Lent typically begins for me as an earnest desire to grow closer to the Lord through prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. With best intentions, I choose the practices I think God is calling me to, and I begin to put one foot in front of the other to have what, in my mind, is a “successful” Lenten journey. Inevitably, around this time of the season, my enthusiasm wanes. The busyness of life and the exhaustion of motherhood get the best of me, and I start to drag my feet and convince myself that God understands why I can let some things slide.
Recently, I have been studying Jesus of Nazareth by Pope Benedict XVI and reading the chapter on Jesus’ temptations in the desert. This chapter was mind-blowing in a variety of ways, but what struck me the most was the pope’s connection between the temptations in the desert and the Agony in the Garden: “We will see Jesus wrestling once again with his mission during his agony on the Mount of Olives. But the ‘temptations’ are with him every step of the way. In this sense, we can see the story of the temptations . . . as an anticipation that condenses into a single expression the struggle he endured at every step of his mission” (27). In other words, the temptations begin to highlight the essential question Jesus will face throughout His time on earth: How deep is His trust in the will of the Father?
A friend and I discussed the parallels between the desert and garden and how Pope Benedict sees the desert as a sort of training ground for the garden. Similarly, Lent—our “desert”—is preparation for the “garden moments” that are coming for us. Unlike the garden, Lent is a desert of our choosing. We can discern and decide what practices we will give up or take on, whereas when our inevitable agonies in the garden come, God will call us to suffering, probably without much warning or our consent. In other words, as we choose to practice being more disconnected from the world and more reliant on God during Lent, we are preparing ourselves for times when God will essentially force us to rely solely on Him.
My early 2026 was fraught with a scary, unknown medical diagnosis for my husband, which turned out to be stage one cancer. Through God’s mercy and many amazing intercessors, he had a successful surgery and has been recovering since (and is cancer-free!). The mental and physical toll this time has taken on us has been tremendous, and if we have been able to withstand any of the hardships with grace, we can attribute it to God alone and the aesthetic and spiritual practices He has inspired us to take on throughout our lives.
I think back to most Lents where I breezed my way through or justified a thousand little cheats. Now, wishing I had been a more gentle and empathetic spouse throughout this ordeal, I am kicking myself for not having died to myself more often, in particular during the liturgical seasons God has asked us to do so. My Lenten “deserts” are sufferings of my own choosing, and even these I couldn’t handle and see through to the end. If I can’t master the challenges I put in my own way, I ask myself, how am I going to withstand the heavy crosses that God lays on me?
Of course, in every one of our sufferings—of our own creation or of God’s calling—there is grace to carry us. As the Lord said to Paul, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9). I can attest in my personal trials, both in this challenging season and throughout my life, God has helped me stay faithful when I felt I had very little to give. But the Church gives us the gift of Lent, Advent, Friday fastings, and the like to encourage us to practice sacrifice while it is, in essence, ours to control because the true trials of our lives—suffering, death, job loss, mental health crises, pandemics, family or friendship struggles—are often out of our hands.
My challenge to myself as we enter these final weeks of Lent is to remember that with God’s guidance, I have created this desert for myself and that, through it, He is helping me strengthen my will and my virtue. “Practice makes habits,” as we remind our kids, and these habits are ones I will need when I inevitably find myself in the garden again.