Rebirth

Last Wednesday marked the beginning of Lent--the 40 days prior to Easter--for Christians. Observers give up substances, foods, or activities that separate them from God.  They also spend time in reflection and sacred study.  The idea is to examine our lives--to learn what it means for each of us to be more Godlike, arriving at the holiest of Christian holidays ready to metaphorically start our lives anew.

Sadly, many miss the purpose.  "I'll give up smoking for Lent."

"I didn't know you smoked."

"Oh, I don't, so it will be easy to give up."

Lent isn't supposed to be easy.  It is supposed to be an annual reset, moving us to our higher selves. While Lent is a Christian practice, it is not unique.  Jews mark Passover, which commemorates their escape from bondage in Egypt to return to freedom in God's promised land for them.  Lent mirrors as we escape our bondage to bad habits in order to find our way to God's promise for us.

Although each is unique to its culture, the practice of marking the seasonal spring with observance of human rebirth is millennia old.  Some may say that Lent isn't a lot different than marking the New Year and New Year's Resolutions, but to me it contrasts starkly, not the least of which is that many New Year's Resolutions are forgotten within the day.  In Lent I am pledged to practice for 40 days.

"Practice" is the appropriate word.  "Discipline" might be another, signifying that we are disciples or students.  Lent is also marked by the personal reflection, which for me is a bit like peeling an onion. Each day I, the student, explore a different layer.

For many years, I have given up sugar for Lent.  I am seriously addicted, and nothing distracts me more from my God-self than sugar.  Giving up sugar (and consequently alcohol) is a no-brainer for me.  Each year for a few days, I experience cravings and even shakes as I give up sugar, but by now, five days into Lent, I am feeling the freedom of having it out of my system.

A couple days ago I actually began to crave exercise instead, and yesterday I ventured out in the cold and snow for a long walk.  I loved it.  My body loved it more.  This morning I walked again, although I did so indoors to avoid the treacherous sleet-encrusted sidewalks of Washington. After a lunch that reflected my healthier eating habits, I actually sat and read.   Then I wanted to meditate, which brought me to writing today.  As if each good habit naturally led to consciousness of yet another and another.

My meditation did more than return me to my computer to write.  I found myself questioning what I spend time on and the level of stress I experience from trying to keep so many balls in the air.  I actually laughed when I thought of forgetting to bring an activity sheet to a presentation I gave on Thursday.  Although I expect I will be harshly judged for this oversight, it wasn't the end of the world, and we were able to complete the activity in another way.  By contrast, letting exercise drop off my schedule for much of the week has had significant long- and short-term consequences.

I'd like to think that I will arrive at Easter pledged to really have learned and practiced my more conscious way of living so that I really will have a rebirth.  History indicates that will not be the case. I've actually continued without sugar until my birthday in May one year and all the way until Christmas another, but there is always a piece of chocolate tantalizing me.

But, what if this year, I actually did allow myself to live my truth?  Would staying off of sugar be like the domino that didn't fall and knock the others down? Would I keep exercising and meditating? Would I write this blog more regularly again? Would I be more like God envisions my potential?

That truly would be the potential of rebirth.

Keeping My Word When It's Not Easy

We are a month into Lent now, and since about the first week, my pledge to give up sugar, and by extension alcohol, has been pretty easy. There was one evening when I had a friend for dinner and a movie when I really would like to have joined in a glass of wine with dinner and some chocolate truffle cake afterwards, but once I was in the rhythm of coming home and fixing my unsweetened iced tea, I just haven't thought about it much.

That was until yesterday. Yesterday I spent a day in intense design work with several colleagues from my organization, assembled from all over the country. By the end if the day, we were brain-weary, hungry, and thirsty. After we dropped our computers and other work things at our hotel, we piled into two cars and headed down to the port for dinner and libation.

When we arrived, a pulsating band played old rock and roll to a spring break crowd. Most of our group headed directly to the bar while one went to get us on the waiting list for a table. More than any time since the start of Lent, I wanted to join my colleagues in a celebratory drink , recognizing our long day and hard work. Instead, I joined a smaller group in search of a restaurant that could accommodate our large party in less than two hours.

When we were all seated, another round was purchased. I was tempted, but ordered iced tea, along with two other teatotalers. But when the waitress delivered the drinks, my resolve once again wavered. I took a deep breath, and just as I was most tempted, I heard a "still small voice" within me say, "It's not supposed to be easy."

Of course, it's not supposed to be easy; if it was easy, I probably gave up the wrong thing. So I enjoyed my iced tea and the pleasure of being in integrity with my word.


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