I had high hopes for Lent this year – and I had a great plan which never ventured past the first step, solely because my particular areas of work have been a very low priority in my overall work and life recently. It’s a repeated story: a lot of my great plans have fallen apart over the last six months – which i can’t regret because other more important things have taken their place – but it does make for dull reading on a blog.
It’s lovely to see other people planning to do lovely things. i am looking on jealously. I miss making things. While i’m always inspired by what other people do, something in me changes when i make something happen myself. i miss that.
But, truthfully, it feels like lent has been going for weeks here: the stripping away of the known, the uncertainty of all that’s sure, the resilience of human-ness when it lives [and dies] in its fragility. And we have been making things around here in this season, just not the things that make for interesting reading – we’ve been making friendships stronger and places safer, we’ve been sitting on the thin, thin edges of life and hope and love, and practising living compassion. Who’d bother writing poetry when you get to do that instead?
So, no promises for what happen here in lent. There are things I’d love to do, but i feel like I’ve broken almost every promise recently except for the ones about being human. I’m just going to see what happens, and let that be enough.