It’s the second day of Lent.
There’s still a long way to go on this 40-day journey.
But this morning, the traffic is unusually bad, and I can feel that familiar anxiety tingling across my shoulders. I hate being late. I hate bumper-to-bumper.
Then I think about rending my heart, even in this moment of mundane discomfort, and I am convicted.
How does Lent come into our daily lives, our moment-to-moment difficulties? How do we remember to re-orient ourselves toward God, to re-turn to love in the midst of traffic and bills and schedules and to-do lists?
In this season of reflection, every hour is an opportunity to go deeper, to see through the ordinary into something holy. Every experience — whether regular or extraordinary — is an invitation to be present, to just be with what is happening right now.
The traffic starts to move, and I make it to work on time after all. But the thought sticks with me: the turning away of our hearts is subtle. It happens as quietly and quickly as the tightening of my shoulder muscles at the thought of being late.
And perhaps, the re-turning of our hearts can be just as gentle — an exhale of breath, a relaxing of body, a re-focus of spirit.
The path is not narrow after all, but wide, well-lit and welcoming.