Dear Mr. Smith,
I'm feeling... deflated.
This is the 7th straight day of sickness in the house. Seven days of fevers, runny noses, coughing, complaining, lethargy. Cleaning up unmentionable yuckiness when someone didn't make to where they should, cleaning it up again, and again. Administering medication, ginger ale, cold washcloths, and love. Seven days of waiting for the other shoe to drop, then watching the first one drop again, and then both shoes dropping over and over again. Day seven of hoping this is the last of it, then realizing it isn't, and coming to terms with the long road ahead. And it seems there was hardly a reprieve from the last round.
Many bodies make for long recoveries.
All this illness has made for an interesting Lent.
I had visions of reflective prayer, self-examination and diligent work, which all would have resulted in a deeper spiritual reality... and a super clean house, to welcome Jesus again at Easter.
Oh I've been praying alright. It's just that it's been less of the rosary-in-the-peaceful-quiet-of-the-adoration-chapel variety, and more of the Lord-please-help-me-get-through-this-day variety.
Which, come to think of it, is actually kind of Lent-ish, isn't it?
I mean, what is Lent? It's a period of fasting and penance. A chance to prepare for the Crucifixion, and Resurrection, of our Lord. A time to take up our cross, to test our strength and our faith. To unite our suffering with Christ's. To pray, to abstain, to give; and in the process, remember how much we need Him.
I've done that.
So maybe this Lent has been just what it should be.