We kicked off Lent yesterday. Ashes on the forehead. Ancient liturgy. Pieces of Mardi-Gras beads still lying on the street.
The next 40 days are considered a journey—often through one’s self. We’ll see self-portraits of beauty and pockets of loathing. All part of our inner landscape.
Today, I stuffed discernment into my travel bag. The quality of being able to grasp and comprehend what is obscure.
Heavens to Betsy! Haven’t you been with people who “just don’t get it?” Of course, all of you have backpacks of discernment as proven by your answers to the Would I Tell My Friend About Her Husband Test.
But me…??? Well, I’ve been known to fire off a complaint or opinion before I collect all the information. Like the guy I scowled at because I thought he was stumbling drunk at the basketball game.
And then Cowboy Fan told me that he’d seen the guy’s wife flailing her arms excitedly and stick an elbow solidly into the poor guy’s eye socket. I happened to see him as he was weaving his way to the bathroom.
More ashes on my forehead.
This may be a long Lenten journey.