The Gift of Lent

Just about the time I don't think I can hug myself any tighter against the cold and dark that settled in about Thanksgiving, the light starts to change more dramatically each day and I feel restless to throw off the heavy coat of winter. It's Lent again, a chance to let in the new light and do a big tidy up.

For many childhood years "straightening up my dresser drawers" was on the weekly chores list. In my family, the rationale for this was to avoid the mortification that would surely ensue if we were suddenly taken to the hospital and someone needed to get clean pajamas from a messy dresser.

It seems to me Lent always comes at the moment when my "dresser" is at its messiest and I just can't take it any more. Forget about whether someone else could find my pajamas. The new light is revealing all the dust motes. I have bought yet another size 4 16" circular knitting needle and gone home to find two others. I have failed to pay one bill and paid another one twice. This year, my first since I retired from paid work, my head is spinning with alternate answers to the "What next?" question.I don't know whether I am coming or going. I choose to think this is a transition (as opposed to an utter and irreversible disintegration) and we all know that while transitions by definition come to an end, we don't know where, how, or when.

But here comes Lent. To the rescue. A time to take a big, deep spiritual breath. To rest open for awhile, waiting for that nudge that will push me toward new paths. I don't know who pushes the Nudge Button. Maybe God. Maybe God Within. Maybe the Great Spirit of the Seasons. Maybe none of the above. What I do know is that resting open -- heart, mind, and soul -- is a prerequisite to the nudge. I will not feel the nudge without it. I will not feel the nudge if I am hugging myself tightly against the cold dark.

What a gift this time is. Simply to rest open, to be open, to what will come. And to tidy my dresser while awaiting the call.