On giving up things.

Today is the twenty-eighth day of Lent. I know that not because i've been counting, but because i read it in a book somewhere. In this period of the church calendar, those living in developed countries give up Special Things that hold their heart. Things like chocolate or television. And by giving up their daily allotment of Special Things, they create room for Jesus. Three-hundred and forty-five days of the year they fill themselves up with all sorts of Special Things and, in doing so, forget that they are, in fact, terrible people.

People and books tell them that they need something bigger; that these Special Things will not satisfy them any longer than it takes to taste a piece of chocolate or watch a television program, but they do them anyway. They forget. The way they fill their lives with Special Things is like putting scotch tape over a wound.

I believe that i must feel needy. I believe that my crack-addicted neighbor should make me hurt inside, and that if i forget to do something that i should feel bad about it. In comparison to the beauty of Canada's Lake Louise, i should feel small and ugly, and when the shadows of night creep after the setting sun, i should fear for my life.

I believe that to feel able to drive in my working, insured, job-supported car to purchase a wide-screen television and Wii whenever i would want would be the same as living a lie. For in such a state, i do not feel needy. I would feel able to cover any need with a containter of Butter Brickle Ice Cream.

And so, i believe in Lent. Not the scotch tape kind of Lent, but the frightening kind of Lent that tells me i am not worth saving from any sort of harm.

But that He still will.