We have an aversion to the wilderness; to being in places that are difficult, sparse, painful, or lonely. And yet, we find ourselves in them again and again.
If you’ve read much of what I’ve written, you know this is a recurrent theme for me: naming struggle, staying in ambiguity, even allowing for pain. And I’ve written specifically on the desert, the probable topic when I write the damn book, already!
Lent is, in and of itself, an invitation to the desert – to a place, as I said yesterday, of stripping away, of shadow, of ashes and dust. But it’s also a place of powerful truth, beautiful companionship, and wild beauty. No less painful, but far more tender than we’d imagined.
I am not asking you
to take this wilderness from me,
to remove this place of starkness
where I come to know
the wildness within me,
where I learn to call the names
of the ravenous beasts
that place inside me,
to finger the brambles
that snake through my veins,
to taste the thirst
that tugs at my tongue.But send me
tough angels,
sweet wine,
strong bread:
just enough.(Jan Richardson, In Wisdom’s Path)
Lent: An invitation to the desert – but not alone. It is a space in which we are sent tough angels, sweet wine, and strong bread; where we have enough. Where we are enough.
I’m struck by how different this is from our oft’ understanding of Lent as “giving up” something – like sweet wine or strong bread – and certainly the visceral experience of “not enough.” What if we have it all backwards? What if, instead, our experience of the wilderness, of the shadows, and even of the Divine in our deepest selves is, in fact, a place of plenty, of limitless feasting, of more than enough? If such is even remotely possible, I can be sated, full and satisfied in this desert, this wilderness, my home.
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During this season of Lent I will close my posts or vlog with reflective questions to consider, comment on, journal about on your own; whatever feels most spacious and expansive for processing, incorporating, and practice. May it bring you ever closer to “enough.”
For your reflection:
- As you reflect on (and even enter) the desert—its spareness and its beauty—for what do you hope during this Lenten season?
- What adjectives or emotions immediately come to mind when you think about the desert? Do those words describe your life/heart at all?
- Who/what might tough angels be for you? Sweet wine? Strong bread?
- Can you imagine the taste of “enough?”
I am not asking you to take this wilderness from me, to remove this place of starkness where I come to know the wildness within me…
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I’d be honored to hear your ongoing reflections and thoughts…just as I appreciate you consistently reading and engaging with mine. Thank you.
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{ 19 comments… read them below or add one }
Ronna, this is beautiful – I feel pulled inward to reflect on the questions in your post – and the poem ROCKS!
Thanks for this (and I don’t have any reflections to share yet — haven’t had my first cuppa, brain sleeping – but I will).
Have the coffee. Take your time. Glad you’re here.
For what do you hope? The desert/wilderness seems to be a place of communication with the Divine. More than anything, I seek clear, unmistakeable communication with God with a strong dose of direction and clarity. I crave it and would prefer something along the lines of an audible voice, burning bush that talks, or something similar. I’m not much for subtle hints.
Adjectives/emotions: Desert = sparse beauty, isolated strength, unquenchable thirst, survive/thrive, hidden abundant life. Unquenchable thirst is definitely a personal descriptor, and the others probably are as well.
Tough Angels–they are the encouragers who grab me by the arms and body block for me when well meaning friends/family cast doubt on my current path. They sort of scoot me along, propelling me forward to the next leg of my journey.
Sweet Wine–the quiet moments of knowing what I know that I know and feeling its confidence. It’s my man reminding me that he’s got my back on this thing and has already had many of the same thoughts, perceptions, and visions 20 years ago when I was still trying to squash such “evil” out of him.
Strong bread–the workshop, the person, the blog, the book that mysteriously presents itself at the perfect time and feeds me when I am so hungry.
Enough–the amount I can digest at any given time. So often my eyes are bigger than my stomach, and stuffing myself past the point of “enough” leaves me feeling unsatisfied and miserable. Likewise, food for my soul must come in healthy amounts for me to be able to adjust and digest effectively. Too much sweet wine and strong bread = drunk and bloated, and that can leave a bad taste that lingers. Buying 20 “perfect books” at once will find most left on a shelf unread. Buying one or two feeds my soul and leaves me ready for another small meal. Such internal conflict between knowing what is healthy and wanting to see and consume the entire buffet at once.
Angie: So much here. First, thank you! I appreciate your vulnerability and willingness to share your own processing and reflections. So beautiful. That “clear, unmistakable communication” thing is a tough one, isn’t it? What I continue to wonder (and even experience) is the Divine in the presence/voice/love of others. Sometimes even more bright and warm than a burning bush. Of course, the challenge is to recognize such as God…in an even more real, grounded, “embodied” way. Unquenchable thirst? So much that’s lovely about that reality. As I said to Lindsey, there’s something about that hunger/desire that keeps us alive, searching, wanting. And…there are definitely places where we do/can know the lushness and generosity of still waters, good drink, plenty. Again, for me, often in relationship with others. And Tough Angels – Sweet Wine – Strong Bread? Love where you go. Looking forward to traversing the desert with you…
Sigh … Ronna I’ve run out of ways to thank you for the ways that your insight seems to consistently pierce my heart. What do I hope for in this Lenten season? Peace. Calm. Quiet.
What do I feel about entering the desert? Fear. Fear of abandonment. Fear of the unknown. Fear of not having enough to subsist on: food, water, money, love.
Who are my angels? You, you, you.
The taste of enough? I cannot even imagine it. I long to, but I cannot.
Sigh…So much of your answer that rings true to my own experiences – past, present, and undoubtedly future. I’m hardly an angel (at least in the dressed-all-in-white-always-doing-good-things sort of way), but if I have the privilege of companioning/traveling with you through the sands, I’m totally there! And enough? We may never know it fully, but the pursuit of/desire for such is what makes it all worth it. SO grateful for you, Lindsey.
i have a deep affinity for the desert because so much happens there underground and at night when others are sleeping. love turning over the term “tough angels.” am making it synonymous with “steel magnolias”, and will have more to say about that later. and the word “enough” is one of my all-time favorites, though i sheepishly admit that i usually use it in the context of putting my foot down, my hand up, and saying firmly “enough.” and maybe that fits here in the context of your exquisite post. i’ll enjoy this one for a long while, ronna.
Yes, Jeanne – tough angels can definitely be synonymous with steel magnolias. Love that connection. For me, “enough” has too often come more from the perspective of fearing that I’m more than enough…too much; that if I tell the truth, completely express my feelings, thoughts, and beliefs, worlds may just tip on their axis. And, in fact, they have; some have come crashing down. But the desert consistently calls me to is saying “enough” of thinking that I’m “too much.” And often that occurs through the beautiful, strong, and gracious voices of the tough angels/steel magnolias in the desert with me who remind me that I, too and strong and beautiful – maybe especially in the desert and it’s untamed, wild beauty. I’m grateful.
The Desert… My life is filled with swirling questions about passion, relationships, sexuality and the nature of hope… We call it Mars Hill Grad School. Lately I have heard myself say “I don’t have a clue where I am going… I just know I cannot stay here.” My friend Paul said that people who say that are usually headed for the desert… I hope it is as you said “a place…of stripping away, of shadow, of ashes and dust” and…. a place of powerful truth, beautiful companionship, and wild beauty.” I hope it is a place where I learn to see God in a new way and perhaps learn little more about myself.
Rebecca: Thanks so much for being here – and commenting. Yes, I have found that more times than not it has been the desert to which I have gone; often under duress, but more and more by choice. It has a lure, this place. Somehow in its starkness I see things clearly – including God; definitely myself. I will trust it’s sands and seeming-endlessness to invite the same for you.
Hello Cousin, once again, thank you! I love the poem…and the desert…the desert for me means barrenness at times, vivid colors at other times (or the same time), stretches of road the afford me the time to be, reflect, and be free. Or, it reminds me that I have something waiting for me at the edge of the desert…and I often choose to focus on the edge of the desert instead of the beauty and wildness within.
Yes, thank you for the time to honor my desert(s)…
Paula
You’re more than welcome, Paula. In my time of knowing you there has been no doubt that you’ve both known deserts and had the ability/willingness to stay in them. That is wild beauty right there.
Thank you for this beautiful post. I have a difficult time with some of these traditions, which sometimes don’t make me feel like a “better Christian,” and I’ve often questioned why we needed to give things up. Reading one of my favorite authors, Maryanne Williamson, she talks a lot about how rituals strengthen our spirituality, and I have been longing to create (or recreate!) some that truly nourish me. I love your take on Lent, and I look forward to pondering the questions you posed for us.
With love and light,
Monique
I know, all too well, your resistance to the traditions. Or maybe “resistance” isn’t the word, but some deep, inner reaction that often cannot be named which then makes it difficult if not impossible to get past; to find any meaning in the rituals themselves. As you’ve seen/heard, I do wonder more about Lent as a time of nourishment….not giving up, as much as being aware – of noticing and naming those tough angels, sweet wine, and strong bread. I’m grateful you’re here, Monique.
Ronna, the wild gets me everytime. At my core, I am a wild, feral female creature that won’t be tamed and can’t be tamed. The Divine is Wild and I sing Her praises. In every sweet moment, all is given.
Thank you for walking this wild path ‘with’ me.
Totally my pleasure….and privilege, Julie.
for me, the desert is the stripping away. it seems as if the past few months of my life (and most certainly, the ones on the visible horizon) are about stripping away all that is non-essential. which scares the bejeezus out of me. i am the first to cling to the illusion of fullness and vitality, if it means protection from all that could be lurking in the shadows. but i am trying to consent to the stripping- attempting to graciously cooperate with the losses that are entirely out of my control, and also attempting to open my clenched fists to release the things that have long bloodied my palms, even as i’ve clung to them so ferociously and faithfully. i’m afraid to step barefoot onto the sand, and yet…the thought of a life stripped down to the bare essentials feels almost as liberating as it does terrifying at this point. i’ve amassed so many props, and when i look around myself in honest contemplation, i’d almost rather some ‘tough angel’ tear them away. i don’t know if i’m brave enough to just throw them to the wind of my own accord. as i walk barefoot and sunburned across this expanse, i find sweet wine and strong bread simply in the coexistant tenderness and strength of other women. women speaking their truth. women proclaiming their worth (and if i listen closely, mine as well). women forging their own path. women telling their uncensored stories. women who whisper to me that i can be and do and hope for all of those things too…
So beautiful, Lauren. All kinds of imagery in there that’s worth writing down – naming – thinking about in categories, story, life-narrative. ‘Love that you’ve spoken it here. The scenes are real, poignant, and embodied. The stuff of deserts – and much, much hope!!! Thank you for sharing you!
oh, one more thing: as i was reading this post, i couldn’t help but think of another lovely woman blogger who wrote about lent this week, with the opening line: “The point of lent is not denial.” i thought it might resonate with you (or one of your readers) based on what you’d written on the subject. http://julieclawson.com/2010/02/16/preparing-for-lent/
.-= lauren martin gauthier´s last blog ..Home Sweet Home(bound) =-.
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