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...