Lenten seeds

I'll be honest. I'm not ready for Lent. I feel like I just got through Advent and Christmas and I really need a few more days. But that's not how it works. Apparently.

Lent starts today. And I guess since the word Lent comes from a word that means spring, it's appropriate that it feels like spring out. It's that time of year in Los Angeles when it's incredibly hot during the day (90 degrees yesterday) and then cool at night. This morning, with the windows open all night, the house was chilly. But such a good chilly. That chilly where you soak it in and don't even dare think of getting a sweater or slippers. I love that chilly. I love spring. So, in essence, I suppose, I love Lent. And I really do.

I love the season of preparedness. I love the idea of getting ready for Easter. Of being focused on Jesus, on God, for a specific amount of time. Really focused. Like in my every day life. Not just on Sunday. Not just when I'm feeling anxious at night and reach for the Bible that's hidden under the dust ruffle of my bed.

It's true, I'm not usually so focused on God. I'm usually focused on how many more steps it will take me to get to my daily goal of 10,000. Or if we have the chicken out to unthaw for dinner. Or whether or not I've got a good ending for the second act of my pilot. Sure, I pray. Sure, I say thanks. Sure, I try to act out my faith on a daily basis. But during Lent, just as it is during Advent, there's a difference. There's a specific purpose to the focus. There's an event that we're working up to. A deadline. And I work well under pressure. I work best when I have a clock on me. I am a writer, after all.

In the Methodist church Lent is about reflection. It's about self-examination. And that can be really hard for me. Really scary. I'm the first to admit I'm floundering right now. The past twelve months have been life-changing for me. Literally and figuratively. And the hits just keep on coming.

I recently found out that my job, the one I've been doing for eight years, is over. I likely won't teach for that university again. And that brought with it a huge mixture of emotions. And as I apply for new jobs, I have to make decisions. I have to figure out what's right for me right now, what's right for me in the future, and ultimately I have to try and figure out what the future might look like. At the moment? It's way too fuzzy, almost like the seed heads of the dandelions in my front yard are blocking my view.

The grass, or rather the weedy ground cover, in my yard is green. It's bright and enjoying the new life it got after some rain last week. However, I know that it won't be green for long. I know that just as the dandelions in my yard turned to seed this week, the grass will go soon too. And I think about my life in that same sense this week, this Ash Wednesday, this beginning of Lent. I feel like I'm preparing to turn into seed. But for what? I do not know. I never know. He knows. I do not. This angers me. I try to deal. The best I can. It's hard. Oh, so hard.

But I know that the seed I am now will eventually become something bigger, something better. I have faith. I have faith that the watering I'm doing right now, that the greening, the life I have, is all preparing me for the wonderful thing that will come.

A new job? Hopefully. A new project? Maybe. Every day I take it one step at a time. I apply for jobs. I write scripts. I submit material. I make connections. I volunteer. I cook good food. I walk. I breathe. I sleep. I take care of me. I water my soil. It's all I can do. It's all I have control of. And of course I worry. I worry so much. I wonder what if and I cry what now. I fear what if this is the end. I think about what could have been. I come up with worst case scenario as if I were writing the next Michael Bay movie. I'm over qualified for that with what I imagine. I worry so much. But also? I try not to. Because Matthew 6 tells me to stop: 

And why worry about your clothes? Look at the field lilies! They don’t worry about theirs. Yet King Solomon in all his glory was not clothed as beautifully as they. And if God cares so wonderfully for flowers that are here today and gone tomorrow, won’t he more surely care for you, O men of little faith?

I am such, such a man of little faith. I have just the tiniest bit. Just the smallest speck. But thankfully, it's enough. Because God is so much more.

I do not know what tomorrow will bring. But I'll remember that Matthew reminds me that I won't add a single hour to my life by worrying about. So I'll hold my head up high, I'll put on my best smile, and tonight at the Ash Wednesday service I'll think about preparing for Easter, for Jesus' resurrection. And I'll apply for new jobs. And I'll write new stories. And I'll act confidently and eventually, I won't have to act. I'll be confident. It might not be in an hour, or a day, but the time will come. The time will come when the seed will become something so beautiful...

Guest Post

From Angela on Monday, February 1st:

So this morning during homeroom I cried. Right there in the room with all 30 of my 7th graders. And they were good tears. I cried because a student I had last year had submitted a gratitude note to be read on the morning announcements and it was how grateful he was for me. He said that I make JBMS a safe place to be and that I teach all of my students more than English. It was the sweetest thing. I think I cried because of his words and the email I got yesterday from a former student now living in Texas who said he learned so much in my class that he was now taking high school English classes in 8th grade. Some days I barely make it out of the school alive. Some days I wonder if I teach them anything at all. And then some days I cry because of reminders like these from two of my boys. Today was a good day.

Sometimes a no is a yes

As often happens in the early winter months of January and February, I am sick. A head cold. No big whoop. But...it has slowed my Year of Yes. Tremendously.

Last week I kept it together for a few days. I thought I was getting over my sniffles. But alas, it was just the beginning of something bigger. And I had to spend a long stretch on the couch. I'm getting better at this. Sure I was bummed, I couldn't hitch a ride with Angela to San Diego and hang out in a nice hotel on the water for two days. I was all excited to walk on the beach and write with the waves in the background but no.

Instead I laid on the couch while she was gone, watched a lot of Netflix, ate soup and oranges and tried not to cough too much. It was fine. It was what it was and I was thankful to get lots of rest.

But then I had to say no to several invitations. A movie with friends. A dance class. And I got sad. I got sad because this was supposed to be my year of yes, god dammit! And here I was saying no!

But then I remembered what Ms. Rhimes wrote in her book, "Say yes to saying no." And I reconciled reality with that. Yes, I wanted to go to the movies Saturday night. Yes, I was excited to be asked by this friend who'd never asked this of me before. But was that best for me? No. By 9:30 Saturday night my eyes were half closed and I had a thick layer of Vicks on my chest. I would not have been good company. So I was saying yes to saying no. And I felt okay about it. Good about it even.

As I've been thinking so much about saying yes this year I have to remember to say yes to me too. I have to say yes to uninterrupted blocks of time to work. I have to say yes to making the time for exercise. I have to say yes to the $18.39 bag of apples because I love them, they're the best tasting, and even if they do cost an arm and a leg, I'm worth it.

Saying no is hard. Shonda also talks in her book about how no is a complete sentence. No. I need to work on that. I need to be steadfast in my nos just as I am with my yeses. And the best part about the year of yes? It's continual. It's a process. It's not a one and done deal. I get to keep learning and trying and figuring out what's right for me. We all do. That yes and that no have to be our truest answers. Nothing else matters.