Lent 2009

So I’ve been thinking and thinking and thinking about what to give up for Lent this year.  I couldn’t think of anything creative, so I was going to go for deprivation by means of soda elimination.  My Coke Zero/Diet Dr. Pepper/Diet Pepsi/Diet 7Up/Diet-who-cares-as-long-as-it’s-carbonated-and-calorie-free addiction.  I would certainly feel deprived.  I just couldn’t think of anything else.

Then, in church on Sunday, the minister talked a little bit about the Law of Attraction.  I hadn’t thought much about the Law of Attraction before, much less how that law would translate into spiritual practice.  Here’s an excerpt from the bulletin: “Our attention is attracted to that in the world around us that is of the same nature as the primary attitude on which we focus.”  In other words, when you find out you are pregnant, suddenly every other person you see is pregnant.  When you break up with your boyfriend, every third person you meet is smooching on the fourth person. 

So during the meditation I was praying about what God wanted to introduce into my life during this Lenten season–what I could use prayer and the Law of Attraction to attain.  And the word that kept coming into my head was Peace.  I long for peace.  I don’t have peace.  I am quite possibly the most anxious person on this planet. 

Perhaps the Law of Attraction doesn’t sound very “spiritual” to you, but if you think about it…it makes sense.  If I spend my waking moments obsessing and worrying and stressing and otherwise feeding the chaos in my brain, do you suppose there’s any peace there?  No.  There’s not.  And I’m pretty sure God has a pretty hard time tripping over my mental clutter to step in with a blessing of peace. 

What contributes to my chaos?  Well, I just wrote out a list, but I decided not to share my list.  Not because there’s anything terribly personal on that list, but I think I’m ashamed of my internal chaos or something.  Hmmmm….

Here’s one thing that was on my list, though: the Internet. I don’t think I spend that much timeon the Internet each day, but almost every time I walk in the living room I jiggle my mouse on my laptop to see if anyone has emailed me or if anyone on one of my doula listserves has anything interesting to say or if some highly fascinating newsletter has dumped itself in my mailbox…you get the idea.  Then there’s Facebook.  It’s so fun catching up with people.  I may not have had a meaningful conversation with them in years, but I can tell you what they’ve had for lunch and how many Girl Scout cookies they just ate for dessert. 

I’m pretty sure that going without the Internet for 40 days is going to be hard.  Really hard.  At least I can indulge myself on Sundays.  I am going to allow myself to get on-line once each day to check and see if I have any emails from prospective or current clients, but all those other emails are going to have to wait. 

My fingers are already twitching, and it’s not even Ash Wednesday yet. 

Maybe I should start using my Twitter account.  I can do that over my phone, right?  And if you really need to tell me how many Thin Mints you snarfed after your pb&j or how many cups of coffee you needed to make it through today, just text me or call me or show up on my doorstep.  I will either be coasting peacefully and prayerfully through my day or I’ll be curled up in a corner shaking and drooling and typing invisible letters on an invisible laptop.

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I firmly believe that Lent isn’t just about taking away something from our lives to make more room for God–I think it can also be adding something to our lives.  As a family, we are committing ourselves to adding the practice of complimenting each individual in our household each day for something that we appreciate about them.  I am also going to be reading, for the third year in a row, Organic God: Lenten Meditations on the Words of Jesus by Kate Moorehead.

“Anthem” by Leonard Cohen

Anthem lyrics

The birds they sang
at the break of day
Start again
I heard them say
Don’t dwell on what
has passed away
or what is yet to be.
Ah the wars they will
be fought again
The holy dove
She will be caught again
bought and sold
and bought again
the dove is never free.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.

We asked for signs
the signs were sent:
the birth betrayed
the marriage spent
Yeah the widowhood
of every government –
signs for all to see.

I can’t run no more
with that lawless crowd
while the killers in high places
say their prayers out loud.
But they’ve summoned, they’ve summoned up
a thundercloud
and they’re going to hear from me.

Ring the bells that still can ring …

You can add up the parts
but you won’t have the sum
You can strike up the march,
there is no drum
Every heart, every heart
to love will come
but like a refugee.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.
That’s how the light gets in.
That’s how the light gets in.

Lent

Next week is Ash Wednesday.  Once again I find myself pondering what, if anything, I should give up for Lent.  You can read my lofty and poetic Lenten goals from last year here.  And then to read about my ultimate Lenten failure click here (and I would highly, highly recommend clicking on the video to watch a bit of last year’s Tenebrae service.  Watching that video made my heart ache for Wheatland.  How I miss those people/that church!  What a beautiful, beautiful place.). 

<sigh>

So what do I give up this year?  I don’t think I’m up for a lofty and poetic Lent.  This year I already feel like I’m lurking in a shadowy tenebrae.  I feel tied (chained?) to the mundane, the tellurian. 

And so I ponder the question…
and question my motives…
and wonder if I should even bother. 

But maybe, just maybe, if I wander through the shadows of Lent, I will catch a glimpse of light.

Ring the bells that still can ring,
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack in everything.
That’s how the light gets in.
                          –Leonard Cohen

today…

Today was a good day. 

This morning we visited a new church.  I had very low expectations, actually.  I had a preconceived notion of what this church was going to be like.  And I was wrong.  I left feeling more peaceful than I have felt in months.  It was rather beautiful, actually. 

This afternoon Matt and Madison took the kids to a music store.  I decided I wanted to finally sneak in a much-anticipated visit to Pryde’s Old Westport (which leads me to a quick tangent.  Have I mentioned lately how much I love Kansas City?  My mom always led me to believe that if I ventured into Westport I might get shot, but what happens, instead, is that when I enter a building and sit at a table facing an exposed brick wall…when I bond with a friend over bubble tea at Teadrops…when I enjoy a quiet dinner with Matt eating my favorite version of comfort food–green curry–at The Thai Place…when I peruse my favorite store, World Market…I don’t worry that I’ll get shot–I worry that I just might never meander back home!)  ANYWAY…Pryde’s is closed on Sunday.  I was very, very sad.  However, I wasn’t about to go home, because if I went home I would feel obligated to clean, unload the dishwasher, sweep the floors, etc, etc, etc.  No way.  I needed some time to myself.  So, I did quite well what I normally don’t do well at all–I adapted.  I didn’t have my journal with me, but I remembered seeing journals on sale at World Market.  I walked in, ignored the enticing allure that is World Market, bought a $4 journal, and headed across the street to Panera, where I sat with a cup of coffee and my journal.  Bliss.  Pure bliss.  I felt human again when I strolled back out to my car. 

Tonight, then, Matt and I ventured out on a belated Valentine’s Day date.  We headed down to Westport and ate at The Thai Place.  Incredibly yummy.  I love (I mean, really, really love) green curry.  In fact, there are some leftovers in the fridge now that I just might have to eat.  After dinner we walked down to Harpo’s–Matt enjoyed a Guinnes, I sipped a Boulevard Ale.  It sort of reminded me of grad school days.  I hadn’t been in a bar in…forever.  It was so nice to sit and talk.  I miss Matt.  It was great going out for dinner and drinks with my best friend. 

While we were out on our date, our kiddos were in the capable hands of Patrick and Lindsey.  Amélie just couldn’t bear the thought of leaving, so she is staying all night with Sydney.  Jack is asleep, and we are absolutely IDIOTS, b/c we are working our way through the first season of Heroes.  I am no longer relaxed.  I am sipping a little chianti to counter the anxiety I feel watching this crazy television series which I resolve, every day, never to watch again (and yet I do).  It’s Matt’s fault.  Totally his fault.  He’s the one who get me hooked. 

So today was a good day (with the exception of sitting here watching Heroes).  I needed a good day.  I hope I can hang on to this feeling for awhile.

February

February is a difficult month for me.  All throughout the year there is an echo of an ache that lingers in my heart.  But in February, that ache presses to the surface, and sometimes I just can’t shake the sadness. 

Today, I think, is one of those days. 

Today, I will listen to the song I’m posting below several times. 

Today, I will remember standing around the big tree in my front yard at my house in Manhattan, staring incredulously at the snowdrops that somehow managed to push through the cold dirt and wondering at that symbol of hope that seemed so out of place in my heart’s own frigid landscape.

Today, I will wonder if those snowdrops are blooming. 

“You stopped and pointed, and you said, ‘That’s a crocus,’ and I said, ‘What’s a crocus?’ and you said, ‘It’s a flower.’ I tried to remember, but I said, ‘What’s a flower?’ You said, ‘I still love you.’”  ~Dar Williams, “February”