Recently a friend shared this sentiment as relating to the last vacation he will go on with his Dad, beset with Alzheimers. This often painful irony comes to mind again this morning as I enter Lent, and as I think of Christ’s last days here on earth. I believe Christ told us that he knew his time was coming, but I’m not sure he knew which day would be his last – our first. Our Easter.

All of us can recall a day that changed our lives forever. A job offer. A medical diagnosis. Last drink of alcohol. First kiss. Had I known such days were coming and their dates, I would most likely have squandered the days leading up to it with even greater impatience or sorrow than my usual denial or disassociation from the Present.

I know the last day of Lent. I don’t want to sleep and squander the present and what this time and sacrifice may bring. I know Easter is coming, but I don’t know what practices to bring into this Lent for Love.

I ask to be shown.

I am drawn to listen to Soul. I watch for what longings are her’s, and question which disciplines are appealing because of should’s or more public-facing show than the slow, private work of the soul.

I create space to see and hear her.

I am compelled to dig deeper roots into the core and truth of being, and to study and practice the ways of Christianity, Buddhism, Art, and Nature.

I commit and connect with others as teachers and fellow journeyers.

And I pray.

I pray to be present, and whisper the prayers that I know fit into my every ordinary day for Good.