Traditional Lent escapes me this week.
Life is anything but conventional anymore. The best word I can grab onto is anomalaic [and I’m pretty sure I just made that up].
I want saneness. Which is silly.
I crave stability. Silly because I already have it.
I desire simplicity. Never going to get that.
I seek peace. Mine if I choose.
I dislike Lent. Rather intensely.
Too many years of fire-and-brimstone-you-are-a-terrible-horrible-sinner.
Yea. I got that the first time you smacked my knuckles. I think I was five.
Since that day in the principal’s office I have been trying to recover. My sense of self. My sense of goodness. My trust in people. My belief that the world is a glorious creation of God. [Some people in the world not so much… yes… they can be horrible.]
But I need to believe in the power of hope. Each and every day.
The world belongs to God.
I am part of this world.
I belong to God.
And God knows my name.
Sorry Sr. Bernadette. I can’t do another traditional Lent like you tried to teach me all those years ago. It really wasn’t in my genes back then and it’s less-in-my-genes now. I guess I’ll have to forge my own unconventional path to Easter this year.