Tending the Garden

Yesterday was not only the 100th day of school, it was also Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent. Jack and I went to church in the morning and, for the first time, I had the ash cross marked on my forehead. I've never been a liturgy loving type of churchgoer, but Chloé chose an Episcopal church for us to attend, so I'm learning; trying to grow.

The crazier life seems to get, the easier it is to take comfort in the history and mystery of all these rituals. An individual learns to be so self-enclosed in this modern world, and church is one last bastion of true community: a large family bound by foibles and fidelity. And accountability.

Which gets me back to the ashes thing: why did I do it? To be reminded that it's good to be humble, great to be forgiven, and wise to make occasional sacrifices that remind us how good we've really got it. As the rector said, we come from the earth, we return to the earth, and while we're here, we have to work the earth. The ashes tell everyone else that I'm trying to remember that, at least for the next forty days.

My butcher asks, "What are you giving up for Lent?" and my dentist exclaims, "Oh, thanks for reminding me to go to church tonight!" A few people cast sidelong glances. James just says, "Did you know you've got something on your face?" And I reply,"Yeah, honey, I'm tending the garden..."