I woke up to what was supposed to be Spring Equinox (or just Spring for those who don’t necessarily abide by astronomy terms). What my eyes met at the window wasn’t sunshine and newly bloomed flowers, but snow.
Another snowfall. It can be easy to shake my fist at such a sight – which I did – but as I stepped in and through the slow downfall of flakes, I recognized the slowness of the season I am still in. I thought about the Lenten season itself, and how it currently feels as if physical sickness is thriving. I feel quite repetitive in writing about this again, but I think it is only honest to write from where my heart is now.
As a Christian, I am taught that the Lenten season points us to Jesus, His great perfection and those dark 40 days and nights in the wilderness, and His great sacrifice that followed to reveal that perfection. Lenten is a realization of perfect life in him, despite the broken bodies – our own wilderness – we inhabit. How, when the cold won’t break and the sounds of a eulogy begin, Jesus is in the midst of it all. His Spirit is whispering into us and over us, sharing in the heartache we feel.
In this honesty, I don’t know if I would want to spend this Lenten season any other way. If it were instead spent on the mountaintops, I’m not so sure I would take the time to reflect on what it means to be Whole in Him. I have found myself praying for healing in every regard – physical, emotional, relational – and I see the shape it is taking in my heart, mind, and soul. Ultimately, my expectation for warmth is folding into what it means to be expectant of healing and wholeness, too.
And it is only through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus that I can sit in this expectation.