Two years ago I tried a new project. Instead of giving something up for Lent, I chose to change my discipline and add something new – writing. Every day. I almost made it. Personal heartache from a marriage in peril and the death of my grandmother proved too much to fight through on some days. But I was proud of what I did accomplish in my project.
Well, last year, I couldn’t find the strength to write at all. That’s not really true. It wasn’t about strength. I felt like I had nothing to share – or no one I wanted to share it with. I had reached a point of such mistrust that I chose to stay silent a lot. If I don’t share, it can’t be twisted and used against me. If I keep to myself, no one can make up lies. If I don’t care about anyone, they can’t hurt me. I built huge walls and spent lots of energy fortifying them. Nobody was getting in again. I wasn’t going to be the fool, again. I felt empty. My joy was gone. Not happiness – joy. That part deep inside that reminds you of all the good things in life – even when it all looks bad. I even had to fake a smile for my son once in a while. No child deserves that – especially not from his mother!
I’m not sure how far I’ve moved past any of that. I still don’t share a lot. I still fake the smiles. I still can’t trust. I haven’t found joy again. But I have let some of the anger go (not all, but some). My faith is floundering. I don’t doubt – but I also don’t feel the fullness that is meant for us. I used to, and it felt good. So tomorrow, as I receive ashes on my head, I will make my covenant to write again during Lent. Every day. Maybe somewhere in the words I will find joy. Here we go…
All 4 Us 
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