Lent Reflections

To my sisters in women's group:

I wish I had something amazing and profound to share with you; I've read so many Lent reflections from many of you week after week, and have been wowed and touched by the things that God has been teaching you.  They have given me cause to praise Him for holding the universe together and deigning to be so active in each of our lives, patiently teaching and guiding according to each one's need.

 

I don't have anything earth-shattering to share.  On the contrary, all I have to offer is a sense of greater humility and dependence that has overcome me during this Lent season.  On Ash Wednesday of this year, a law school classmate of mine passed away at age 32 after spending several months in ICU following a terrible fall.  While Adam and I weren't close, we went to church together in Cambridge for two years, so he was definitely a fixture in my memory, and it struck me as both horrific and sobering that five years after we graduated, he was gone.  So, right away at the beginning of Lent, God placed before me a tremendous sense of the frailty, brevity, and unpredictability of life.  At the same time, however, He also comforted me with an equally tremendous sense of joy and relief that because Adam is His, Adam has been celebrating true Life in heaven since Ash Wednesday.  How appropriate.

 

The remainder of Lent has been a blur of work-related hours, anxiety, and stress.  There has been little joy in the process.  Much of the time I have been alternating between gulping fluid through a gushing hose, batting away nightmares about work, and moping.  I can attest, though, that through it all, God has proven to be a strong haven, a sure shelter.  These past several weeks, prayers (my own, and the prayers of others on my behalf) have been a lifeline, and worship at church has been true rest.  I have knelt at God's feet, hands and heart open, seeking help because I knew I would break apart mentally without it.  I have acknowledged His sovereignty over all things--including my work--because that's the only way I can make sense of this experience.  I have noticed and celebrated His "little" gifts and blessings (a good night's sleep! snow! a good conversation!).  And I have found seeds of hope and comfort in reminders throughout that God is my boss, and not man.  In these ways, God has made His presence and my dependence on Him all the more abundant and real during this trying season.

And not just that, but for all my lack of focus on Lent, this week God is taking the pains to drive home how it all ties to Jesus.  I'm ashamed to admit, but I'll acknowledge it:  it's only in the past few days that the cross has started to enter my mind.  It struck me during the Jesus Storybook Bible segment this past week that, while I often revel in my relationship with God--and indeed, I lean upon it for dear life--I don't often consider the sacrifice that made it possible.  I don't value the fact that for me to enjoy this freedom, rest, comfort, and connection with God, someone holy and perfect had to live...and then die--be as dead as Adam is now--for me and for the past, present, and future darkness in my heart.  The past few days I've been pondering it more, and I'm asking God to help me understand even a bit of what the cross really means.  I have a pretty good understanding of the reward Jesus purchased for me--freedom, and life--but I want to have a greater appreciation of what it cost Him.  

And that's pretty much where I am right now.  If this feels abrupt, it's because it is:  God is still writing out the lesson, and we're sitting on a comma right now.  The good thing is, though, that I'm broken down to a place in which I am finally still, I know He is God, and I'm straining to listen.

Love,

E. Squire