Take Me to Church

It’s hidden so well, you wouldn’t have any way of knowing it was there unless you were invited. And I was. So I went. The directions were to take one country road through the cornfields of Southern Illinois, turn left at the end of the road and take an immediate right then keep following the cornfields until the road opened to a wide spot. There might not even be a parking lot for it. You might not be sure if it’s a church or a home except that it has a peeling wooden sign with the name and year of establishment that likely hasn’t been painted since. Your first thought might be, “How would anyone find this place?” and it’s like I said; you’d have to have been invited. That’s the only way.

It’s normal to feel uneasy as you approach the building. You’ll see others enter with far less deliberation than you, but they know where the front door is. They come every week. You’ve never been there before, so you wait to see which door they approach and follow them in like you know exactly what you’re doing. You don’t. You stand awkwardly off to the side looking around taking in the small, musty sanctuary. You contemplate whether you should start introducing yourself by name with a completely unnecessary explanation that you’ve never been there before. And just when you’re about to make the first move, someone will come right up to you and let you know they’re glad you came.

That first person is likely to give some form of apology for the smallness or oldness of their church and building followed by an explanation for his choice of attire. It’s not that he’s ashamed, but he knows about the churches with full-time staff that draw people in; even people who don’t know the first thing about Jesus. That’s where they’ll hopefully meet Him, but this is where this guy meets Him. In his overalls.

Soon after, the pastor himself will come shake your hand and when he says he’s glad you came, he means it. Even when you tell him you’re from out of town and probably couldn’t find your way back there even if you wanted to drive the four hours it would take to do it every Sunday. He’s already let the teenager in your group lead his Sunday School class for that day WITH his baseball hat on, no less!

The aged aroma of the sanctuary carries its own accompaniment. It’s not always an organ, but even if it’s a piano of some sort, it will sound like an organ. That’s just what happens when certain atmospheric components converge. The piano player, who is likely the pastor’s wife, will start playing a song and the music director will take her place up front only she won’t need the microphone, she announces, she’s loud enough without it. And the mixture of the 35 or so voices tentatively harmonizing to Hymn number 391, “I Surrender All” (the first, second, and fourth verses) serves to show that the music leader was right. The microphone was completely unnecessary.

It will take quite some time for an older gentleman to take his place up front for the ministry he’s been set aside for; providing the message to the children before they are dismissed. But the members of the congregation will position themselves to help him get there without compromising any of his dignity. He has help from his puppets to get his message across, and the children eagerly come forward and wait with anticipation to hear what their puppet friends have to say this week. Today’s message will be about courage told as only two puppets can tell about it with an illustration of how hard it sometimes is to simply get up in the morning. Then a young girl, who has been invited to speak, will share an essay she wrote about fear and how to overcome it; all the while shaking in her tennis shoes. Then it will be the pastor’s turn to share his message on overcoming fear. He’s been the pastor for years and considers himself lucky and equal to the congregants. He probably has another job Monday through Friday to make ends meet.

During the service, many things will be assumed: that everyone already knows everyone else, that everyone knows the order of service even if it’s not printed in the bulletin, that everyone knows the prayer requests whether they’re printed in the bulletin or not, and that they’ll know when to stand and sit and pray and speak. And if it’s your first time there, you might feel like an outsider to it all. And every time I’ve invited someone to church with me, that’s my fear—that they won’t feel comfortable right away and maybe won’t want to come back.

That’s when I’m most thankful for all the different cultures in which the Lord is welcome and able to work. Through mega churches and mini churches. Through home churches and secret churches. Through American churches and Chinese churches. Through old-fashioned churches and modern churches. Through well-planned churches and spontaneous churches. Through transient churches and established churches.

The vast array of venues to preach Christ and who He is, what He’s done, and how He wants to work through us is one of the means by which the gospel can spread. The central message of Christianity is not confined to one culture; even among all the cultures in America. And when you leave the tiny sanctuary in the middle of the cornfields, you’ll realize this very important thing: the message wasn’t spoken as much from the pulpit that Sunday, but it started with the invitation to come.

And I’m glad I did.

Mxied Messages

I have at my fingertips a license to fix all that ails the world.  It’s so simple; I’m not sure why someone else hasn’t thought of it already.  Don’t go getting any ideas of hijacking this solution and getting rich off the fall out!  I thought of it first. 

It’s called posting opinions on social media. 

Here’s how it works.  While scrolling through your newsfeed, Twitter feed, or other preferred social media, keep one’s eyes trained for headlines that could potentially unlock the mysteries of the human race, like the following:

11 Things You are Doing Wrong as a Parent of Teens

1 Genius Device Could Save Thousands of Children During School Shootings

Why Teaching Your Kids to Share is Bad for Them

7 Exercises for a Flat Stomach by Tomorrow

8 Telltale Signs that She’s Cheating

9 Common Fashion Faux Pas

10 Ridiculously Easy Life-Hacks that Ought to be Illegal

Blame the Teenagers for What Happened in McKinney

Here’s Why the McKinney Cop’s Barrel Roll is Worth Discussing

Can a Person Choose Their Preferred Race Like they can Choose Their Preferred Gender?

And the list goes on!!

The first rule of fixing all that ails the world is to not actually read the information posted with the headline.  Simply scan the headline and accompanying picture and click that “share” button with abandon!  Social Media statistics indicate that only a percentage of one’s friends/followers/stalkers actually see what you post, so the more you share it, the more your friends might see it.  If you’re lucky, several of them will also share it, thus exponentially increasing your efforts at fixing the evils of the world one click at a time. 

The second rule of fixing it all is to quickly move on to the next item of interest, carefully following rule number 1 in the process.

I’m scrolling through my Facebook newsfeed and I just don’t know what to think. 

VW tricks Hong Kong movie-goers into checking their cell phones so they won’t text and drive.

Making guns illegal works about as good as making drugs illegal

Pray for such and such person (that I don’t even know)

Cheap food is easy to make and is delicious

Cheap food is bad for you

Teaching kids to share is bad practice

Everyone needs to share

Don’t be your kid’s friend, be their parent

Modest is hottest

Modest is not hottest; hot is hottest and women should not try to be hot

Don’t blame women for men’s reactions to women’s bodies

The number on the scale does not determine how fit you are

“Lose 15 lbs fast!”

Do your own thing and I’ll do mine

If you do things for others, you’ll be a happier person

Put yourself first

If black lives matter, cops are bad

If you think cops are good then you don't care about black people

Praise God in one post then put sexually offensive memes up depicting assaults on women in the next

Tell girls they need to cover up their bodies so boys won't try to rape them (or worse, desire them)

The video of a guy roofieing girls' drinks to show them how to protect themselves People screaming "RAPE CULTURE" at those kinds of videos (while disregarding how sexist the video actually is)

So then, I'm on my way to the gym the other day (hey, I go once a month whether I need it or not!), and I'm wondering what to do with my wallet, car keys, and phone. If I leave all that in the car, it could get stolen and who wouldn't accuse me of asking for it? And if I take it into the gym and put it in my locked locker, it could still get stolen and I'd still have been asking for it. So just by virtue of having things that people want makes me a target, I guess! But how is theft culture different than rape culture? I still have to protect my belongings from theft by keeping them out of sight. How is anything in this world ever going to get fixed? Am I really asking for it? Or is there something else at stake here.

One common theme is the idea that a large number of people have to be in concert about a certain cause in order to change things for the better. A collective cognitive force must be the only answer, thus I am being fed a load of crap via the same social media I voluntarily signed up for 5 years ago, but I still believe in the power of personal responsibility (and God)! I believe that I can make a difference all by my little lonesome and don’t need millions of minions to back me up in a cause. I believe I can be a voice for the minorities, the poverty stricken, the downtrodden, the sick, the weak, the prisoner. They don’t need millions of people believing something is wrong about their situation and haranguing about it on the Twitter; they just need ONE person willing to speak out, donate, lift up, pray for, support, and encourage.  It is MY responsibility to reach out to our black brothers and sisters; even though I don’t even know the right way to do that anymore (thanks, social media!) It is MY responsibility to remain steadfast in my faith, and should not be dependent upon millions of others who agree with me! It is MY responsibility to not make girls feel shameful because—heaven forbid—one walks into a church service wearing nothing but a bikini! Likewise, it is my responsibility to dress in a way that makes me feel confident and attractive. But just like my wallet and my keys and my phone, sometimes there’s just nowhere to hide it all, so I also need to adopt a certain level of self-preservation and by doing so, should not be accused of contributing to “rape culture” by being wary any more than dressing like a prostitute might make someone believe that I was asking for it.

Speaking of asking for it, I can’t post this without knowing that it might stir up some bad comments. I welcome them. But please do not try to tell me that I’m taking this out of context. I’m finally putting it all IN context so that maybe as a collective we can finally take note of the ridiculous mess we’re making of the world, ironically, in an effort to fix it. According to history, Jesus thought that was what He was doing when we was executed 2000 years ago.

I believe that.

THAT alone is my responsibility!

Yes, I’m posting a link to this on social media!

Dear Class of 2015

To the Class of 2015:

As “luck” would have it, my daughter-in-law posted this article on Facebook just this morning and I am going to summarize it here for you in this, your official senior letter! It’s called The Moral Bucket List and it was published in The New York Times’ April 11, 2015 edition by David Brooks. I’d encourage you to read it for yourself.

The author compares two different kinds of adventures; the kind that make for a good social media snapshot, temporary and shallow, and the kind that imbeds itself into the fabric of one’s moral identity, woven like the living script of an epic movie that one day could be hailed as a classic! It starts with the realization that “generosity of spirit and capability for deep love” (Brooks, 2015) yield a higher level of satisfaction for a life well lived than any death-defying, ceiling shattering accomplishments ever could.  

If you live for external achievement, years pass and the deepest parts of you go unexplored and unstructured. You lack a moral vocabulary. It is easy to slip into a self-satisfied moral mediocrity.  You grade yourself on a forgiving curve. You figure as long as you are not obviously hurting anybody and people seem to like you, you must be O.K. But you live with an unconscious boredom, separated from the deepest meaning of life and the higher moral joys. Gradually, a humiliating gap opens between your actual self and your desired self, between you and those incandescent souls you sometimes meet (Brooks, 2015).

The author, realizing his own shallow moral resume, set out to find the recipe to live the kind of life that the people he most admired lived; the kind of people who brighten a room when they walk in, who radiate sense of purpose and an open invitation to take the moral high road. He discovered conclusively that such people are not born.  They intentionally cultivate their character making conscious decisions to make a positive difference in this world. He refers to the process by six pursuits he coined “the moral bucket list,” for lack of a catchier gimmick.

The first identifier was what he calls “the humility shift.” Being brutally honest about our own weaknesses causes us to identify which “core sin” makes us feel ashamed. Humility is achieved consciously, not imposed externally; otherwise it is humiliation. A truly humble person cannot be humiliated! The second is “self-defeat.” By this, he means confrontation with your own weakness. It builds on the first point, but this one requires action—a deliberate decision to tame our own weaknesses so that we can develop a mature attitude that transcends an outwardly peaceful appearance, but becomes ingrained in our very soul. The practice of confronting our weaknesses results in a lifetime habit of maturity. Brooks gives an example in the article, if you’re looking for a way to incorporate this for yourself.

Next he reveals “the dependency leap,” and compares the difference between the personal-goal-setting, go-get-‘em, self-promoting achievements acquired through grit and determination with the humble acceptance of human connection throughout life’s journey. Those with high moral character understand that life is a process that can’t be fully explored without meaningful connections, sharing the pain and glory with those who are also on the same journey. In The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, author Steven R. Covey calls it “interdependence.” These deep connections give way to “energizing love.” This is the kind of love that causes people to desire to serve. We will serve, worship, and adore that which we love! Ask your parents. The second you were placed in their care, a shift happened that transcended any previous love.  This kind of love is energizing and provides the necessary strength and power to follow through with things that are hard to do but are unquestionably worthwhile. Worship belongs only to our Lord and Savior, but rest assured, you worship something and your energy is fully committed to that thing you worship.

Have you ever felt “called” to something? While many people strive to fit the mold for a career, some have looked farther and deeper for a calling to impact lives for the better. This calling transcends the results of recognition, status, financial security, or self-fulfillment. In what Brooks refers to as “the call within the call,” it embodies a passion to change things for the better regardless of cost, whether it be emotional, financial, or physical.  The desire to create a better world becomes the driving force for this characteristic and the desired result gives us the commitment to press on! Then, at some point in your life, you will be called to make “the conscience leap.” It’s the moment of decision where you’re presented with a choice to take a stand and either conform to social norms or challenge them with a risky investment. The author gives an example in the life of Mary Ann Evans.  You know her as author George Eliot who wrote Silas Marner. She was faced with a choice to kowtow to social conventions and eschew her chance for love later in life or to identify that society is not always right and choose love.  She chose love at the potential cost of her reputation, but eventually became one of the most prolific authors of any time period (Brooks, 2015). Chances are, you’ve already been given several chances at a conscience leap.  Maybe you’ve leapt.  Maybe you’ve caved.  You will be given more opportunities, but now you can examine your skill set against these six character markers and the next time you’re given the option to take a chance against all odds, knowing what is honorable and willingly accepting whatever consequences follow, you’ll be in a better position to make that leap with humility, maturity, and confidence. 

I look forward to joining you in your journey as you explore your calling and increase your willingness to take chances to do the right thing even when it’s hard. Welcome to adulthood.  We’ve been anxiously awaiting you!

What’s on your bucket list?

Much love,

Every Teacher You've Ever Had (and your parents)

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/04/12/opinion/sunday/david-brooks-the-moral-bucket-list.html?_r=0 retrieved April 13, 2015 

Breaking the Ice

The sound is terrifying. You've never heard anything like it. I'm sitting on a tree stump in front of Lake Hale in Northern Minnesota as the last layer of ice on its surface signals its death throes. It sounds a lot like what you might imagine a huge rubber band would immediately after it snaps, followed by an ominous grumbling undertone. The large sheet of ice is no match for the warmth of the sun and by this time next month, there won't even be a trace. I wonder if it compares to the "sound like rushing wind" in Acts 2 when the apostles met the Holy Spirit for the first time.
I was talking with my son yesterday about the real-ness of the Holy Spirit. I assured him that I had met myself without the spirit's presence and while I wasn't officially worthless, I was most definitely a harsher, more difficult person even at my best. I wanted my son to understand that there is a supernatural element to Christianity because of the Holy Spirit, but the bride of Christ has tried to forge her identity without Him. We make our outward appearance the most important factor in our walk down the aisle much like any bride would on her wedding day. We strive to appear "good" by behaving well but most of us want to scream, "What's the point?" Paul tells us in Galatians how to identify someone in whom the spirit dwells. That person would be loving, joyful, peaceful, patient, kind, good, faithful, gentle, and self-controlled. But when was the last time you met someone like that? Identification of others was not his point though, it was a self-identifier. If a person has truly been redeemed by Christ's blood, these qualities would be evident in them. But the component we forget about is the help He provides in displaying these qualities in us, even in spite of ourselves.
The most significant example of this was realized in Jesus's friend, Peter. When we're first introduced to him, he's a hot mess. Throughout their friendship, Peter makes promises he can't keep, he makes outrageous suggestions, and he is often the first one to act without thinking. Even in the very physical presence of Jesus Himself, Peter cannot seem to get his act together. If he had lived in The South, we'd have said, "Bless his heart" a few times. Jesus's words and instruction did not change Peter. Even the miracles He performed did not give Peter confidence or authority to persuade people. It wasn't until about 40 days after Christ's resurrection, after experiencing that noise like rushing wind, did Peter become the man upon whom Christ Himself would build His church.
After He rose, Jesus had told his remaining disciples that He was leaving again so that a helper could come and give them the skills and knowledge they would need to boldly tell God's story about redeeming the human race. This helper would empower them to tell their stories, to withstand torture, to perform miracles themselves, to give them the words they'd need to be most impactful, and to not be limited by time and space as Jesus was (by choice), allowing each believer to share their story wherever they traveled in the world equipped fully to be successful.
Christ's resurrection is the victory I celebrate today. But lest we forget the power available to us to withstand wordly temptation and speak boldly about who Christ is so others can know Him too. The rest of the story is in the power of the Holy Spirit to transform us into His likeness! If Peter himself couldn't do it without the presence of the Holy Spirit, what makes us think we can?

Dear Depression,

We need to talk. Your manners are atrocious. Your approach is abhorrent. And your presence is wearying. You’re a sneaky, lying, lazy, messy jerk!

When you first moved in, I thought you were only staying for a visit, you know, until the baby was a few months old. I was so preoccupied with him and his big brother that I scarcely noticed you loitering. You were not even remotely subtle, so I can only blame myself for not realizing how obvious you were; but I was navigating the rough waters of parenthood and had convinced myself that it was normal to feel angry every day. It was normal to never get enough sleep. It was normal to sleep as often as possible. It was normal to be 50 pounds overweight. It was normal to feel unattractive. It was normal to think I was trapped by emotions that were too burdensome to acknowledge. I believed that this was the new normal and that was how everyone who had two kids under 3 felt. It never mattered how kind people were to me. It never mattered what I accomplished in a day. It never mattered that my husband loved me unconditionally. It never mattered that my precious boys were perfect and sweet and loving and smart. 

I was never enough.  You always made me believe that I was lazy and didn’t deserve to be healthy. You made me believe that I was angry and that if I just prayed about it, God would make me happy; clearly I didn’t pray enough.  You convinced me that people were judging me harshly for being fat, too young to have two kids, too stupid to be a good mother, too ugly to be a good wife, too lazy to deserve any rest, or too sinful to deserve any grace. I wanted to fix me, but you were always there to remind me what a mess I was, interrupting every good thought I had, rooting around looking for things to hold against me, to give me worthless advice, recklessly sapping the meager amounts of energy I had before I even had a chance to enjoy some or share it with my family.  Like I said, your manners are atrocious.

But if that weren’t enough, you sneaked into my life so effortlessly I never knew to fight you off with everything I had.  You started off by making me just a little bit tired or a little bit angry, but little by little, you were robbing me of every dream I ever once had.  The funny thing is that none of my dreams were even grandiose.  It wouldn’t have affected you one bit to leave them alone. I simply wanted my kids to trust me, to love my husband as much as he loved me, and to experience the presence of God in my life.  Above all, I wanted to live every moment the way God wanted me to live and this reveals possibly your most abhorrent approach; you convinced me that I was living the way God intended and that He intended it to be miserable. 

My faith in Christ had been the only lifeline out of the mire and muck, but you expertly muddied the waters by convincing me that God Himself had ordained this unsatisfying trapped existence.  If I didn’t know any better, I would say you had something against God or people who want to believe in Him.  The knowledge that God loves me and will take care of me was obscured not by any tangibly awful thing, but by the subtly convincing message you expertly, almost soothingly whispered into my ear practically while smoothing my hair with your disgusting fingers. 

“There there,” you’d say, “today is going to be a little bit better. Not so good that you will finally feel free from me but just enough to enjoy a break as well as a cruel reminder of what it feels like to be normal … to actually LOVE life. It will be just long enough to remember what you’re missing and I will snatch you back to reality. Calm down now and don’t fight me.”  And I didn’t fight you.  You know why?  Because I was too exhausted!  That’s why.  It would be four years before I'd get the help I needed. Your approach is effective, but abhorrent,

And finally, your presence is wearying.  That’s why I’m writing this letter.  I have come to realize during our long-term tumultuous relationship that you will always be part of my life.  That at any given day or week, I am somewhere on a continuum of managing you effectively or desperately fighting for every smile I can fake.  On any given day, you are winning or I am.  You’ve proven your mettle so I know I can’t control you on my own; it will take my family, my doctors, my counselor, and a very precious resource called good friends. Above all, it will take blind faith in God even when I’m not feeling it.  Some days, I’m going to feel stigmatized because you’re winning and I’ll want to tell people that, but we already know what happens then. 

You’ve trained the masses well to pretend it’s sensitive to the reality of depression and anxiety or other mental illness. But in their minds, they think they know how to manage everyone else’s depression and rarely will they acknowledge the important role that medicine plays in this battle. God love them, but they will spiritualize it or naturalize it not realizing that I can’t wade through all the trials and experiments to find something natural or spiritual that works.  I need something that works.  Period.  I will never be able to enjoy a non-medicated existence and I’ve come to terms with that because only with the right medicine and support, can I combat your wearying presence effectively.  One day, I won’t have to rely on medication for anything and trust me, I am NOT taking you with me there. 

Until then, I know I have to be careful with the degree of honesty I practice about you. I know I have to be much more aware of your effect on my psyche and consequently, those who I love. I know I need to be shrewder about your approach before you get too much traction in my brain. And I know I have to use up even the tiniest of energy stores to combat you at the first signs so I don’t fall prey to your sneaky ways before it’s too late.  I guess we will have to learn to get along, but I don’t have to let you in. And in all fairness, I should let you know that I’m investigating better weapons for the battle. 

Good luck,

Me

Jeremiah 33:3

Lent Me Your Ears

I’ve been thinking a lot about Lent lately.  It’s hard not to with my Facebook newsfeed blowing up with article after article about it along with suggestions of things to give up for it and reasons why we shouldn’t ignore it.  I was going to just dismiss it this year as I usually do, but I’ve been thinking a lot about it and decided to come up with a worthy offering for 40 Days of Lent.  But before I continue, I apologize to any Catholics out there or any Protestants who value the tradition and precise practice of Lent.  I am not Catholic and I may not officially do it justice, but I believe that a 40-day period of focused intention is a deeply spiritual practice and one I don’t want to miss out on entirely.  I hope you don’t mind me joining you, if sloppily and a day late.

I remember the year I gave up gum.  I could hardly wait for Easter Sunday to come around so I could chomp away at my favorite jaw-breaking snack—Orbit Sweet Mint (if you must know).  The year my husband was deployed, I gave up . . . well, my husband and all the things that go with having a husband.  Naturally, it wasn’t by choice, but I felt it was a sacrifice all the same so I claimed it.  I’m aware that we don’t get points or anything for the measure of sacrifice involved, but I wanted to be a participant.  I started to give up sugar one year.  That lasted about a week and I felt like I had done my thing and failed and it was too late to start over or start with something else.  I’ve clearly missed the whole point, haven’t I?  I don’t want to do that this time.  I want to celebrate it as a sacrifice and a victory, a difficult but satisfying challenge, and a painful but beautiful experience.  I want it to be real.

So this year, I’ve resigned to giving up my insatiable need for personal affirmation.  I’m not going to swallow as many words for fear that someone might not like them or how I present them.  But I will hold them back if they’re not true or kind or necessary or helpful.  My life story is riddled with moments that I have wanted to say something that seemed important in my head, but I’ll have no idea if it was or not because I never said it. Why?  Because I wanted to be affirmed for what I said and how I said it and further, I needed to know if what I said made a difference.  I haven’t written a blog post in over a month because I received backlash last time that I was logically prepared for but not emotionally.  And I only know how about five people who were brave enough to say something to my face felt about it.  The rest of you, I wonder in the back of my mind if I offended you or proved myself a fool.  That was a great introduction into this next 40 days—I will not require your opinion whether positive or negative before saying what I believe to my best ability to be true and helpful. 

This practice will be horrendous for me because I calculate every word I say and how I say it as it’s leaving my vocal cords.  I’ve shut myself up in the middle of a thought on many occasions because of a look of disapproval on your face.  You know that saying, “It’s better to be thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt?” It does not apply here.  I invite you to consider me a fool.  Maybe I am.  How will I ever know if I don’t say anything?  My biggest fear is that you will actually get to know me and realize I’m vulnerable, and foolish, and reckless, and frightened.  I’ve reread and edited this post so many times, I’m afraid the whole season will be gone by the time I post it. As long as I have limited what I've revealed about what I think, you’ve been more likely to encourage me without having the slightest clue who I actually am.  I’m sorry I ever asked this of you, but I dare you to say to me that I’m not actually that great.  (And thank you for letting me say my peace in the first place). 

I wish I could post this anonymously.  I wish I hadn’t written it.  I wish I could go back and write something that 90% of the world would agree with to make me feel like I’m on top of the world.  But that ship has definitely sailed and I’m glad she has.  Ships might be safer in the harbor (if we don’t count the USS Arizona) but that’s not where ships belong. I have had the privilege recently of being vehemently criticized for having said things that I believed were true, helpful, necessary, and kind.  I let the weight of some people’s disapproval destroy my fire.  But it was good practice for these next 40 days, so I thank each of you for disagreeing with me and eloquently telling me why.  Each time I experience it, it gets just a little easier to take.  And yes, I did consider deleting that line about the USS Arizona. 

So, for Lent, I chose the one thing that has the power to destroy my spirit.  Why did I choose it?  Because I want it to be undeniably sacrificial.  Because I want it to be life changing.  Because I want to commemorate every day that I made a commitment.  Because I have a lot of words to say and I rarely ever actually say them.  And in the end, I hope I’ll have developed a new habit.  But for now, the most painful thing I can give up is the façade.  And I have a feeling, I’ll be the one who benefits most from it in the end. 

Maybe that’s the whole idea of Lent.

1 Pet 3:15