My Lenten Observation This Year

“You are always rushing and irritated.”

The words from my car radio jarred me out of a busy day hurriedly dropping off and picking up kids while knocking items off my to-do list. The story on air was from an adult daughter caring for her elderly mother, and she was repeating her mother’s words. “I’m sorry,” the daughter said, “I’m going to work on not being rushed or irritated.” “And I will work on it, too,” her mother replied.

I felt indicted and am still thanking God for the chance hearing of that story as I rushed from one thing to another, wholly caught up in taking care of other people’s needs. I could no longer ignore the irritation that I realized constantly moved through me all day, every day.

I’m in a sort of sabbatical season from parish ministry as I live into my sandwich generation role—caring for my children while also helping my elderly father. After the unexpected death of my mother, living 13 hours away from home wasn’t feasible anymore, so I resigned from my beloved parish, packed up my family, and moved back to my hometown. My decision was proved the right one when, about a year after moving to be closer to my father, he became functionally blind.

Stepping aside from parish ministry to focus on caretaking is a privilege for which I am usually thankful. There are many blessings of this new life of mine—more time to spend with my children, time to volunteer at their schools and take them to activities and lessons. We now have weekends for family activities that never quite fit into a Sunday – Thursday work life. While my children are in school, I spend time with my father, driving him to appointments and errands. I never worry about equally important work getting missed elsewhere.

I particularly looked forward to being on the other side of the altar during Lent, getting the chance to attend church solely as a worshipper, having time to do all the things I’d preached about and taught in small groups and Sunday forums, not pulled away by attending to the many details of running a parish. I especially looked forward to regaining the slow, quiet Lent I had experienced before ordination and parenthood. I planned out the new disciplines and practices I would take on, and how I would use all the great resources I shared with others for years with my own children.

Instead, life took over.

Rather than proceeding through my day in a state of peace and calm, I fell prey to something anecdotally referred to as “hurry sickness,” a driving need to make the most of every second to maximize productivity through multi-tasking and juggling. This is a state that, when working, becomes a source of pride for so many of us. In striving for efficiency above all else, however, we often neglect or forget important things—even while we are in their midst.

That day in the car, when I heard my own daily demeanor described in the words of that elderly mother talking to her caretaking daughter, I became fully aware of the great folly of my ways.

In my rushing, in my hurrying, what version of me were my children and father, getting? The loving, kind, nurturing daughter and mother I strive to be, the kind who takes time to revel in the everyday joys of this short time we have together in this world? Or do they get the harried, frustrated me who feels spread thin and resentful for managing multiple calendars, tracking class parties and school spirit days, testing and appointments, so many medical appointments? I knew the answer. And I also knew that the small, daily experiences of me and with me will be my gift to my children that will help form them into who they will be for the rest of their lives.

Howard Thurman writes in Meditations of the Heart, “If we are good to the child and to other people, he will get from us directly a conception of goodness more profound and significant than all the words we may use about goodness as an ideal. If we lose our temper and give way to hard, brittle words which we fling around and about, the child learns more profoundly and significantly than the formal teaching about self-control which may be offered him.”

Thurman’s words resonated with me so much when I read them that I put them in a note on my phone to refer to for regular reminders. The Gospel my children, my world, will learn from me is not the one I preach from the pulpit, or write about, but the one I reflect in all the small moments of this life. The work is in making sure those are all the same.

So, for Lent this year, I am fasting from rushing. I’m working hard to be present in the moment with my family, enjoying the sounds of their voices, and laughter, rather than being distracted by my list of everything that needs to happen before bedtime. This Lent I’m embracing the discipline of presenting to the world the peace and the calm that is only available to me through Jesus Christ, taking the time to slow down and show love to my neighbor as I walk alongside him to the cross, and to resurrection.

At least, I’m trying.

And whenever, inevitably, I fail and fall into the sin of prioritizing busy-ness over loving kindness, I will repent and return to the Lord.