40 Days and 40 Nights

I should really look at a calendar more often. Although I know that Fat Tuesday always falls on a Tuesday and Ash Wednesday is always on a Wednesday, I never realized that Ash Wednesday falls on Valentine's Day this year. And this is the year I've chosen to give up sugar for Lent. Fortunately, Neal bought me a potted plant so crisis averted there. I'll just save these chocolate-covered marshmallows for Easter.

I was Catholic once, for about 45 minutes (or 6 months, whatever). I was engaged to a Catholic (with a puritanical mother who probably regretted not becoming a nun) and because he wanted our marriage to be recognized by the Catholic Church, off I went to convert from the Southern-Baptist-with-occasional-Buddhist-practices that I had been identifying with since high school. But even in the Baptist churches, the congregation was often encouraged to "give up" something for Lent, in the spirit of honoring the ultimate sacrifice Jesus made for us and all that, I suppose. So, one year when I was particularly destitute I gave up traveling. One year when I was between boyfriends I gave up sex. One year when I was training for a half-marathon I gave up chocolate. The point is, I think I was missing the point - albeit intentionally.

Sacrificing something is hard and I've always been a "treat yo self" kind of girl (a mixed blessing that resulted from spending so much time with my grandparents as a Wee Ally). And I don't think I truly understood sacrifice until Neal went active duty, we lost a child and then had a child. As it turns out, sacrifice is hard, but it has been worth it every. single. time. There has always been a moment, right before I can see just the faintest glimmer of light at the end of that tunnel, that I think FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY, I CANNOT DO THIS ANYMORE. And then, in the darkest moment right before I lose hope, I see a tiny speck of light. And when I emerge on the other side, I have actually grown stronger because it didn't, as they say, kill me.

I not only appreciate intermittent sacrifice now, I actually crave it. And, oddly enough, 40 days is the ideal amount of time to really feel the effect of giving up something. I'm certainly not one to interpret the Bible literally (I don't even believe in Hell as a fire and brimstone kind of joint or the Second Coming as a rapturous moment with angels and trumpets), but I always kind of marvel at how perfectly some of its stories seem to guide and challenge us, eternally. It 's the same bewilderment I feel as when, time and time again, math appears so painstakingly perfect in nature. Like there is no way this is a coincidence or an accident.

My ideas on sacrifice for Lent were challenged during a sermon by my mom's pastor a few years ago. He encouraged us to add something for Lent. Whether we offered grace and forgiveness more freely or gave our time and resources more generously, whatever it was, we were asked to add something to our lives so that, in turn, we may add to the lives of others.

So now Lent is extra complicated. Do I sacrifice or do more? Or both? This year, the Year of Living More With Less, I'm choosing both, ironically. Three goals, 40 days.

I've eaten a lot of sugar in the past 2 months. While we hurry up and wait for orders, we are expected to be patient. I've become significantly more patient since Blue was born but even so, I almost hit my limit last Friday. So I've eaten anything that was covered in chocolate, as well as the dregs from the Halloween bucket. I've only refused one dessert and that was a pan of black bean brownies I made last week (the recipe called them fudgy, I would call them one notch up from pudding). My legs have started to swell, I broke out in hives on my stomach and I have a zit on my lip. I'm basically 20 minutes away from insulin shock. No. more. sugar. I don't know what I'll do instead. Maybe hide in the closet and do yoga instead of stuffing my face with Swedish fish. But I will do this. If only because hives on your stomach is surprisingly uncomfortable.

I will also KonMari the crap out of this house. I haven't read the book but I have read about 10 blogs on what I need to do. Sort by category, hold each item in my hand and ask myself if it's necessary, useful and sparks joy and then thank and purge the joyless stuff, organize what's left. This has taken some people 6-9 months. I don't have that long. So my plan is to complete one sub-category per day. Marie Kondo suggests sorting and purging in silence, so you can hear the item speak to you. Half-day Kindergarten means that each item is going to have to speak a little louder over Blue's new song about the poop emoji and what he loves about each of his stuffed animals. But we'll get through it.

Lastly, my addition. I'm going to treat each person as I would want to be treated. This is really hard for an only child. It's hard for our 5 year old but, shockingly, it's hard at 39, too. That means that when I'm on Facebook and I have something to say to someone who believes that immigrants should go back to where they came from, I'm going to stop, take a breath and think about how I would want to be treated before firing off a reply that includes some statistic about how we are all pretty much immigrants. I will still give that statistic, I just won't call them an ill-informed, racist idiot when I do it. But, more mundanely, it means that I will stop and think about how I would want to be greeted after a long day at work, how I want to be treated if I was the cashier at Target, the realtor for our house, our son. It's the Golden Rule for a reason and I think it's the ultimate standard for living. It's embarrassingly simple yet largely ignored. If Mr. Rogers and/or Jesus aren't coming back any time soon, this should be the expectation of ourselves in the meantime.

I'm always interested to know what others are doing in recognition of Lent. And if you aren't Catholic, why do you still participate? We're in this together. And I didn't give up alcohol (at least not red wine, it is heart healthy, after all) so cheers to us! May we see the sunrise on Easter morning and find that we have become slightly better versions of ourselves.