Lifted Eyes: A Monday Mantra

"But our citizenship is in heaven.  

And we eagerly await a Saviour from there, 

the Lord Jesus Christ, 

who, by the power that enables him 

to bring everything under his control, 

will transform our lowly bodies 

so that they will be like his glorious body.  

Therefore, my brothers and sisters, 

you whom I love and long for, 

my joy and my crown, 

stand firm in the Lord in this way, dear friends!"

Philippians 3:20-4:1

With the weekend's appeals from civic leaders in cottage country asking seasonal home owners to please stay away, and without knowing for sure how long we will need to comply as we all band together in all of this, I can't help but be wishing for time in the kayak.

The sky of it.

A big part of the spirituality of being at our cottage on Georgian Bay for me each summer is the wild space of the sky.  There's something healing, something unleashing about being under that much endlessness.  I can breathe in all that need.  All of it.  Whatever claustrophobic stresses constricted the flow of Spirit (Pneuma in Greek) over all the dark months of winter are released.  Something good and beautiful and strong fills the lungs of my soul.  I am re-oxygenated, restored, revived at a parenchymal level - that cellular level of exchange deep, deep in the sacred spaces.

This happens just by default in every moment outside, but it's particularly powerful when I'm out in the kayak and I take a moment to look up.  There it is, wide and open and endless.

Lifted eyes is what I need now, here at the end of a winter that gripped us too tightly, spilling into a spring that's turned vicious.   New news every day.  And if I'm not careful, the same roof under which I shelter, and for which I am utterly grateful, might also just by default of that sense of being housebound, keep my eyes at ground level.

Paul encouraged the Church at Philippi to keep their eyes lifted.  We are citizens of a greater span of reality than just what physical sight can render.  There are bigger things going on, things wild and wide, and profound, and unfathomable, like the sky. 

A bigger story is being written.  Even now, as we share our insights and meditations and reflections with one another, about the earth healing, and the slowing down of all our ways, and the time with family, and the very real increase in appreciation for every moment of normal life we've ever taken for granted.  These are just glimpses into the bigger thing that's happening.

With an eye towards heaven I feel the constrictions relax.  Deep breathes of faith and peace are possible.  My soul can heal from all my fretting.  I can let God be God and let go of my own crazy.

Heaven's hope never fails, it never gives out, it never let's go.

Of course we pray that all our courageous efforts will bring this microscopic enemy to its knees far sooner than cottage-opening time. 

And when that happens, I will hurry out on to the water, and breathe in the sky in ways I've never done before.

Called to Peace: A Sunday Blessing

"Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, 

since as members of one body you were called to peace.  

And be thankful.

Let the message of Christ dwell among you richly 

as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom 

through psalms, hymns, and songs from the Spirit, 

singing to God with gratitude in your hearts.  

And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, 

do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, 

giving thanks to God the Father through him."

The Apostle Paul to the Church at Colossae

Colossians 3:15-17

Every pastor everywhere is a little like Paul this morning.  

Heart aching with separation, Paul penned the letters that make up a significant portion of the last half of the New Testament.  That's what a lot of our Bible after the Gospels is;  letters from a pastor who couldn't be with his people.

It's an awful place to be.  And most pastors all around the world, during this time of physical distancing, know it.  Especially on Sundays.

My long study of Paul for the current course work I'm doing (in this fabulous long haul I'm doing called my education) has me digging deep into the psyche of a man who above all things loved Jesus and the people he was called to serve in His Name.  This tough-as-nails shepherd suffered more physical, mental, social and emotional anguish on behalf of his flock than I can get my head around.  And a big part of it was just the torment of being away from them when he knew they were suffering themselves.

And so, to the group he had had to leave behind in Colossae, he sends his blessing, his instruction, to let the peace of Christ have authority (to rule) among them.  Yes.  Peace.

I feel the calming of his words as if I were part of his congregation.  Yes.  Peace.  That's what we're called to at all times.  But in these times of fear and disorientation, how much more so?  

Of course, this isn't a 'peace' that doesn't acknowledge the seriousness of what's going on.  Or pretends like it's not affecting us, because it is.  It's rattling me.  It should.  A pandemic is no small thing.  

Yet Pastor Paul reminds us, and reorients us, and re-frames for us what we're supposed to be about, always, but especially now.

Encourage each other, he says.  Sing to each other, and teach each other, and remind each other of who we are in Jesus.  And do it all, yes, even sheltering in place, to the glory of God.  Yes!  Thank you! I need to be reminded.  Even in this, I can be about what I say my life is about; bringing glory and honour and worship to the God of all peace and power and strength.  Oh how we need His mercy now!

I am so grateful for every Pastor who has worked so hard this week, most of them using tools and technology they have had to wrestle with in new ways, who are making that effort to comfort and reassure us today, this Sunday.  I am grateful for the words of Pastor Suradet at Hot Springs Church in northern Thailand, and his calming presence, even on line, as he reminds us all to 'hold on'.  I am grateful for my Pastor at Highview, Erin, whose message I will certainly benefit from later today, and who is leading through something none of us has been through before, and doing it so that we can be encouraged and reminded....and blessed.

I am grateful for Paul, and for how the letters themselves (his first century version of an online message to the people) remind me that when everything else is stripped away, and you can't be together doing your service on a Sunday (or any time), what remains is love.

All of this, I can feel it, lays its peace down inside of me.

Love each other well, dear friends.

Be blessed and encouraged and strengthened.

Let peace rule.

The Big Disconnect of Online Connection: It's Not As Easy As It Sounds

We're really not even that far into it, and I'm already so done with everyone saying that "we can all still stay connected" through social media.  Or that "we can still be the church" with an emphasis on 'live stream' services or 'group chat' small groups or 'on line meetings'.

No.  We can't.  Not all of us can.

I'm 62 years old and have obviously navigated my way through enough technology to be able to establish a blog and link it to my Facebook page.  I have email and texting and do messaging and even video chats through Facebook.  I have Skype on my computer and have used it to help complete long distance learning from the other side of the world.  So I'm not a techno-idiot.  Not completely.

But in these days when we can't be together and everyone's singing the praises of their particular online platform, I will come right out and admit it.

I'm feeling overwhelmed, stupid and left behind.

Earlier this week an online meeting was set up for a leadership team I belong to.  The email was sent out the day before with the 'easy' link I just needed to 'click' on and I'd be part of the meeting.  But when I went to sign in it asked me to download Chrome or Firefox, both of which I know I already have on my computer, and, well, that's all it took.  I do not want to wrangle through a tangle of internet technobabble, be forced to make a decision about whether or not I 'accept' something I don't understand, click on this, unmute that, find all the icons, all the while knowing that other team members are patiently wasting their precious time waiting for me to figure it out.  I bowed out of the meeting.

On a good day I would press forward with something like this.  But right now, with the entire world all trying to figure out a new way of being human at the very same time, when I can't go to worship and physically be with my community, when precious people I love who are not in Canada are facing the same threat but in a far more precarious situation, when because of all this (and oh so many more layers of disorientation I could list) I have myself and others to stabilize and reassure, I have no emotional band width for working my way through the technology.

Not now.

It makes me wonder if COVID-19 is taking out my peer group in more ways than one.

Two things in particular have encouraged me this week.

One is an email I received today from my church introducing a brand new Ministry Team at Highview called "Tech Help Team".  "If you are looking for a friend to talk through your simple tech-related woes, we have complied a list of Highview regulars who might be able to help."

Now there's some innovative, people-sensitive leadership!  Thank you!  I'll still have to work my way through my aversion to anything that requires the math part of my brain that died in grade four (an ego issue I'll just keep on working through my whole life, apparently), but at least it's acknowledged that this stuff is hard for some of us.  For enough of us that a whole Team has been put together just to help us stay together.  Thank you Highview!!!!

The second thing that encouraged me was a blog written by Small-Church hero Karl Vaters, entitled
So Your Small Church Live-Stream Stinks - Here's Why That's Okay  (see what I did there?  I even added a link, provided it actually works I guess).  Well worth the read.  He reminds us, as he so often does, that real ministry is about the people, no matter how those people are staying 'connected'.   These days, I am feeling that more than usual.

I do realize the irony of the fact that I am expressing this thinly disguised rant by use of a particular online format, and that there are many within my circle of life that do not spin in this orbit.  That's why I've been on the phone so much in the past seven days.  Voice to voice on the phone.

Because I'm concerned, actually, that somewhere in this 'new way of doing church' (and considering this isn't going to be just a blip of a few Sundays) the Church might inadvertently block out some important sage-wisdom badly needed in this time when literally every single person in charge of any group of people whatsoever on the entire planet hasn't ever lead through anything like this.  Collectively, we have no idea what we're doing, including being the Church.  But collectively, I think we have a fighting chance.  More than that.  We can prevail and reinvent and be something different and beautiful and strong.  But for that to happen,  I think we really do need all hands on deck.  

And I'm willing to put my hands and shoulders and my whole stinkin' heart to that task.
Because, beloved Church, I love you more than you can possibly know.

Just....bear with me a moment until I figure out where I'm supposed to click.

Promises I Make To Myself: Fostering A Healthy Inward Focus In the Midst of a Pandemic

"Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess,

 for he who promised is faithful.  

And let us consider how we may spur one another on 

toward love and good deeds, 

not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, 

but encouraging one another 

-- and all the more as you see the Day approaching."

Hebrews 10:23-25

Time to talk about self-care.

It only makes sense that as we make sure all of this doesn't become 'all about me', that we're also taking care of 'me' at the same time.

This is one of those oxymoronic both/and truths I've had to learn how to balance as someone who has had a caregiving role for most of my adult life - parent, daughter, pastor, missionary - but is true for every single one of us.  Especially now.  We can't reach out and offer care and support to others if we're not caring for and nurturing ourselves. And a co-relating component of this is, that the greater responsibility to care for the well-being of others, the more important maintaining that balance will be.

Hopefully, most of us already have good general practices of self-care.  But in times of stress, especially when regular routines are disrupted, it can often be the case that our self-care is the first thing that gets sacrificed.  It goes without saying that doing our best to eat properly, sleep well, and get some exercise, on top of the extra hand washing and....of course...can't say it enough....social distancing, is absolutely essential these days.

But I think what I want to address in this post has more to do with the spiritual elements of inward focus that can help us stay healthy and strong during a time of extreme stress.

With the humility of realizing that all the crises I've led through before pale in comparison to the global affect of this one, and the humility of knowing that we are all stumbling through this together collecting our wisdom together as we go....I would like to offer three  promises I'm making to myself that I'm finding are helping me stay healthy and strong as we press into these disorienting days.

As I invited yesterday, it would be great to also hear of your insights too, shared in the comments.

Promise #1:  I promise to make gratitude a daily habit.
At a time when it might be easy to feel restricted, distracted and afraid, it's essential for me to remember that there is still an astonishing amount of beauty and goodness and blessing to be found in each day.  And I'll see it.....IF I'm paying attention.  When I stop to list all that I'm grateful for, the list goes on and on.  Yesterday it was something as simple as the sunshine and fresh air of our walk around the block.  This morning with fresh snow on the ground, I am simply glad for the comforts of my home.  And here's the thing; when I'm saying thank you it's harder to be afraid.  So, one of the first promises I want to make to myself during this time is that I'm just going to build thank you into every day.

Promise #2:  I promise to release what I can't control and be responsible for what I can.
My niece first shared this meme on her Facebook page, and it's just such a good visual.

What's inside the circle is enough.  That's enough for me to make good decisions about.  The rest of it is way out of my control, so....I release it.  Like me, you might have other more specific things in that grey area outside the circle.  Things that matter a great deal, and you find yourself putting mental and emotional energy into 'fixing' it.  It's hard.  I know.  But it really does seem to go better for me if I keep this promise to just focus on what's under my control.

Promise #3:  I promise to hold unswervingly to the Hope I profess.
Now, more than ever, my faith in a God who is writing a bigger story, brings hope for brilliant redemptive outcomes.  Not to get into the cosmic debates or unhealthy 'end times' weirdness that global events often produce, but there's a simplicity for me in remembering that disease isn't part of God's end game.  That social distancing and separation isn't where He's going with this, ultimately.  That chaos and death and fear are not His domain and that He has the annihilation of all those wretched powers firmly in His mind.  I will not give in to the despair of fatalism.  I will not cave under the defeat of paranoia.  Instead, I Hope.  I hold on to that Hope unswervingly.  This is the God I profess, I worship, I love, I trust.

Another week of staying home is ahead of us friends.
Stay home, those who can.
Stay safe, all of you.
Make good promises to yourself.
We'll see this thing through to the end...together.

It's Not About Me: Reaching Out in an Isolating World

"Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess,

 for he who promised is faithful.  

And let us consider how we may spur one another on 

toward love and good deeds, 

not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, 

but encouraging one another 

-- and all the more as you see the Day approaching."

Hebrews 10:23

Before recently most of us had never heard the phrases "social distancing" or "self-isolating" before.  If we had, we'd be inclined to think of folks who were struggling with sustaining healthy relationships and/or not able to engage appropriately with the world.

Now, this is what our government and all the health professionals, and even our spiritual shepherds are telling us to do.

Social distancing.  Memes abound that infer we're all sitting on our couches watching movies.  "This is the first time you can save your country being lazy at home.  PLEASE don't screw it up," says one I saw today.  I get the humour, and I hope I don't lose my sense of humour in this.  But it's painting a certain picture I don't want to identify with.   Long lists of self-oriented activities are posted giving us ideas for what we can do with all the time we have now that we're not out doing our normal lives.  It's as if being at home means all we need to do is take care of ourselves.  

And actually, I feel that pull.  With all the cancellations and a never ending list of things I need to do to finish off my current course work, stay on top of the needs in Thailand (with a tanking Canadian dollar), then fix up the house, clear off my computer, clean out some closets --  the temptation is there to hunker down and exclusively focus inward.  

An inward focus isn't bad.  In fact, that's what I want to deal with in my next posting.

But right now, to remind myself as much as anybody else, I think it's important not to lose sight of one another even when, and especially when we don't see each other's faces so much.  And the truth is, even as I write this on a Sunday morning when we all should be worshipping together, I have to confess, my mind and heart has been so with all of you.  I miss you so much.

So here's my list of ways I can reach out in an isolating world.  Maybe something will spur you on.  And maybe you'll add your own in the comments, either on the blog or in the Facebook post.

• Stay home.  This is obvious, but I just want to begin by reminding us all that the best way to love each other right now is to stay home as much as we possibly can.  

• Make a list of 10 people who have had a positive influence in your life and work down the list over the next few days, connecting with each (in whatever way makes most sense) to let them know their impact on your life.

• Go through your pictures and flag friends on Facebook or other social media platforms with a fun fact and/or encouragement that the picture reminds you of.

• If you have anyone in your social media networks who are working in essential services, particularly those providing us with food and medical care, flag them as a hero and thank them for their courage and selflessness. 
• 
  
• Write messages in chalk on the driveway or sidewalk, or posters in your window, to cheer and encourage anyone walking by.
• 
  
• Make care packages to leave on porches of those who are self-isolating.  Include safely packaged soup, tea or other safely-handled foods you might know they need, books or movies you are willing to lend, cards or inspirational verses or quotes.  Probably good to connect with the recipient ahead of time to arrange the no-contact delivery.

• For your friends who are not as connected on line, pick up the phone and ask how you can pray for them, and pray together on the phone.  If you've never done this before, it's actually not as awkward as it may sound. 

• Connect with efforts your church or other communities might be providing.  For example, Highview has started at regular prayer list and an invitation to be praying twice a day on the 9's.  Hearing and remembering others' needs in this time keeps me outward focused.  Knowing others are praying at the same time reminds me we're in this together.

There are so many good ideas out there.

I'd love to hear yours.

We're not alone.  

Let's not make this "all about me".  

Let's keep connected.  

Let's spur one another on to love and good deeds.

Let's be a force of outward focused love.  

Tomorrow.....what does a healthy inward focus look like?

Any Day But Sunday: One Introvert's Hunger for Community in an Isolating World

"Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess,

 for he who promised is faithful.  

And let us consider how we may spur one another on 

toward love and good deeds, 

not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, 

but encouraging one another 

-- and all the more as you see the Day approaching."

Hebrews 10:23

As an introvert who already works from home, there are many ways in which our current time of isolation doesn't change too much of the day-to-day for me.  Notwithstanding the first flurry of figuring out child care for grandchildren and the implications of cancelled meetings, and with great and serious respect for how so many are suffering, and how so many are working way harder than usual, I am just not having to adjust to all of this to the same degree as probably most of the population.

Honestly, mostly, my life isn't all that upended.  

Except.

We won't be gathering for worship tomorrow.

This is an extraordinary time for the contemporary Church.  No one pastoring or leading us in any capacity has had to navigate these waters before.  We weren't taught anything about this in any of our training.  We're having to re-think everything at core levels.   Technology is being pressed to the max, and mostly, so far, it seems that's been our first default.   We'll have church 'on line'.  We'll stay connected 'on line'.  

These days my perspective is more of that as a worshipper and not a church leader.  And I applaud and support and pray for all the beautiful, creative ways pastors and others are trying to figure this out.  There will be more figuring out going on in the weeks and months to come, no doubt.  And we will show our maturity and love by being patient and full of grace as we walk this together and let our leaders lead us.

But let's be real.  

There is no adequate substitute for the physical presence of community;  all together in one place at one time.  All of us lifting our voices to sing together, pray together, learn and listen together, embrace one another, see each other's faces.  Receiving Communion, the Elements of our Redemption...together. Knowing and being known.  Holding up mirrors of affirmation and validation and our identity in Christ to one another, just by being present with one another.

There's. No.  Adequate.  Substitute.

I know this because I've done it before.  Six months I was absent from my community.  This was necessary and healthy and I would do it exactly the same if I had the chance to do it over.  But it was also it's own kind of agony.

No amount of on line sermons or listening to worship music on my own eased the emptiness for me.  It was a prolonged time of fasting, and I experienced it as such.  Deprivation of something desperately longed for.

And tomorrow there will be no gathering of worship.  Not for me.  Not for anyone.  

This is just the first Sunday of this, and it already feels like it was way longer ago than last Sunday that I got to be together with my beloveds.  

Who knew that we'd be fasting from Church for Lent?

So, I dread what's coming for Sundays.  Any other day, I can manage.  But on Sundays it will feel like this pandemic has upended me.

And I embrace what's coming for Sundays.  Because any other day, I probably won't feel it so much.  But on Sundays I will be forced to feel the pain of love, the disorientation of alienation, and the absence of a familiar way of experiencing the presence of God.  A little bit like Jesus hanging on the cross.  So I embrace how this will again press me into understanding this part of His suffering, and thereby, hopefully, by the grace of God, let it form me just a little bit more into the likeness of the Son.  

I love you so much, beautiful community of faith.

Don't worry.  My heart is so encouraged by the resiliency I'm already seeing in us.

We do indeed need to hold unswervingly to the hope we profess.

And we can consider oh so many new ways to spur each other on toward love and good deeds in these unusual times.

And even though we can't be together face to face,

we can be together in solidarity and love and strength.

I'm percolating with so many ideas.

I know you are too.

But I'll save that for tomorrow's posting.

Meanwhile, just know, when I wake up on Sunday, I will be missing you terribly.

Together While Apart

Highview September 2015

Friday, I posted the following on my personal Facebook page:

"I confess, as a dedicated hugger, the term "social distancing" makes me sad. On the other hand, I'm glad I now have a bonafide Thai side and have learned the grace and respect of the 'wai'. Folded hands, gentle bow, big smile. When I see you next, know that I still love you!!!! In fact, ironically, NOT hugging you is probably the best way to show it. Hang in, everyone. Together we can be our best selves in the midst of trying times."

Later that same day I received an email from our Pastor and Elders at Highview, outlining our response to the COVID-19 situation.  As well as announcing that for a the next several weeks we have suspended our children's programming, will be serving no food including Communion, and are encouraged to engage in non-contact greetings, it said that we would be having a service on Sunday, March 15.

That was this morning.

One of the advantages of being a small church right now is that we are under the current suggested numbers for gathered events.  Our normally packed out Good Friday event "In the Name of Love" puts us over that suggested number, so, sadly, that is cancelled.  But for Sunday mornings, it was the decision of our leaders to go ahead.  For now.

Next week might be very different.  The situation changes day by day, hour by hour.

But whether or not you feel the world is over reacting or isn't doing enough, that churches should or should not suspend their services during this pandemic, the reality is that right now we are having to behave differently toward one another than we're used to.  Hugging notwithstanding.  And just by the way, it was particularly hard for me this morning, during a time when we all need love and reassurance, NOT to hug and be hugged by those who gathered.  Everything in me screams to embrace.....but.

So it's got me to thinking about all the other ways we 'do' community.  And how the restrictions we're being asked to follow actually might be a way to free up other expressions of care and concern.  I'm formulating a list of "Community Anyways" things to do, just as alternatives, reminders of how I might make sure I'm being part of something good and strong and beautiful during a time of increased anxiety and isolation.

The context that comes first to my mind always is my community of faith.  But these ideas expand beyond that, of course.  You may have your own ideas, which I'd be happy to hear about in the comments section of their the blog itself or of the Facebook post this will be linked to.

For now, here's just a few suggestion that may or may not be something you connect with.  It's what's I think would help me feel like we were still together even when we're apart, but I don't know for sure. I'm going to try this out myself and see how it goes.

• Help balance the onslaught of COVID-19 news with completely unrelated, light-hearted videos, jokes, quotes, pictures on your own Facebook page.
• For Highview:  Share some thoughts on our Church Facebook page about the 40 Days of Lent readings, or the Hebrew readings; what words or phrases stuck out to you and why.
• Write words of encouragement and love to each other.  Maybe particularly, when gatherings are cancelled (eg. ITNOL Rehearsals, Sunday services) we can use that time to connect with others for this.  This could be through emails, messaging, whatever means suits best.
• I LOVE it when people post the links to songs that are resonating with them right now.  This might be especially helpful if we can't be together for worship.
• Set up phone calls with folks who aren't 'on line', or even those who are, and, if appropriate, pray together on the phone.  (If you've never done this, try it.  It's kinda cool!)
• Consider some of the 'gifts' a time being at home could bring (there are lots of those lists already circulating), and while embracing them for yourself, share with others how you are redeeming the opportunity.  (For example:  Just think of all the closets that will be cleaned out and good donated to charity!  And I'd say, in this instance, a few bragging photos would be just fine.)
• Be all the more conscious of the power of our words during a time when there's lots of anxiety and negativity going around.  Trashing 'hoarders' or indiscriminate re-posting of 'news' from third-hand, unreliable sources, for example, only adds to the sense of heaviness for many.  Let's be 'together' in passing around strength and honour and hope.  
• Let's remind each other at every opportunity that, even if we're isolated, none of us is alone.  We have each other's back.  And if it should happen that any one of us needs assistance of any kind, we'll be there for each other.  That's what community is for.

Oh the list could be longer, and likely will as we move through this day by day.  

Just a final thought.  I am an introvert, so with all due respect for the global effect we're seeing and the seriousness of the situation, the thought of isolation, of the world slowing down for a bit, doesn't rock me the way it might some.  Even so.  This beautiful thing we have called community is something to cherish and protect.  You are all so very much on my heart in these days.  

I believe with all I am that our community is strong enough, we're strong enough in Jesus my friends, to still be very, very together even if we have to be apart.

And together we CAN be our best selves the midst of these fascinating times!

Just watch.

Leaving Myself Alone

Lent begins and I'm all out of sorts.
Maybe this is how it's supposed to be.

In the days between my return from Thailand and Ash Wednesday, things were great.  Easiest jet lag recovery I can remember.  All the adjustments, including the food thing, were going so well.  Except the food thing got a bit out of hand, to be honest, because, well, rice.  It's a bit of a 'thing' each time for me to come home and convince my body it doesn't need all those carbs.

But there was a deep sense of contentment, despite the hard goodbyes.  And I easily, joyfully pressed into the work before me, realizing how much I enjoy the rhythms of my life these days.  Feeling like some brutal reorientations required of me in these past 18 months had finally, truly come into alignment with who I am and what I do now.

And I ate more or less whatever I wanted.

And then Lent.

I'm a "skipped-a-generation" Lent observer, having been raised in a church tradition that shunned anything that seemed too ritualistic.  There were good reasons for that at the time.  And there have been good reasons for many of us to return to the older spiritual formation practices, many of which involve seasons of the Christian calendar.

I 'dabbled' in Lent at the beginning.  Experimented with various ways of 'fasting', some that involved food and some that did not.  It was an entry level sort of thing, those first years.  And, for me, the not-involving-food thing was actually a way of avoiding dealing with a sugar addiction.  Something to the tune of  'don't mess with my sweets and no one gets hurt'.

But a few years into it I realized that there was something important for me in the bodily experience of going without something I really, really wanted to eat.   I.e. sugar.  That's where I felt it the most.  The denial.

By last year I had trained up to a serious 40-day eating program that pushed me to the limits of what I could do safely.  And it hurt.  Not just physically.  But in all the deep kinds of soul-work ways it's supposed to.

I'm doing it again this year.

And I'm all out of sorts.  Again.
And maybe that's the way it's supposed to be.

I don't like it very much.

I don't like the way the practice of fasting uncovers other appetites.  All the ways my 'self' clamours for what it wants.  All the ways I am entrenched in white, first-world entitlement and convenience.
During a time of self-denial, I'm easily frustrated, quick to lose patience, prone to self-pity.  I cry easily.  Brutal reorientations resurface.  I feel sad again about old sorrows.

I am unfocused and unproductive and grumpy.

Lovely.

What happened to that better me?
That one who came home from Thailand all full of confidence and Vitamin D and the deep assurance that my calling was sure?

I flop around untethered, a stranger to myself.

And I think this is what Lent is supposed to do.
Unmasked,
I am humbled.
Again.

By now I know that the thing to do is NOT wallow in the muck of these unsightly revelations.  No.  That would be a highly unfortunately misuse of the Lenten practice.
No wallowing, thank you.
This is all about the grace of Jesus, after all.

So instead, I come fumbling forward,
to stand in His embrace.
And for as long as it takes,
just breathe in His grace.

And when I'm ready,
there's that shockingly gentle reordering of things.
Forgiveness.
Cleansing.
Renewal.
All leading to that not-yet Resurrection.

And in this there's a mystic sense
of leaving myself alone.

Not as in ignoring self-care.
Not as in ignoring honest self-awareness.
No, not that.

But in honestly laying everything down
again,
shushing the little child of self,
the one that wants all the attention,
and turns that into worries of being unimportant or forgotten
and turns those worries into the greedy strivings
that are all so unnecessary.

I watch as it happens again.
How the leaving of my self alone
allows Him to bring out the best self of me
Unleashed and soaring into a newness of life
only brought about by the little deaths of denial
reflecting the Ultimate Death
and the Ultimate Resurrection.

Lent is helping to sort out
my out of sorts self.

And I'm pretty sure that's the way it's supposed to be.