Lent 2012

Today is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent. Today is also the day before we head back to the hospital for Adam to have his new port put in.

It has been a very nice, relaxing two weeks since we were last in the hospital as patients. Though this will hopefully only be a day trip (Adam is on the afternoon list, so depending on the time he goes in and the time he is ready to go home we may have to spend the night, but we are hoping to avoid that) it has been such a complete break from all things medical that I find it a shock to be packing the bag again, to be making contingency plans again, to be preparing for surgery again.

The irony is not lost on me that the Lenten time is a period of penitence, of remembering our Lord's suffering and of being mindful of that which takes hold of our hearts on earth. I began the usual process of thinking about what to give up, and then realised that just the act of getting in the car tomorrow at 10:45am will be my Lenten observation. I don't want to go back, I don't want to send Adam back into theatre, I don't want to give up another whole day of my life. MY life. I like things the way they are, I like normal and I like boring.

One of the most common phrases we will hear over the next six weeks has to do with denying yourself and taking up your cross to follow God. Last year Lent began with Agnes' arrival, and the denial of self--and particularly sleep!--that accompanies the first six weeks of a new baby's life brought the meaning of Lent to my heart in a deeper way. Now this year Lent is beginning with another, different celebration of life: joy that Adam has finished the first part of his treatment, gratefulness that he has done so well so far, and steadfast, resolute and dogged willpower to begin the next two years of our life's journey.

I am no saint--I really want to be done with all of this!! But I am humbled and blessed to walk alongside Adam who perseveres without complaint, and the doctors who continue to support and treat my son, and our many friends who carry on with us gladly.

Happy Lent, if that's not too paradoxical a thing to say.

Scratch that thought

I was thinking today. Shocking, I know. I was thinking about that last blog post, the one where I waxed all eloquent about Lent and what I'm learning. Well, actually it was mostly rubbish and I'd like to start again.

The other night I told my husband that I really like Lent best of all seasons of the church calendar, certainly more than Christmas. When he asked why, I said it's because I just can't seem to identify with all the "hooray, baby Jesus was born and life is great" sentiment. Not that it's not important in its own right, but Christmas in all its commerciality and red/green/gold glitterati makes me feel a bit empty. I prefer instead the hollowed out wasteland of Lent, with its emphasis on suffering and letting go.

As I thought about it today, I think that's because--as opposed to what I "should be learning"--I know deep down that I'm a pretty selfish and greedy person. I want what I want, and hate to have the routines of my life altered, especially by anything that remotely smacks of growing. As much as I say I'm looking forward to Lent, and giving something up for 40 days to "identify with Christ's suffering", I know deep down that 48 hours in I'll be pining and stroppy and looking for any excuse to let myself out of the Lent promise I've so grandly made.

Somewhere deep down I think I'm better than, smarter than, or more mature than my kids, but in actual fact I'm just like them. I don't really want to grow, I want to be comfortable. I don't want to learn, I want my life to keep ticking over smoothly and not have to think about it. Which is why every year I have a crisis where I realise I'm absolutely bottomed out and desperate. And then, and only then, do I see the point of Lent. And that's when I realise too that I like it.

This might be a masochistic or martyrish streak, similar to why I embrace marathon running or natural childbirth. But no, it's what we are made for, I think--to identify with the very desperate nature of our souls and see that in doing so we also find their very source of life. In acknowledging a grief we become open to healing. In contemplating the suffering of the Cross and the tomb, we see too the stone that will soon be rolled away.

Another plus, of course, is that you don't have to decorate for Lent. But that's another story.

Holiday/Lenten Reflections

Yesterday was the first day of Easter holidays. Traditionally the first day of the holidays is the worst for me--I have high expectations and spend several days coming down to the earth where my kids are at...then by the end of the week we're all at ground zero and can have fun for a few days before they go back to school. However, yesterday was ok, it was the day before--Palm Sunday--which pushed me to the limit.

For Palm Sunday, the routine at church is different, in that we go up front to get our palm fronds, and then walk round the church a few times with them while singing. Turns out that for a child with Autism this is very difficult. Brian was at home, sleeping off a cold bug, so I was on my own. I had Caleb behind me pretending his palm frond was an airplane (and making the accompanying airplane noises), and Adam beside me hitting his head, crying, and trying to get back to our seat the whole time. I contemplated running out the front door, but we stuck it out. Adam sat on the floor and rocked through the dramatic reading of the Gospel, which was fine. He is, after all, who he is, and we were listening to the story of Jesus being killed for being who He is.

Then we headed to coffee, where it went downhill. I think it was Caleb grabbing my arm with a cup of hot coffee in my hand that started us off, but from that moment on I spent the day arguing with him, having to resort to serious disciplinary measures twice in painful moments of necessity. Argh, I hate those moments, where you have to react instantly and then spend the rest of the day wondering if you did the right thing.

That evening, the choir was singing a few pieces of Lenten music at church. I decided it was crucial that I not only get out of the house, but have some time to reflect on the day and on Lent in peace. The music was beautiful, though terrifyingly difficult for me, and to be honest I spent much of it (hope Dr Morrison doesn't read this!!) mouthing the words and not singing at all! But the silence was therapeutic, and the message about Job reminded me of the point and place of suffering in our lives, not that I could even begin to call my Sunday "suffering". After I got home I still had time to mend hearts with Caleb before he went to sleep, which was truly the sweetest part of the whole day.

I'd like to think that if I sailed through Lent without any crises of soul it wouldn't be what it's supposed to be. I spent the day seriously doubting my ability to be a parent, to help Adam cope with life, to discipline right, to make good decisions, to sing in a choir, to do this thing called Life at all. But the whole point of Job, and Lent, and life, is not that we do things perfectly, but that we are becoming who we are supposed to be. Now that I think about it, Palm Sunday set me up well to already be at ground zero on Monday, and have what turned out to be our best first day of the holidays in a while. So maybe I am learning after all.