwhile memories of a frigid February are fading, as signs of spring brighten each morning. 

Taking a moment to reflect on Lent since I haven't written in a bit. This Lent has some privations out of my control - my husband is working 1000 miles away. Most of my kids are grown. Teaching takes up all my time - except the hour just wasted deleting junk email and sifting through old message attachments in order to avoid having to pay extra storage fees because we have maxed out the gigabites we get for free after 20 some years. This is the sort of activity I should give up for Lent, and to a certain extent, I have greatly limited my media use. I've been intending to accompany my sacrifice of media time with in increase in prayer, spiritual reading and acts of charity-  I have plenty of need to grow in holiness in other ways.

For the meantime, I have resolved to follow Pope Francis's request and give up most social media (counting this as a journal, not social media). I am still checking in occasionally to see if my kids share anything, but I trying to sacrifice the doom scroll. I need to accompany this with giving up reading the Wall Street Journal cover to cover. . . 

All these things! Cutting back on them all should free me for more time to read and to worship; instead all of my "extra" time has been spent looking at Zillow.

Yes, our move is a reality. Since I last wrote over 2 months ago, my husband has taken a new job up north, about 2 hours from our first grandbaby and 3 from my parents. We are doing the "Geo-bach" thing, as they call it in the Navy - he's in South Bend, and I'm finishing the school year in Texas. It's not ideal, but two months have flown by, so I assume the next 3 will fly.  Our plan is to move north after the last day of school, our son's wedding, and our nephew's wedding. And maybe the 4th of July... 

I am relishing every day here. The weather is beautiful. School is going well. Our friends are wonderful. I feel guilty that my husband is living in a tiny condo surrounded by college students who have a very different schedule than he does - and the walls are thin enough he can hear them. 

We spent half of last week with him on a house hunting mission over spring break.  We found some options, but I am feeling really hesitant to commit. Meanwhile, my husband would put an offer in on the first house he looked at if I let him.  Right now we have 2 good options that we need to act on if we are going to make an offer. A third option has my favorite yard, but it is a mid-century home stuck in the mid-century (not yet modern...) and though it is on a nice street, it is hemmed in by busier streets. It's been on the market almost 3 months, so we are passing on that one. 

The other two aren't on the market yet. They are both older homes and both need some work to make them work for our family. The first is a very, very cute Tudor that is updated with excellent taste, but it is only a 3 bedroom. We would want to renovate a dining room + laundry room into a first floor primary suite, add an apartment over the garage and connect the garage to the house with a greenhouse-like breezeway. I would also like to open up the kitchen into the next room which now is set up as a den but would make a better dining room because it is next to the kitchen. 

This house would work for us, and it is nicely appointed and cute. Very Tudor living room, though, with exposed beams and a pitched roof, and a narrow staircase leading upstairs to the bedrooms. A hidden tiny room off the primary BR could function as an extra sleeping space. The stairs are intimidating to me - if our parents came to live with us, these stairs would be treacherous. Same with the stairs to the finished basement. It is not a house for elderly right now.

Also, it is closer to downtown, which is seeing a revival right now, but has historically been pretty sketchy. This particular house is in a neighborhood  that has been insulated from local crime, but it is closer to the cross street that signals the end of the less - crime ridden neighborhood.

The other house is close to campus where we had initially targeted living, although many of the houses are turning to Air BNBs, which is great when you need extra overflow, but may disrupt the feel of the neighborhood as a communicy. This house is expensive, but needs updates, mostly paint, but also windows, another bathroom, and the basement redone. Add a kitchen gut to make it work for our lifestyle.

So what to do???

Wait to see if something better comes up? South Bend isn't actually a haven of cute houses.  Is it worthwhile to wait and hope something at least more in line with our preferences, or is a ? I said last time that I wasn't going to get in a pressure situation, but here we are.  It's basically neighborhood vs. renovation.

                             

High Holy Days

We are in the silence of Good Friday.  The Holy Thursday Mass last night capped a week of ups and downs. Our Easter celebration may be subdued this year because our kids will be with their grandparents, as I wrote in the post a couple weeks ago. We are still not sure of what our Easter will look like since we are waiting to see how Saturday plays out. 

I have done little preparation for Easter, other than some last minute desperation ordering of a few books and candy to be sent to the older kids. The Easter baskets will not be brimful this year. Honestly, I don't know why I'm buying candy for my 20somethings, but I'll keep doing it. I do little enough for them since they are all far aaway. 

Life doesn't stay still. Doors open, doors close. 

Two weeks ago, we were in Virginia Beach for a track meet and were able to revisit places that have become mythic in our memory. In some ways they have changed, but in others, I was happy to see my memory hadn't changed much, especially in regard to the friends with whom I was able to reconnect, even at the last minute. Some of our friends from that time in life have moved because of jobs or they were military like us; others I have lost track of. But it was wonderful to reconnect with those who are still there. We grabbed pizza with military friends, then walked our old neighborhood while enjoying ice cream cones with a neighbor who was our adopted grandmother. The next day we sat down for coffee with dear friends from my book group, and I was able to take a long walk with another dear friend - one of those walks where you go farther than you thought because you lose track of where you are because the conversation never slows.   Our conversations moved from updates on our families to revisiting memories, to sharing the challenges and hopes we have now.  Again, I am reminded of the goodness of people and of the world. 

I would like to reflect more on this weekend, but despite the day's solemnity, I have to move on to the next thing now, but here are some photos of our few days staying beachside and the homes where we began and grew our family. 

This was the third house we ever lived in, although the first two places were just six months each. We actually only lived in a quarter of this house. It was divided into four apartments, and we had the bottom left as you look at the house. We never really got to know the other people who lived here. Our second child was born here. 

When the owner of that big house decided to sell it, we moved to this house. This time we had a third of the house, the entire first floor.  We stayed longer here, about two years, and knew all the neighbors and loved them. This is where our third child was born, and we have lots of memories - the sloping floors, losing power for days after a hurricane, playing on the sidewalks with the neighbor kids for hours, freezing in the winter because the heat was expensive, gardening, visiting the park, story times, hosting dinners... 

This was our third house in the area, but our 8th address. We bought this house after being gone a few years and then coming back. Our sixth child was born here. More wonderful neighbors. More treasured memories. I planted that camellia that needs a trim. I also had planted a sweet olive tree by the door that must have died. We mowed the lawn with a push mower.  We had a tiny office in the back where I home schooled the kids, supposedly, but most of the work happened at the table or on the couch under that front window where we read and read and read.

The fairy garden in the crook of the tree in front of our neighbors - she and the neighbor kids add to the tableau. The mailman left the little mail truck.

Looking toward where the Atlantic Ocean meets the Chesapeake Bay.

Virginia Beach, north end

Camellias in bloom

The view from the greenbelt behind our fence.

Blue bonnets are early this year. You can see why they are so beloved when they carpet the roadsides and parks. 

Whither thou goest, February?

At the start of the year, I thought I might do more reflective writing in this space, and for about three weeks, that was the case. Then time blew February through the doors of the past like the dead leaves of the live oaks that are just now being shed as the new leaves push out the old growth to be blown away. 

February began, as it always does, with the birthday of our third son. It included a trip to Indiana for a family meeting with my siblings, and it ended with a camping trip with my daughter's scout troop. Some soccer and track were sprinkled in.  We hosted a Mardi Gras party/fundraiser for our daughter's Leukemia and Lymphoma Society fundraising campaign which ended with a gala the third weekend of February.  Then Lent began quietly on Valentine's Day, which we talked about celebrating the day before, but we did nothing extraodinary except eat meat and sweets to get them out of the house.

 

February Track Season begins

I have been guilty of acedia this Lent - I haven't eaten meat, but I am not tempted by it. I have eaten sweets on Sundays and sampled some brownies and crumb cake that I made for others - had to make sure they were fit for consumption - so I haven't really craved them other times. And I told myself I was giving up wine and alcohol, also, but I have not said no to a glass of wine here and there at social events. As far as growing closer to Christ through prayer and giving alms, my attempts have been pathetic. On the positive side, I renewed my efforts to finish the Catechism in a Year with Fr. Mike begun last year - only 80 more days to go.  I made it to confession, and I took a wonderful walk in the woods that renewed my spirits and gratitude for the gifts we have. But my prayer life has never been drier. Much like the dead wood I've been cleaning up around the yard this week during spring break, I feel brittle, dessicated, barren. 

That virtue of gratitude does not come easy to me.  One other thing I thought I would try to do for Lent at which I've failed miserably is to cease my complaining about living here and to counter those negative thougths with renewed attempts to journal at the end of the day about the positive things that happened or moments of beauty, thanksgiving, connection. Just writing this reminds me to pick up what I set down a couple weeks ago when grading and communicating with parents increased at the end of the quarter. While I may not be vocalizing my desire to upend our lives to my husband as much this month, it is still ever-present in my thoughts. Two of our neighbors put their houses up for sale in February, and at least one of them has said they have only had one showing since their home has been on the market. This terrifies me. 

Indecision and rootlessness continue to plague me, as well. I have to commit soon either to returning to the middle school or to trying to pick up the classes I had last year at the community college and the other small college where I was teaching. I have enjoyed the day to day interactions with the middle school students. I have hated the grading and paper work and the late nights that steal my sleep as a result of falling behind on those two chores. I like the convenience of teaching where my daughter goes to school and the interactions with the community and the ability to go to Mass an extra day a week. I miss the material I used to teach and the planning of those courses and the interactions with college students. Every day I question how I am spending my days. Are the hours worthwhile? Are tah

This waffling about purpose was not a weakness of St. Francis Cabrini.  Last weekend we went to see the movie Cabrini with friends followed by dinner out with them. We all commented on St. Francis Cabrini's sense of purpose and passion. The movie downplays her religious motivation, but it celebrates her devotion to her orphan children and her determination. Perhaps that is what I should pray for this Lent. And give to organizations that help orphans. Honestly, the movie made me think about foster care again. As my work as a mother has grown less time consuming, if not less heart and head consuming, I have struggled with the best way to fill that time. 

Meanwhile, all of my adult children are convening at my mother and father's for Easter.  I'm full of envy and woe that we are not planning to go.  Our daughter who is a senior is supposed to be running in the Texas Relays on Good Friday and Holy Saturday. Half of me wants to boycott the meet for being held on these holy days. If it weren't a relay race that involves other people's children, I would. Another part of me wants to allow my adult children to have their grandparents' love and attention without me there to interject my own need for attention from both generations and to celebrate their desire to spend time with their grandparents and each other.  And really, I'm selfish about time with my own parents, while we should get together with my husband's family. All of our adult children will be here at the end of May for their sister's graduation, but I'm full of self-pity from missing out on the Easter celebration. 

February in Indiana

Ft. Packer State Park

One solution is to be more intentional about planning our travel instead of being so last minute about it. I could be tempted to become a nomad, detach from all our worldly goods, and pack just essentials into a van in which to wander from house to house of those we love. Would they get tired of always providing hospitality to someone who doesn't reciprocate? Perhaps the solution is to find a place to put down roots where everyone wants to come to us. That's my Eldorado - the perfect place. 

 

This is rambling and navel gazing, but in the interest of recording something of life, here it is...

Gala going

Beginning again with Lent

Sometimes I look forward to Lent as a time of much needed renewal, and I plan ahead for it.  Other years, especially when Lent arrives early, I am caught off-guard. This year was in between. I did some prep, like signing up for a women's reflection group at our parish and ordering the devotional workbook, but when Ash Wednesday arrived last week, I still felt like Lent snuck up on me. A week in still feels like the beginning. 

Part of my lack of preparation on Ash Wednesday was due to being out of town the week before. We went to the mountains of North Carolina to see the house my husband designed for our cousins (they had a vision; he drew it). When we booked the trip (made possible by super sale airline tix), we laughed about it being our Mardi Gras celebration, And it was a lot of fun, until I broke my wrist at the roller rink Saturday night. The story should be that I slid while trying to win roller derby or that my husband tried to do snap the whip and sent me flying, but in reality, a reckless teen took me out from behind. Ironically, I had been trying hard to be cautious because I remember my mom breaking her tailbone while roller skating when I was a kid, and I wanted to be able to sit comfortably on the plane ride home.

After a trip to the ER (the benefit of a small town hospital - no wait at the ER even on Saturday night!), we continued to enjoy the time with family - unplugged, playing cards, making music around the campfire, etc. With my arm splinted up and wrapped in a trash bag, I even got in the hot tub. I just couldn't take a hike to a waterfall or sleep well, which was too bad because they had great mattresses. 

We returned home on Monday and had a Mardi Gras party on Tuesday as a fundraiser for our daughter, who was raising money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. Our son did almost all of the gumbo prep and dessert baking and decorating with purple, green, and gold balloons and streamers. We STILL have beads left from our stay in Mississippi. A friend brought king cake, and I bossed the kids around with my arm splinted. I don't recommend Mardi Gras parties on the actual Fat Tuesday because you are left with leftovers. All those delicious things begging to be eaten on the fast day maybe makes the sacrifice more penitential.

Fortunately, I was able to get in to see our primary doctor Tuesday about my wrist to get a referral to an orthopedic surgeon by Thursday and surgery scheduled for Monday.  Now that we are in the civilian sector for medical care, I have some strong thoughts about insurance/medical issues - and my lesson this time is to call all the involved parties and talk to a person, even if on hold for hours, to make sure all the necessary paperwork gets submitted. I may have traumatized my girls by uttering a primal scream in the car Friday afternoon - after hanging up the phone -  when I thought I was going to have to reschedule surgery because some paperwork was submitted with wrong codes (Was my strong reaction a symptom of perimenopause or low blood sugar from foregoing lunch that day?). Thankfully, someone stayed after hours to correct it and get everything submitted. Maybe she heard my quivering voice mail. Thank you, kind human being.

So I had the weekend to be grateful and to continue to endure the pain of bone on bone grating in my wrist. I did not open my Lenten devotional until Sunday afternoon, after the priest had given me a blessing after Mass on my husband's sweet request. In the prayer he reminded me to unite me suffering to the Cross.  

I am not always thoughtful about offering it up, although I remind my children of this practice. I had been intentional about not ruining our vacation with complaints about pain, although I did feel sort of nauseous the rest of the weekend. And the ache in my arm, which ranged from dull ache to stabbing pain depending on how I moved or how much ibuprofen was in my system, made me think with compassion on all those who suffer chronic pain and how tiring it must be, but I didn't think of offering my pain. Perhaps it seems too transactional - I forego complaining, so God takes away someone else's pain. I know that's not the theological explanation, but it seems that way. 

Now in the second week of Lent - with a plate in my wrist after surgery on Monday (I am typing with one hand) - I am more intentionally offering up the pain and inconvenience of being one handed as one of my Lenten practices, or at least acknowledging the pain as a reminder of the suffering of others. The priest's comment has me thinking of the nails that would have been driven through Christ's wrists. When I woke up to shooting pain in my arm on Monday night I again thought about crucifixion as a horrific way to die. If breaking my wrist was enough to make me pass out from a vagal response, how could I have endured the worse pain of being beaten, broken, and carrying a cross.  

Before my surgery on Sunday night I had trouble sleeping. This was a minor surgery, but I was kept awake by anxiety nightmares about surgeries gone wrong. I dreamed I drank something and aspirated while anesthetized - although I was completely alert in my dream. Even though risk is minimal, it exists, and it's a reminder of the finitude of life. In the morning I texted messages of love to all the kids and gave extra hugs to those here. I regretted I wasn't more sympathetic when our boys had their ACL surgeries. I probably didn't recognize their nervousness enough.

Soon enough, surely by the end of Lent, this pain will fade, unlike the chronic pain that others suffer.  We've also started our other ways to fast, pray, and give, For instance, we have substituted the divine mercy chaplet for the rosary at bedtime, and that prayer is another reminder to think of the suffering of others above my own. We aren't eating sweets or meat or drinking alcohol - which I haven't wanted since being hurt, so it's not much of a sacrifice. My daughter added drinking milk, which I'm not sure is a spiritual practice, but she doesn't like it, so it is some kind of discipline for her.  This year I'm not doing the cheap coffee thing - partly because we are stocked up on coffee right now. Nor am I really cutting back on media, because I have done that already from a lack of time.  Instead we are trying to buy less and live on what we have. I thought I'd do the buy nothing thing during Lent, but we have some birthdays coming up, and the youngest needs new cleats for soccer and an Easter dress, etc, so instead I'm just trying to buy nothing unnecessary - of course, I bought pillows for the new chairs on Ash Wednesday - so not doing so well on that.

I'm not loving my Lent devotional so far, but I think I will enjoy the group at church. I have missed my ecumenical Thursday morning Bible study because I'm teaching on Thursdays. However, since I finished the Bible in a Year in February, I've started the Catechism in a Year. Already behind with that, but I am just listening to a few episodes now and then, rather than treating it as a daily obligation. I do need something good to read (I just finished a good YA novel about the 1989 overthrow of the Ceausescus, I Must Betray You by Ruta Sepetys. Definitely reads like a YA book, but it offers a good insight into life in the oppressive Communist regime in Romania.)

For giving, we've got our list of groups we give to financially, but I've also got snack bags for the people asking for money at the intersections. And we're talking about signing up for some family service project. Giving time is probably one of the harder disciplines.

If I grow in any way this Lent, may it be that I give up my urge to be in control and recognize my dependence, my need to of repair - I can't heal myself. I can't get through the day without help. I have to give up things I did with two hands like tying my shoes for a time. Fasting from things - meat and sweets and alcohol and shopping - is just a way of clearing the weeds for mediating time with Christ. May I use the freed time for that, for listening rather than telling and asking. Still hoping for clarity about what's next. Still learning to be grateful for our many gifts, still learning to be less self-centered, more aware of others' needs, still learning to love God and neighbor more wholly.

And here are some things I've been grateful for:

A trip to a farm to horseback ride with dear friends

   

A boy who had a birthday:

Swinging

Time in the mountains

breaking my left wrist and not my right

Young ladies lovely within

Beyond midwinter

The big storms in Texas last month occurred days after my husband submitted his resume for a job in Austin.  My good friend, who is hoping we will stay here, used the beautiful blue sunny skies of Southern California as proof we should stay here. And I won't deny that I don't love being able to walk out the door nearly every day to soak up some sun. Maybe it is a little chillier one day than the next this time of year. At night we pull on sweatshirts and comfy slippers. But the weather does little to interrupt our plans.

Except yesterday.  I was watering the garden boxes this morning, when my daughter peeked outside to tell me it was supposed to rain. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, so I kept watering, but by 10 am, the sky was ominously gray, and by 11, we had a downpour. And it continued to rain all day. I had two appointments and was late both times because traffic was slower than I anticipated, once because of a fender bender already on the side of the road. 

Driving in the rain here is dangerous.  Carrying groceries in during the rain is a hassle. But it is thrilling.  My middle daughter walked around all day in a robe. We ate popcorn and watched a movie after dinner, even though it was midweek. The youngest went to another home schooling friend's house - we usually play out in the yard a couple days a week as a bribe for them to get their school work done, but they, too, curled up on the couch with blankets and a movie and hot chocolate. Practices were cancelled. The dog doesn't want his long afternoon walk.  We milked the cold and blustery day for all the hygge we could muster from it. 

I mentioned the Onbeing transcripts in my last post; the podcast in particular that I was thinking about was one on "wintering" that a friend had forwarded after we talked about anticipating Lent. The interview is with Katherine May, an Englishwoman who wrote a book by the title Wintering about the importance of seasons of "rest and retreat," in which we figuratively or literally hibernate and soak up ideas. I think of Leo Lionni's Frederick who soaks up the sun all summer and then recites poetry to his mousy companions all winter long, bringing them a different kind of nourishment.  I think of my own desire to reorient during Lent, a pause from the usual, even if it's done badly. I have often expressed a longing for the change of seasons that we miss when we live in these sunny, temperate or tropical climes where there is no pause to the sunshine except the occasional shower. Not even thunderstorms.  Santa surfs or wears Hawaiian shirts and rides a carabao. 

There are no intense seasonal markers for spring, for the Resurrection, either, which is perhaps one of the best parts of winter - the time of rebirth that follows.  Of course, after our rainy day, we actually appreciated the sunshine. I saw a couple sitting in the park across the street just soaking up warmth. (Maybe they were afraid to go to the beach after the drama of a particularly violent domestic abuse incident there a few days ago.) 

If Katherine May were Catholic or of another liturgical faith, perhaps she would have written a book about Lent. But using the poetic term "wintering" shifts our perspective and makes our imagination work a little harder.  What does she mean? What is this season really about? She describes it as a period of germination, a time of "reflection and recuperation, for slow replenishment." It's a time of transformation, which is really what Lent is about, a giving up of distractions, stepping away from busyness, turning inward, observing, listening instead of talking, so that we might experience Easter as a true renewal. 

May takes a more expansive than religious view of this practice, often forced upon us, as it has been during the pandemic.  Her lovely voice reveals to her readers the benefits of a winter season for self-improvement, but why do we keep trying to improve ourselves? That peace we are yearning for, that restored communion with ourselves and with our neighbors, is a yearning that feeds the religious impulse. And it finds sustenance in the practice of reliving Easter.  But too often our ways of describing faith are cluttered with overused tropes and metaphors. Even now I can't find the words.

So I'll leave off here. My brief time for reflection is over. The sun is out again; our day of resting on the couch with blankets a comfort, but one I realize is a luxury when compared to the real cold experienced by our family and friends in Texas who lost their power for days. My sister in law talked about not being able to get out of bed because it was so cold. While we play at winter, many people suffer it. Does it help or frustrate to say that spring will come? 

Reorienting

Dear Lenten Good Intentions: I miss you. Please return.  

I had this idea that I would fast from media after 10:30 at night. But I can't seem to get my work finished before midnight. The biggest problem is being distracted by articles and videos that I get directed to by a variety of newsletters in my email.  A few of these are important - information about upcoming changes at the kids' school (the high schoolers are finally going back two days a week despite the best efforts of the teachers' unions to keep them home longer), information about upcoming changes at the college where I teach (students are back on campus and some classes are starting in person, while others remain hybrid and some are being moved outside), information about the college where the older boys are going (I let them track that for the most part), and information about bills due, etc. Others are not so important or not important at all. They are just distractions. 

Which is what I really need to fast from. 

Not that what I'm reading is upsetting. The opposite: It is interesting, fascinating, thoughtful.  I did turn off Facebook for Lent. These articles are usually tangentially related to what I'm teaching or what I'm interested in - articles about books and art and nature and child rearing. Sometimes I end up shopping for books mentioned or looking at destinations described. I spent hours looking at content on this website: Art and Theology, thanks to a tip from my sister. My email is full of newsletters from good organizations offering quality content and interesting webinars and online lectures and thoughtful articles. I spent way too much time reading transcripts from OnBeing the other night, for example. The pandemic has created an avalanche of online access to events and lectures that used to be inaccessible. Accessibility is great! Except when it is overwhelming. 

I'm actually a tired of reading other people's words. I'm tired of thinking "Maybe I should turn in to that lecture." (even if I usually don't). There are lot of good things out there, but they take time and energy away from other good things. 

If sin is disordered love, attachments that supersede the loves that we should be nurturing - like love of God and neighbor, most importantly husband and children, - then acting like I love all of this art and knowledge out there is a disordered attachment. It's sinful. This may seem like loading myself up with guilt and shame or watering down the meaning of sin, but really it's just acknowledging that I need to turn away, turn off the computer, shut the book or the magazine, and move on. On the days when I do orient myself towards other activities - spending time with the kids or friends, gardening, doing a project, even just cleaning - I usually feel more rested at the end of the day even if I've been busier.  Time is a gift, and I have squandered a great deal of it.  So now I'm turning this off and going to try again to reorient love in the right direction.

 The day is slipping away quietly; a moment for quiet reflection has eluded me again.  I have been looking forward to Lent after an indulgent Christmas season, at least in terms of food and wine and other home comforts. But now I see it might slip away if I don't become more intentional about, well, being intentional. 

I don't really care for that word. I have been deleting emails about how to practice Lent intentionally, skipping over Instagram photos of how to do Lent in a pandemic, scrolling past encouraging messages about taking it easy on myself this year. What have I been doing for the last few weeks, months, really, but taking it easy? I feel guilty saying it because there are a lot of people suffering. There are people without jobs, without good health, without family or friends to support them, without homes, without food and without heat during these days of frigid winter weather.  Meanwhile, we struggle with Zoom, and failing Spanish, and loneliness, and too many dirty dishes from making too many tasty treats. But our calendar has been relatively clear and our home is full of family (although the 6 year old has been mourning her brothers who were home for Christmas break and now gone), and our back patio has proved a great place to host the neighbors. There are some things I like about Zoom school and outdoor church and no sports competitions (until now).  But I don't want to overlook or belittle the cares and worries of other people, or of the kids, or my own anxieties about what's next for us, even though I know it will all work out, I am confident, eventually.

Instead, for Lent, when I fast from sweets, I want to remember to say something sweet to the husband and kids, since I tend to be stingy with praise. Even though I am fasting from wine and beer, I want to keep talking and socializing with my family and the neighbors. Although I'm trying to read and pray more, I want to be a better listener.  And furthermore, I want to get back in the habit of visible acts of charity - something to engage the kids - instead of donating anonymously online with an easy click (although that, too). 

That's my own little personal look at "How to have the best Lent ever." I have a whole long list of things we could do to improve ourselves. but I'll leave those for New Year's or the next milestone birthday. 

Instead, here is a little Louis Untermeyer poem I stumbled across at poetryfoundation.org.  Also I really enjoyed a diversion into art, music, and poetry of the liturgical season at this website, artandtheology.net. (Her Lenten playlist features my sister's group Sister Sinjin).  The Stations of the Cross in Art at the Smithsonian American Art Museum is especially moving. Could a similar reflection be done at any good art museum? 

Ash Wednesday

BY LOUIS UNTERMEYER

(Vienna) I

Shut out the light or let it filter through

These frowning aisles as penitentially

As though it walked in sackcloth. Let it be

Laid at the feet of all that ever grew

Twisted and false, like this rococo shrine

Where cupids smirk from candy clouds and where

The Lord, with polished nails and perfumed hair,

Performs a parody of the divine.

The candles hiss; the organ-pedals storm;

Writhing and dark, the columns leave the earth

To find a lonelier and darker height.

The church grows dingy while the human swarm

Struggles against the impenitent body’s mirth.

Ashes to ashes. . . . Go. . . . Shut out the light.

 (Hinterbrühl) II

And so the light runs laughing from the town,

Pulling the sun with him along the roads

That shed their muddy rivers as he goads

Each blade of grass the ice had flattened down.

At every empty bush he stops to fling

Handfuls of birds with green and yellow throats;

While even the hens, uncertain of their notes,

Stir rusty vowels in attempts to sing.

He daubs the chestnut-tips with sudden reds

And throws an olive blush on naked hills

That hoped, somehow, to keep themselves in white.

Who calls for sackcloth now? He leaps and spreads

A carnival of color, gladly spills

His blood: the resurrection—and the light.

Louis Untermeyer, “Ash Wednesday” from Burning Bush (New York: Harcourt, 1928). Permission is granted by arrangement with the Estate of Louis Untermeyer, Norma Anchin Untermeyer c/o Professional Publishing Services. The reprint is granted with the expressed permission by Laurence S. Untermeyer.

Source: Burning Bush (1928)

In the desert

Last night at Stations of the Cross, I mourned the end of Lent. I need more time! I am not done with the work yet. Forty days have not been enough to break habits developed over years of palliating the hunger of dissatisfaction. Candy, wine, meat, good coffee - all of these physical crutches have been relatively easy to set aside.  Tonight is the great Vigil, but I am not yet tempted by the bags of candy in my closet or the champagne for tomorrow's brunch. My real struggle has been detaching. I have been unable during this Lent to disconnect from all the distractions.

On the positive side, this is one of the few years we have made it to almost every Friday stations. Our parish serves a soup supper afterwards, so the social event draws the kids, who crave the warm-and-ready macaroni and cheese and lipstaining red fruit punch. We lingered over brothy concoctions and slices of cheap French bread while talking with friends from church or getting to know some of the old folks, who also come for the free dinner.  One night a man who might have been homeless but had stories of his family from the area, joined us and complained about how the Protestant church where he was baptized locked him out.  He asked about the meaning of Lent, praised the soup, a Thai flavored broth that night, and headed out into the night without asking for five bucks for the bus.

The fellowship kept the kids from complaining about spending Friday nights at church. Each week, the Church set out a different pamphlet of prayers for the devotion. This variety provided fodder for reflection on these reflections. Sometimes they were written in first person, as if Jesus were narrating his journey. Others were written as a letter to Jesus. I prefer the ones that ask questions, a type of examen, that goad me into a recognition of the ways I am like Simon, having to be asked, or forced, to help someone in need.  It is easy enough to sign up to bring meals to the sick or new mothers, but I find plenty of excuses to avoid the dirty work of serving drug addicts on the street or even the real denial of pleasures and pastimes or the ability to give until it hurts. Writing a check, dropping cash in the basket, picking and choosing who gets what I have to give are all too easy. I think about the command to help the widow and the orphan, and think, if we have space why don't we open our house to someone? I admire a friend who does foster care, but I have never even called for information from our local organization. I haven't even walked the few blocks to check on my old lady friend lately.

If I have the willpower to deny myself sugar and drinks, why don't I have the strength to deny myself the mind-numbing activity of reading the internet, be it social media or "news?" How many hours have I wasted reading online or researching options for whatever it may be? I failed miserably in my resolution to turn off the computer at 10 in order to read and pray before bed. And while I limited social media connection, I certainly didn't succeed in fasting from it, only in coming to see how little miss when I don’t read it. It is just a handy crutch to fill an empty moment. But I turned to its noise and distraction plenty. And how much energy have I wasted on worrying? This week's worries were news of our oldest son's knee injury, indecision about pre-school for next year, a house option that fell through, and plans for spring break, then Easter, then Confirmation, then graduation. All good things to think about, but I toil over decisions.

What do these weaknesses reveal? A lack of trust? An inability to turn away from entertainment and vanity? An inability to detach from the world and surrender my will? I want to live a life of faith, but am not willing, capable, to do so radically.

Late on Holy Thursday, we left the Altar of Repose in silence. Our eleven year old wanted to stay. As we left, she started to cry. "Why did they have to do that to him?" she cried. Early I had been frustrated because it seemed like none of the kids were really paying attention at church. But she had heard and entered into the narrative in a deep way. I wanted to run back into the church and sit longer with her in adoration. But we had to go forth.

Last weekend we went to the desert to camp for spring break. This destination was no one's first choice. I wanted to make the drive to the canyons of Utah, but no one wanted to be in the car for 8 or 10 hours, and I hadn't found anyplace with space available at the last minute. The kids wanted to see the cousins (which we did for the weekend, but they had school.) My husband suggested Big Bear Lake, where people go to ski, but cottages in our price range were booked, and it was going to be 19 degrees - too cold for camping. The desert was the only place with space available for last minute campers. At this location,  you can camp basically anywhere, but we found a spot at a developed campground because reluctant campers at least want toilets.

This time of year the desert comes to life with blooms. But limited rainfall this winter meant that the show that sometimes takes place was minimal. From the road the terrain looks sandy, brown and rocky, spotted with cactus and agave. Dry, dry, dry. How anything green survives is a mystery.

But once you exit the car and get out and walk on a trail, the little details spring into focus.  Succulents sprout from dirt caught between rocks. The ocotillo were waving red flags. The barrel cacti sprouted yellow flowers. Hummingbird bush provided a weak showing of red trumpet shaped flowers.  Lizards darted over and under the boulders. At the visitor center, where water was provided, the brittle bush had bright yellow daisy shaped flowers and a deep purple bloom covered another shrub. A hike to a slot canyon revealed a secret passage carved by water. The passage was completely hidden from the road. Did some desperado discover it?  The desert is home to people who exist off the grid in RVs and shacks. People who sculpt with scrap metal and scruffy jeep aficionados, most with stickers about being a veteran, like the guys who told us we were heading off in the wrong direction, off into the nowhere, on a hike. We turned back and eventually found the trail to an ancient settlement, perhaps just a camp for a group of Native Americans traveling to more hospitable land.

The kids climbed boulders and set up housekeeping at the camp. They cradled hot cocoa around the fire. Again, I was reminded that sometimes forced fun can turn into real peace, once the distractions and better options elsewhere are eliminated, and here is the only space left to inhabit.

But it is a lonely space. The night sky is wide, populated by thousands of stars, some dimmed by a bright moon.  Many people come to the desert just to look at the night sky.  But my mind has never grasped a map of the stars. Periodic attention to astronomy hasn't established more than a rudimentary recognition of familiar constellations. Even the plants I can only name by finding a helpful trail guide.  How much there is we don't know.  How many places remain hidden.  

No wonder Jesus went to the desert to pray. It's a vast space, seemingly empty but filled with unlimited details, a place most people avoid. But God left his fingerprints everywhere here in the design of these tenacious survivors. But even without crowds, without the world pressing in wanting more, Christ experienced temptations. There is no place to hide from the reality of the restless human soul.

I long for Lent to be a time of spiritual growth, a time to flower in grace and self-control, a springtime of the soul, when I can focus on and show forth the desire for God, instead of losing my attention to a thousand demands. Instead, my soul remains a dry place, a rocky soil. But here and there, like the moment during the Stations, when I let my eyes wander around the sanctuary and I see these people I am growing to know, people who are all seeking water in the desert, who are all following the way of the cross, their voices united in the Stabat Mater, a bit off key, a bit out of syncopation, a spring of love for all these imperfect souls bursts forth, washing away the discouragement. We all gather with our weaknesses to grasp at His cloak in hopes of being healed.

And tomorrow we will celebrate that healing. Although I wish for more time to uproot these sinful tendencies, I look forward to the Gloria, to ringing bells with my neighbors, knowing that my family far away will be celebrating also, united in the joy of the season. And that joy surpasses the regret, pulls us out of the desert into the extravagant beauty of spring, new life, and redemption. 

Hoppy Easter, Everybody