Fragility - It's You I Need

And, you thought you could get rid of me that easily. Well, it's not happening. I know. I know. You needn't remind me that I've been a bit lackadasical since the Lenten Experiment whipped my butt just a few short weeks ago.

"A bit lackadasical?"

"C'mon - downright lazy, I'd say."

Looking way back to sometime mid-February when the Lenten Experiment launched its monumental work in my life, I made the crazy boast about making the habit of writing every day would be easy once I mastered it for the 40 days of Lent.

As expected, this has not come to pass. I've shown my true colors, that most unpleasant of characteristics--fragility. And, that monster of all monsters - unfaithfulness. My inability to form a habit.

At least I am comforted by the fact that I'm probably not alone in this. As humans, we are all fragile, vulnerable. As fragile as a wind-blown tender blade of first Spring grass.

Then looking out over a well-tended, manicured landscape of Kentucky Bluegrass, its obvious that that single shoot wasn't meant to go it alone. Solitary aloneness doesn't come easy for the grasses. They need the stability, strength of one another to fight the winds. Intertwining roots and worms - rich, musky earth - bonding, shared experiences.

Growing up wild and untamed, yet rooted and grounded. Full of promise . . . alive and green.

It's YOU I need. It's friends. It's family. It's enemies. It's a wealth of ancient words with emblazoned meanings. It's Jesus.

Lenten Experiment - Day 39 (A Day of Darkness)

I'm always amazed each morning as I wake up to the view outside my kitchen windows. An easterly view means most mornings I can experience the wonder of specatular light shows that many people call "dawn" as the sun makes its appearance from behind the large hill across the road. Today, misty fog and droplets of rain permeate the blackened hillsides around our home. The spacious carpeted field rolling out before the window, gives way to more fields and bushy tree sentinels guarding the streams and creeks. Then just beyond, the treetops are crowned by the barren limestone hills. These hills are now charcoaled from the recent Spring burning.

It's a most appropriate symbol for the darkness of the day before Easter. As I imagine the events of the first century, it's only fitting that today would be a day filled with regret, doubts, sorrow, fear and the overpowering stench of death.

The annual cycle of grass burning brings pungency, dense smoke to the area, ribbons of fire across the night skies, but ultimately and most importantly, it brings new life to the prairie--germinating the prairie grass seeds and revitalizing their growth across the hills. Life and death - the circle of the prairie.

So is Easter--the ultimate completion of the life and death cycle prophesied from the Ancient of Days.

A new dawn is approaching - it is imminent, certain - reassuring is the promise of Easter morning.

The Lord's lovingkindnesses never cease; His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is His faithfulness. (Lam 3:22, 23 NASB)