Lent: A Time to Venture Into Your Wilderness

I missed attending our church’s Ash Wednesday service this year. I didn’t even get to enjoy Fat Tuesday (a/k/a Shrove Tuesday) a day of revelry, parades, and gastronomic indulgences, celebrated around the globe on the eve of Ash Wednesday. Our friend Rannah Gray had even gifted us a king cake, a traditional Mardi Gras dessert, to celebrate. I had fantasized about inviting people over to share in this part-coffee cake-part-cinnamon roll filled with decadent cream cheeses. No, instead it sat forlornly in my refrigerator, its yellow, green, and purple icing–the colors of Mardi Gras– taunting my quashed tastebuds.

King Cake

Instead of celebrating Fat Tuesday and observing Ash Wednesday, I was hunkered down on my sofa nursing a bottle of Mucinex. The sounds emanating from my chest resembled a Rice Krispies commercial. My daughter was so appalled at the way I sounded on the phone she suggested I create a sound effect track and submit it to Universal Studios for their Halloween Horror Nights event. And the drugs I’m taking! A healthy (ha!) dose of steroids accompanied by a steroid inhaler to start (although anti-biotics have now been added since I was diagnosed with pneumonia in my right lung).

Steroid Breathing Treatment

My doctor mentioned that too large a dose of steroids can cause psychosis. I’m not quite at that dosage level but irritability and an insatiable need to be blunt with others has been my companion on this journey. I feel like posting a warning label on myself right now.  “Warning! In Mom/Liz’s current steroid-induced state, she cannot be held responsible for (1) loud, possibly critical, and decidedly self-righteous statements or (2) odd tics, speech patterns, or behaviors that may be exhibited on occasion as the steroids attempt  to reduce the inflammation in her airways. When I mentioned that I planned to write a blog post about this experience, my friend Ann (to whom I had also sent a warning) rushed to counsel as follows: Burn it after writing.

 But back to Ash Wednesday, the first day of the Lenten season. For those of you who may not be as familiar with the Christian calendar, Lent is the forty days prior to Easter. Church goers on this day receive ashes on their foreheads with the accompanying words, “Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return.” There is something about the ashes, coming from the earth as they do, that feels grounding to me.

 This period of time is said to commemorate Jesus’ retreat to the wilderness to fast and pray. Growing up in the Episcopal church we were instructed to give up something as a sacrificial offering during lent. (A childhood friend once told me he was giving up watermelon because it wasn’t in season anyway.) I like the symbolism inherent in this sacred season. Although the duration is longer, it reminds me of Yom Kippur in Judaism where the day is spent fasting and in quiet contemplation. Likewise, Lent can be a time of sacrifice and contemplation. Whether or not Jesus actually went out into the wilderness to battle his demons or not, I don’t really know but I really like the metaphor. Using these weeks to venture into the wilderness to take on our own demons might be wise counsel.

I don’t think we do enough of that. We are so busy. We are so hurried, even those of us who label ourselves “retired”. Retired people are some of the busiest people I know, serving on volunteer boards, caregiving to parents, partners, and grandchildren. I’ve secretly wondered if my illness is my body’s way of demanding I pause and plant myself fully in the present.  

 While my illness may have prevented me from attending Ash Wednesday services this year, it may have brought about a different version of the start of the Lenten season. As grounding as the ashes are to me, I’ve experienced my own grounding, restricted to my home, sofa, and bed.  I’ve found myself pondering the play of light as it penetrates the leaves of the oak tree outside my window. It’s on those occasions we take the time to “ponder a blade of summer grass”, as recommended by self-professed lounger and poet, Walt Whitman. You might just hear a contented sigh (or in my case a shudder) escape from your solar plexus.

 Maybe this post has talked me out of feeling sorry for myself for missing Fat Tuesday celebrations and Ash Wednesday services.  I guess there are all kinds of wildernesses available to us.  Here is hoping you find yours this Lenten season. Please feel free to share your revelations here.

Paints and Pens Were Good Company During my Convalescence