Our family’s Ash Wednesday was a mess. We chose work commitments and homework over church. And when we told the kids we weren’t going, Elisabeth and Sam started to cry.
This pricked my anxiety: were our kids so emotionally disturbed they couldn’t handle a little schedule change without falling apart? When had we become that family, the ones who missed big nights at church?
Mike left the room to help Nate with his homework, and my trickle of fear turned into a tidal wave. I had a husband who cared more about our four-year-old’s homework than he cared about church?
He could walk away from his crying children?
He could walk away from his sad wife, who was just trying to have a nice Ash Wednesday?
I tried some staccato prayers of, “Help!” and “I feel like we are doing everything wrong.” And “Am I overreacting here?”
My mind responded with a rallying cry of, “Ash Wednesday should not be this messy! Other families do life better than you!”
Suddenly Elisabeth suggested we could make our own ashes. Sam loved the idea of fire, right here in our own kitchen. And Nate started to cut up pieces of paper because cutting paper is his love language.
I took a paper and wrote, “I’m afraid I’m not a very good person.”
Everyone stared at my paper, and then our collective vulnerability changed the tide.
“I’m afraid of getting on red” from Sam who obsesses about getting in trouble at school.
“I’m afraid to wear my Chewie jacket” a picture from Nate, who begged us to buy this jacket, but is now afraid people will laugh at him when he wears it.
“I’m afraid my family will die” from Elisabeth.
Mike came in and wrote, “I’m afraid of not providing for my family.”
Catie wrote fears she didn’t want to share with us.
When we burned our fears, the smoke, and the real flames on our patio amazed the kids.
Then Sam blew on the smoldering embers, and sticky, dirty ashes flew everywhere.
The girls tried to sweep them up and spread long, grey streaks all over the patio furniture. Nate reminded Sam how Daddy had said NOT to blow on the ashes. Mike talked to Sam about fire safety and he started to cry.
Ash Wednesday was messy again.
But then Sam announced he was going to take his bath, which seemed like as good of an idea as any. Nate followed him, and Elisabeth snuggled up on my lap for prayer time.
Soon, Mike appeared upstairs with the salvaged ashes. He crossed each of our foreheads. As he blessed the kids, their faces were amazed, grateful, content.
Then the kids crawled in between clean sheets, their foreheads black, ashy messes.
And we all slept well, our souls a little cleaner from the messy day.
