I’ve lived through fifty-two Lenten seasons, and now that we are celebrating Easter, I am taking some time to look back and reflect.
The first twelve Lents essentially meant learning to remember not to eat meat on Fridays.
The next twelve? I either committed to giving up something that might benefit me physically in the long run – chocolate, soda, sweets – or I didn’t commit to the practice at all.
The twelve years after that looked more like the prodigal son’s journey. I was coming back to my Father after wallowing in the pig sty, feeling lowly and unworthy of His love, yet desperate to find my way home.
And He welcomed me.
Once He took my shame away, I fumbled through Lent with the religious education of my middle-school years but the grown-up desires of a newly converted heart. I wanted more of Him, I just didn’t quite know how to live that yet.
The next twelve years were different.
I found myself immersed in the season, my overwhelming sense of apathy exposed. I was desperate for change in my life, willing to give up almost anything if it meant finding my way to a glorious, freeing Easter.
Those were hard years.
Years marked by dark nights in marriage, cancer, flood, and deep loss. I lived through what I can only describe as my Job season. And because of that, I appreciate his story in a way I never could before.
Still, God carried me through.
Not only through, but beyond. He gave me more to love again, more to do for Him, and a deeper desire to soak in His Word.
These past few Lenten seasons have looked different once again. I’ve made it a point to dig deeper. To slow down. To listen.
I have a restless heart; I’ve come to realize that.
For me, Lent has become a kind of annual shedding of skin. A season where I ask the Lord to strip away what no longer serves Him, and to show me the path He longs for me to take in the months ahead.
“I will give you a new heart and place a new spirit within you. I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh.” — Ezekiel 36:26
This Lent I focused each day on the word He has for me, taking it in like a fine glass of wine, savoring the boldness and fullness of the message.
Some days the blessing arrived wrapped in joy.
Other days it came packaged in suffering.
Either way, I’m still learning to receive it.
As I find myself entering what may be the next set of twelve years, I sense something new stirring, a quiet confidence in the call God has placed on my life. It may take the next eight years for that call to fully unfold, but I’m no longer afraid of the journey.
Because every Lent leaves me a little lighter.
A little freer.
Having shed some of the fruitlessness that once weighed me down, I step into Easter able to recognize the blessings of each day more and more.
So let me ask you:
What was your lent?
Wherever you found yourself – wandering, returning, suffering, searching, or finally listening – embrace the journey.
God is calling you somewhere. To new life.
And Easter is here.