During the 40 days of Lent, I’m writing 40 blog posts. Instead of giving up chocolate or Facebook or corn syrup or whatever, I’m adding this habit back into my life.
I miss documenting the seasons our kids are slipping in and out of; I miss remembering and anticipating and processing our lives here.
But I’ve become too rigid about my posts. My internal editor says, “Don’t write about that. Too much about yourself. Too vulnerable. Be funnier. Deeper.”
This rigidity, this horrible perfectionism, paralyzes other parts of my life too. Relationships, for example. I’m holding everyone to such high standards—standards they don’t even know about. Standards they can’t possibly follow.
She should’ve called. They didn’t include me. He lied.
What. Ever.
Let it go, Elsa. Stop being right and be happy.
This idea of forgiving, of unclogging, of softening my heart brings me to this picture of Elisabeth dumping cold water on Sam.
She thought it was funny, Sam did not. Elisabeth went off to play, and Sam shivered next to my chair. He complained Elisabeth had been wrong. It wasn’t fair Elisabeth got away with that.
We talked about what he could do next: dump a bucket on Elisabeth’s head? Sit with the grown-ups and sulk while the other kids built sand castles? Forgive her and go play?
After some pouting, Sam forgave. He joined the kids and had a magnificent day flying kites and collecting shells. He flew his new kite higher than all the houses. He found a sand dollar, almost entirely intact.
But first, he had to forgive.
I’m practicing forgiveness today. Of everyone. Of myself.
So, here we go, Lent. Here we go, blogging.
I’m off to play in the sunshine.
Yay! That is all.