That smudge on your forehead—the dark, gritty residue of burnt palm branches—takes some scrubbing to remove. You might find yourself at the sink, rubbing your skin, only to find a faint shadow still lingers. A little soap and water just won’t do it.
In many ways, our lives feel like that shadow on our forehead on Ash Wednesday. We enter the Lenten season carrying the weight of our regrets, the fog of our worries, and those flat-out mistakes that stain our hearts. We often approach these forty days with a resolve to focus on growth and sacrifice, determined to finally “fix” ourselves. We look out at a hurting world and want to solve its problems, to be the heroes of our own stories, yet we find it so hard to shake off the dust of our own humanity.
We often imagine that what we need is a long, hard, scouring shower—like the ones I used to take after football practice—something powerful and restorative enough to wash away every failure and every anxiety in one intense burst.
But what is truly amazing about the Lenten season is that it doesn’t always offer the dramatic cleansing we think we need. Instead, something more subtle happens. While we are busy thinking about injustice and searching for solutions, a gentle quietness begins to take hold. We become a little more honest with ourselves in the silence. We become a little more present to the life we are actually living, rather than the one we are constantly trying to manage or repair.
Lent is, at its heart, a long and unhurried conversation. It is a time to talk to God about what He would have you do in this world. It is a time to ask how you can serve and where you can love.
But here is the miracle: while you are deep in that conversation, focused on the work ahead, you may not even notice the change occurring within. You may not feel the exact moment the weight shifts. Like a cool, gentle breeze on a humid afternoon, grace begins to move. Without the harsh scrubbing or the frantic effort, that breeze quietly lifts the dust and sand that has been sticking to you and weighing you down.
By the time the conversation ends, the air is clearer. The stains haven’t been forced away; they have been breathed away. You are left not just clean, but at peace—ready to walk into the world not by your own strength, but carried by that same gentle wind.
Webb, This is so beautiful and comforting….I felt myself breathe more peacefully as I read it. Very soothing and centering for the soul. ❤️
Missy, thanks. I’m so glad it helped, especially on this difficult day. There will be lots of comfort available over the next few days, lots of hugs and terrific words, but nothing like the Peace that God will bring you. We are all there for you. Love. Webb.