Lent: So Glad It Only Comes Once a Year

For several years running I gave up complaining for Lent. It took me that long to do it right. I gave up complaining out loud two years in a row. After that I worked on quieting the inner complaints. Last year I gave up complaining to God Himself. The habit of grousing has its back broken enough after all that hard work that I am able to nip it in the bud with just a little effort whenever I notice myself falling into it again. I developed a new improved habit to replace it. Moving on. I want more of that!

Next!

For various reasons, I decided to give up the façade of toughness that is my habitual response to the pains and arrows of the world. Toughness is not a sin, no. Nor is a shell around one's softer spots a bad idea. The only problem is when the habit of relying on a tough outer coating interferes with other strategies that are just as necessary to a happy and healthy life. I was finding I had more faith in my ability to protect myself from Life than in God's desire to give me what is good for me. When that habit of relying on myself superseded a reliance on God, it became disordered. 

I am disordered when I habitually use my wit to distract with laughter those who stumble uncomfortably close to the truths of me. I am disordered when I selfishly wield my Socratic questioning skills to open up the other person and use their natural desire to talk about themselves as a shield to hide myself behind. My barbed snark is the final weapon and it proves fatal to any budding friendship not healthy enough to live until the apology can take the sting out of the wound and stop the hemorrhage. Wit, getting others to talk, and sarcasm are not inherent evils. They are talents that can be invested badly, invested well, or buried in the ground. 

I've not buried them. For the most part I use them well. Yet, they are also part of the armor I use to keep this Hermit Crab crabby. As weapons, they are offensive, and in matters of the heart friendly fire wounds deepest. My heart has long stopped needing such a vigorous guard since I am better able to discriminate friend from foe. This Lent my guard is called to stand down and accept new orders. The Medic has been called.

I won't go into the details of how hard a Lent this has been. Let me say vaguely that I am battle weary from fighting off friend and foe and now I must engage against myself. Let me protest that my old wounds have scars that open up when pulled in a new direction. The barest hint of fresh air on that sort of thing stings and smarts and makes me wish I'd left well enough alone. Finally, let me say it's been a heartache, of course. Heart surgery hurts. The stone must be crushed and crumbled and removed before the heart of flesh can beat again. I am mixing my metaphors and yet I am still ending this paragraph. See? A certain amount of hardness can be used for good.

Here we are three days into Lent and I am exhausted and beyond my strength. I have Confessed and been shriven and admonished with the phrase, "You do not trust in God enough." I was assigned a penance to last all through Lent, too. God isn't kidding around! And just when I was thinking, "Well, I asked for this. Time to buckle down to it." I got hit with a nasty cold and an ear infection. I've had more than enough already, thank you. 

Time to rely solely on the only thing that is ever reliable: the only Person who is ever reliable.

Jesus, I trust in You. 37 days and counting. 

Good thing I haven't given up complaining this year.

True Friends

When I was an unrepentant heathen I thought I'd be happiest following my own will. What happened, naturally, was that I became more and more willful and less and less happy.

Now that I am trying to become who I was made to be and not reacting to my every whim, I am much happier. As much improved as I am, I had a longer way to come than most, so I am well aware, most of the time, that I follow God's will imperfectly and am apt to need redirection in unexpected moments. God has blessed me with the type of friends who are willing to help me in this regard. They won't let me get away with pettiness and smallness without gently calling me to something better. I'm happy to report that this is not a frequent occurrence.

Being so close to my old habits of sinfulness, it's usually me who has benefited from spiritual redirection from my friends. Not so the other day when I heard: "Why do people like that even come to retreats?"

Whoops. In that split second, I was tempted to let the comment pass. What if she got mad at me? Is it really that bad? Since it smacked of pride and since I knew she'd do the same service for me, I took a breath and dove in. "We're all 'people like that,'" I reminded her. She readily agreed, corrected herself, and added, "They're just not sinning my sins." No big deal. We continued on, discussed the nature of sin, large and small, and in doing so bettered ourselves a bit, or at least bolstered our resolve not to backslide on our backsides. I was glad I braved the subject.

We're all falling so short of perfection that we need almost continual redirection, so I am grateful that I have this woman for my friend. Not only is she trying her best to serve God, she's ready to stand corrected if she doesn't. She is cheerful about it all and much more gentle in her redirection of me. I wish all the world had such a treasure.

Happiness is often found in a true friend.

Nothing like frozen weather...

There is nothing quite like subfreezing temperatures and a 20 mph breeze to get the morning started. I'm out milking in all kinds of weather. Being tough. Complaining just a tad. Yeah, I know, I know, I know. It could have been worse. It could have been raining. But hey, since I choose this lifestyle, I should at least be considerate and use the opportunity to offer it up for someone. I remembered this morning.

I'm really blessed, though. I have the type of husband who not only has the cup of hot tea waiting for me when I get back inside, but who also takes the evening milking. Not only is it colder when he does his share of the chore, it's also dark!

Baa humbug...