The End of Lent

I didn't do what I said I was going to do for Lent. I didn't really pay attention every day to the miraculous. I got sidetracked. The problem with the "looking for the amazing among the mundane" is that the mundane can be almost fascinating in its appearance. It can keep you from noticing those things like the fact that you can breathe and move and have our being. I kept being distracted. And then things happened to help me focus again. I'm writing about them not because I want your sympathy, although that would be nice, too. I'm writing about them because Lent is ending and it seems fitting to bring it up. About a month ago a woman died with whom I was friends. She wasn't my best friend. We frequently didn't talk for months. She was on my personal prayer list though. She had cancer in so many places I think in some ways I was afraid to be near her, as if I could catch it by contact. She was a gracious person. Even when it hurt to hug her, she embraced you warmly in greeting. Her eyes would light up when she saw someone she knew and she would become animated and joyful. Until that last week. Nothing could punch the wall then. It was too much pain, too much of a long struggle. Just too much. I kept in contact with her through some of her other friends. I listened to reports of her decline. I waited for the phone call to come and it came. She was well liked and respected. She was a "Godly" person and a good one as well--that doesn't always happen as we well know. And after her death, the daffodils came up in our yards. I had cut a bunch for her at this time last year and brought them around. When I saw those yellow nodding crowns I was frozen in the spot. How could she not be here for the daffodils, I thought? The season of Lent is ending for another year. Easter will be upon us next week. And she is not here for the joyful celebration of the resurrection. But then, she is, too. She's probably enjoying the biggest party in heaven as the world resounds with Alleluias. Because for her, the Lord is risen. He is risen, indeed. And she is there to see him this year. Can't think of anybody else who should be there more than her right now. So party on Elaine! The second thing which distracted me, was another death. This one was sad, but I wasn't as close to this other person as I was to the first. She was an okay person I guess. She was a teacher to both of my children in elementary school. But one of her most ardent supporters and care-givers is a friend of mine. She is generous to a fault. And so caring I look like Attila the Hun in comparison. She had given of her time, her love, her compassion, her warmth and wit so unselfishly to this person, that I was in awe. And when her friend died and left her, she was very empty. She still struggles with the emptiness of the situation. I'm not as good a friend as she, I know. But I tried to listen to her when I can. I try to encourage her when I can. Can you image how it was for Mary Magdalene to get to the tomb and find it empty? She was already feeling the emptiness. Her very good friend wasn't there to talk to anymore. He wasn't there to explain things or help to guide her or even to make light-hearted banter with her. My friend probably feel like Mary. And so I'd like to remind her that Easter comes to all of us, eventually. And that the emptiness and sorrow she feels today will probably grow less and less until the day when she is reunited with all the saints. Just a thought about Lent.