One of the questions I ask myself when I'm thinking about what to do for Lent is..."what's my pacifier?"
What do I do to fill empty time?
What do I lean on to get through the day?
How do I quiet the voices in my head?
What is the extra -- the craving - that I have a hard time ignoring?
The ever present hum of distraction and entertainment and input and information limits my ability to be present for matters of the heart, the soul and the still quiet voice of the divine.
Instant gratification leaves little room for yearning. It compresses the space that is necessary to understand the root of my longing. That space where I ask myself
"Do I really want this or is this a convenient replacement for a deeper thing my soul is craving?
What am I really feeling now?
What human need or longing does this signpost for me?"
Ash Wednesday was an absolutely beautiful day. The sun shined brightly in a cloudless blue sky. It was about 70 degrees outside. My boys had a short day at school and were all home by 1:30. They didn't have much homework.
What should we do with this lovely day? I was certain that we would go to the park or the creek like we've been doing every nice day for the past few weeks.
But the boys just couldn't get up for it. They were paralyzed. Their world usually orbits around the video games they play. They only are allowed video games on the weekends but during the week, they like to talk to each about what they are going to do next or watch videos to learn new things about the games.
They decided collectively to give up games for Lent and that first afternoon was a huge vacuum. The whole world had collapsed for them. They weren't having tantrums but they just couldn't quite process what they would do with the massive spanse of free space both mental and time that lay ahead of them these next 40 days.
"What do we even do now?"
We've given up video games before and I know that in a few days, they will bloom with creative ideas for where to put their energy. But for now, they can't see past the empty space left by the pacifier. It leaves them speechless, almost breathless.
It is hard to pull out the pacifier. Even if it is something small and stupid that really shouldn't feel that hard - chocolate or radio in the car. It's not a big deal --- except it really is.
That emptiness suddenly screams in my head and pushes all my buttons at once. Lent, you just started, how can you already be hard?
Truth is, sometimes the first few days are the hardest. Sitting with the deafening silence that can feel all consuming in the echo chamber of my mind. Like a toddler screaming red- faced from my crib I'll throw any tantrum I need to get my paci back.
But I've done this enough times to know that this is a time for grace. To rest in the uncomfortable trusting that the emptiness will birth new growth in my soul. It is a small step. A small trust. I can trust God with my chocolate, my to-do list, my pacifier. Like a loving parent, God is there to comfort me and help me grow letting go of my pacifier and learning how to find peace without it.
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