I hate to slow down!

I believe in Lent. That doesn’t necessary mean I observe it particularly well.

Some years I’m so clear and faith-aligned -- I move deeper into disciplined listening, and I drink every drop of the readings I’ve chosen, and I wrestle with all my demons, in preparation to feel every pang of Holy Week and rise in ecstasy at Easter. And it’s all sincere. Don’t choke, y’all.

This year, I seem to be challenging Lent to find me and chase me down. I still haven’t surrendered to anything. I definitely still have my head up my a**, which is pretty obvious by my “effort vs. outcome” ratio. If I am drowning in all my interests, desires, and commitments, there’s really only one person who can do anything about that. I’m mature enough not to flail around and yell, “Somebody save me!” but apparently not wise enough to swim out of the current. Which means… I must be deriving some benefit from being overextended and ineffective. Hmmm. We’ll have to look at that.

There are plenty of people who are genuinely beset by circumstances that threaten to crush them. Right now, I am not one of them (unless you count hubris). The more I do my own thing, the less perceptive I am of what God is doing today, and the less responsive I am to go where I am called to be of any value. And you know, really, the more useless I am.

Lent – the antidote to futility. I figure I’ve already wasted a week and a half. Just how much futility does a girl need?