Lenten Meditation #1

I haven't "given up something" for Lent in years.  I don't know why, really.  It's not so much that I don't understand it - the idea of sacrifice so as to put us in the mind and spirit of Christ is a good and important thing, and how better to accomplish that then to sacrifice something from our own lives?  It's a simple idea that children can understand, and so perhaps my understanding is, indeed a little childlike.  I'm ok with that.  The problem is, I don't feel closer to God when I do that.  There are many people who do, and that is perfectly fine - I am not criticizing it in any way.  I just....don't. 

In fact, I think the only time that I really felt good about what I gave up for lent, like I did something that was worth it, that was good, that meant something was when I was in high school and I worked on the "Living Stations of the Cross."  We would go from  church to church every Friday in Lent, and put on a performance, the Stations brought to life.  One week, we would be in my hometown, the next week in a different church and so on, until, of course, the Good Friday experience.  THAT felt like the true Spirit.  That felt like giving.  All I gave up was a few Friday evenings - but I suppose for a high school kid, that's a lot.  Time was what I gave.  Maybe that's it - why it felt so much better.  I can never get that time back.  It wasn't like giving up coffee, or chocolate, or carbs, or something that you intend to go back to after Easter - this was something I could never get back.  And I did it on purpose.  Freely - it was always my choice.  It was not required.  Somehow or other, that made it more real, more vibrant, more important - at least to me.

And that's sort of what this is supposed to be, right?  Our personal journey of faith in Christ.  What do we do to feel closer to God, to bring ourselves into that Spirit?  Is it prayer, or fasting, or alms-giving, or service?  Do you give up something, sacrifice a part of yourself?  Do you simply do something extra, without the expectation of a reward?

For me, I feel closest to God when I am engaged creatively.  Whether I am building something, or writing something - or even cooking something, really, I feel closest to the Spirit.  That includes writing blog posts like this one, too.  So, what I'm giving up for Lent this year is the time to write a reflection each week.  It would be really nice if it was each day, but frankly, that becomes more about filling a space on a page than it does about reflecting.  

This week, it's about yellow paint.

I grew up with a set of bunk beds that my father made.  To say they were "sturdy" is a bit of an understatement.  They were built to withstand a nuclear blast, or the activities of two small boys - whichever came first.  And they were painted yellow.  Why yellow?  Because yellow is what my father had leftover from painting the house.  Sears' weatherbeater "cactus yellow" color, to be exact.  

Why is this what I reflect on?  My girlfriend needs a table for her sewing machine.  I have a suitable top, a space etc, but no legs.  I must build them.  So I build a set of trestle-style legs.  They look kinda good, but they need to be painted.  And I have yellow paint, left over from painting the kitchen.  So now, her sewing table is going to have yellow legs.  

I am not my father, yet I share many elements in common with him.  While yellow paint is really just a coincidence in this case, building something, creating something, understanding how to do so, is something that was handed down to me from my father.  If this is from my earthly father, how much greater can we be with the gifts God, the father of us all, has bestowed upon us?  If creating a simple table can make someone's life slightly easier, how much more can we do with kind words, and a caring spirit?  How much more can I do?

Thanks for reading,

Me