Thursday, February 26, 2009

ashes, ashes (we all fall down.)

She hoped to be wise and reasonable in time; but alas! alas! She must confess to herself that she was not wise yet.—Jane Austen

Nothing is more frightening than a fear you cannot name.—Cornelia Funke

How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.—Annie Dillard

And now it is Lent, a name I always thought was funny as a kid. It was like having a season called “Borrowed.”

There must be some intriguing and brilliant metaphor about what is lent to us during this time before Easter, but I don’t have the mental stamina to puzzle it out. Fill in the blanks as you choose.

Lent always surprises me by coming earlier than I expect. When I can catch it in time, I try to give up something.

I started this in high school, after a conversation with my very wise mother. We were talking about the practice of giving up certain foods—meat, chocolate—during Lent, something that I could never quite figure out. At one point, she said Wouldn’t it be good to throw off bitterness for a season? Or envy, or hatred? Wouldn’t those be good sacrifices?

That stuck with me, and now when I toss something overboard, I try to take stock first. What’s been weighing me down? Preying on my mind and heart?

It’s the day after Ash Wednesday, and now I know what I’m giving up. It’s a difficult thing, giving up something intangible, because it can creep back in when you aren’t looking for it. Nevertheless, I’m giving up fear for Lent. It has no place in a world where Easter has come, but I am a persistently fear-ridden person.

One of the charming side-effects of having a novelist’s brain: I can spin off a thousand reasons to be afraid at any moment—fantastic when I’m getting my characters motivated from A to B. Rotten when I get to sit with my churning mind in a quiet house. (Wouldn’t it be so much nicer to spin off joy?)

In fact, the only time I can remember being fearless was when I was the sole volunteer to try pâté in French 1 class. So I am occasionally plucky when it comes to food. (By the way, yesterday’s two pies turned out spectacularly. Really. You have to shut your eyes when you eat them, they’re that good.)

I don’t know how these days will go. How do I cut fear out when the reasons for being afraid are all around me? When any day could turn out badly, when every moment has its uncertainties? The obvious answer is that it isn’t up to me. It doesn’t come from my strength, this being fearless.

I’ve written it on my hand—I always love it in the Bible when something is written down. Written on hands, written on hearts, written in stone. So it catches my eye during the day, and I check my heart. Am I afraid?

What does it mean, what does it mean to be fearless?—jl

Posted by Jenn Langefeld on 02/26 at 07:16 PM
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