Three days in, and I’ve already failed. I’m already struggling with the commitment that I made to myself, failing in spending the time in prayer, reading, writing. Failed in taking advantage of the time I’ve had, the time I’ve lost.
And these are days that are hard. Days when fights and arguments break out, when your soul crumbles, and your heart aches. Days when the children disobey, the dishes pile, the laundry mountain sits, waits, mocking me from its vantage point in the corner. Always so much to do, and do. Days when you are made deeply aware of your own faults, failings, insecurities. These are the days when it is hard to see the path laid before us, blinded by the muck and the mire of the moment.
These are the days, in my failures and failings, that I cling to the cross. I find refuge, it buoys me as I sink. It is the hope, the only hope during the hard days. So I cling and cry out. Fix my eyes upon the cross. Grasp on to the mustard seed of faith.
That is the beauty of grace. In our weakness, our missteps, and mistakes, we are given this gift of forgiveness, and grace to start anew. This holy offering of renewing and reviving us, to grow and transform into who we are called to be.
This Lenten journey of spending intentional time with the Father is already challenging me, as worldly pursuits tempt me, pull me away. I have been praying, but I haven’t been listening. I’ve been asking, pleading, crying out… but not waiting to hear His response. I’ve realized that an hour is a big commitment to have challenged myself with, and that I will probably fail in it more that once over the 40 days. And that an hour is so little to give to the One who created me. But I am so grateful for this gift of grace, that holds my heart in love, and offers me a gentle way. A gentleness that I need to learn to have for myself.