Lent has begun and I thought I was ready for the change in seasons. Ready, first of all, for the great Children’s Ash Wednesday service that we do here at St. Aidan’s each year, one of my very favorite services. Ready for the change in vestments and Church décor. Ready also to have the extra push that I need to take my spirituality more seriously, to try to notice God acting in my life more intentionally. And ready, or so I would have predicted, to slow down.
Lent is derived from a word which means “slow” and even though it tends to be one of the busiest times in the Church life, even so most of it tends to feel like it’s passing in slow motion. Maybe it’s partly because of the weather – often grey – and because at least in my house there seems to be a break between the fall and spring activities. But this time around, I am increasingly aware of the “slowness” factor as it is related to patience. I’m not sure why I hadn’t seen it before, since Lent has always been a time of waiting that requires patience. From the Ash Wednesday service where we allow so much space and silence for repentance and then don’t receive absolution, to our waiting for the Alleluias to return, to the sort of dread that has already begun (for me at least) as we begin to read about Jesus’ last days and feel the impending doom of Good Friday.
It all fits nicely, if disconcertingly, with my being at the end of my pregnancy. I’m now officially past my due date and getting more and more uncomfortable each day. I’ve had bouts of false labor recently that I’d not experienced before with my other pregnancies that leave me having no idea when or what to expect next. This child is taking her sweet time coming out and I’ve grown exhausted of the well-meaning questions: “You’re still here? When are you going to let that baby out?” As someone who likes to be able to cross things off lists, to get things down and feel like I’m accomplishing something, this time has been frustrating because there doesn’t seem to be a lot of point in starting things. I’m off the preaching and teaching rota, just in case. Can’t make plans with friends or start anything other than quick projects, just in case. Time feels slow, my body feels slow.
Maybe it’s time for me to accept my embodiment of Lent. To accept that I don’t have control of much around me, that there isn’t much I can do to push things along. (Which, when I stop to think about, is probably much more true than I realize all of the time, even though normally it is easier to buy into my own illusion of control.) Being at the end of my pregnancy is forcing me to find ways to make the waiting holy, rather than just frustrating. Maybe my Lenten practice isn’t giving up chocolate but learning patience.
Lent is derived from a word which means “slow” and even though it tends to be one of the busiest times in the Church life, even so most of it tends to feel like it’s passing in slow motion. Maybe it’s partly because of the weather – often grey – and because at least in my house there seems to be a break between the fall and spring activities. But this time around, I am increasingly aware of the “slowness” factor as it is related to patience. I’m not sure why I hadn’t seen it before, since Lent has always been a time of waiting that requires patience. From the Ash Wednesday service where we allow so much space and silence for repentance and then don’t receive absolution, to our waiting for the Alleluias to return, to the sort of dread that has already begun (for me at least) as we begin to read about Jesus’ last days and feel the impending doom of Good Friday.
It all fits nicely, if disconcertingly, with my being at the end of my pregnancy. I’m now officially past my due date and getting more and more uncomfortable each day. I’ve had bouts of false labor recently that I’d not experienced before with my other pregnancies that leave me having no idea when or what to expect next. This child is taking her sweet time coming out and I’ve grown exhausted of the well-meaning questions: “You’re still here? When are you going to let that baby out?” As someone who likes to be able to cross things off lists, to get things down and feel like I’m accomplishing something, this time has been frustrating because there doesn’t seem to be a lot of point in starting things. I’m off the preaching and teaching rota, just in case. Can’t make plans with friends or start anything other than quick projects, just in case. Time feels slow, my body feels slow.
Maybe it’s time for me to accept my embodiment of Lent. To accept that I don’t have control of much around me, that there isn’t much I can do to push things along. (Which, when I stop to think about, is probably much more true than I realize all of the time, even though normally it is easier to buy into my own illusion of control.) Being at the end of my pregnancy is forcing me to find ways to make the waiting holy, rather than just frustrating. Maybe my Lenten practice isn’t giving up chocolate but learning patience.
Comments
Post a Comment