Rather than go to church tonight, I decided to begin my Lenten journey by spending the evening at home working on various art projects. I finished the hallway light fixture 
(using transparent paints that when dry can be peeled off the work surface and applied to glass) and just about finished a small wall ornament for the kitchen (I'll post a picture of that when it's done). Then I spent an hour creating a new desktop picture for my computer. I always change them with the seasons, both liturgical and climatic. This year I decided to give up anxiety for Lent, especially as it manifests itself in insomnia. So I will surround myself with cues to relax, to let go of whatever is worrying me, to trust that "all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well," in the words of Dame Julian of Norwich, a 16th century mystic. Her assurance will be my prayer for the season, reminding myself whenever I start to get worked up about something that life goes on and sorts itself out without me having to have all the answers all the time. As I write this, the night skies are pelting rain down on our roof. It's supposed to turn to ice, then snow, accumulating a mess of it by morning. Tomorrow I'm supposed to ride to Holyoke (or Hadley, I can't remember which) with my boss and another co-worker to help do inventory at the Jo-Ann store there, and because my boss is a Morning Person to Beat All Morning People, we're leaving at 6:00 AM. I don't know about you, but to me (definitely NOT a morning person!) 6:00 AM is bad enough on its own—driving in hazardous conditions through back-road New England at 6:00 AM is something no one should have to do. It's inhuman. I'm hoping for a call saying the trip is canceled: Please, God, let the trip be canceled!!! But I'm not going to worry about it tonight. I gave that up for Lent.
(using transparent paints that when dry can be peeled off the work surface and applied to glass) and just about finished a small wall ornament for the kitchen (I'll post a picture of that when it's done). Then I spent an hour creating a new desktop picture for my computer. I always change them with the seasons, both liturgical and climatic. This year I decided to give up anxiety for Lent, especially as it manifests itself in insomnia. So I will surround myself with cues to relax, to let go of whatever is worrying me, to trust that "all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well," in the words of Dame Julian of Norwich, a 16th century mystic. Her assurance will be my prayer for the season, reminding myself whenever I start to get worked up about something that life goes on and sorts itself out without me having to have all the answers all the time. As I write this, the night skies are pelting rain down on our roof. It's supposed to turn to ice, then snow, accumulating a mess of it by morning. Tomorrow I'm supposed to ride to Holyoke (or Hadley, I can't remember which) with my boss and another co-worker to help do inventory at the Jo-Ann store there, and because my boss is a Morning Person to Beat All Morning People, we're leaving at 6:00 AM. I don't know about you, but to me (definitely NOT a morning person!) 6:00 AM is bad enough on its own—driving in hazardous conditions through back-road New England at 6:00 AM is something no one should have to do. It's inhuman. I'm hoping for a call saying the trip is canceled: Please, God, let the trip be canceled!!! But I'm not going to worry about it tonight. I gave that up for Lent.
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