The Slow Way: The Quiet Days of Lent

These are the days we wait, prepare, do without. These are the days in which our struggle becomes the erosive tool that smooths us, that forms us into something lovely.

for the frantic strivers, serial doers, and weary achievers

Last week we went without a Slow Way Letter while I was off to North Carolina, guiding a group of women through the Beatitudes and all of its mysterious possibilities. It is always such a gift to spend time with people who are away from their regular lives. Leading a retreat is such a gift because I know when I look out at the faces in front of me, so many are overwhelmed and worn out and overworked. Escaping ordinary life is rarely easy for anyone. So I consider it an honor to get to speak to folks in their moments of respite. I loved my time with Trinity Episcopal in Asheville.

Speaking of a moment of respite, I am off again to some time away—this time with my sweetie for a good friend’s wedding. We’ll be beaching it up this week!

In trying to put this letter together in a timely way this week, I looked back through some of my older writing to see if I could find anything about Lent that speaks to where we might be at right now in the middle, two weeks left before Easter.

I wrote this in April 2018 . . .

It’s been almost two years since my blog finally ended its ferocious struggle to survive the changes in my life. I have written out all the possible comeback articles and I'm never sure how to say exactly what led me to stop writing and publishing for this season. But I can say this: My life changed. And it was a much bigger change than simply having a child born with Down syndrome three years ago.

Ace's needs were the catalyst for a much bigger life adjustment, one that I've been spending a lot of time dwelling on lately. These three years have forced a slow-down that nothing else in my life had yet taught me to embrace. I was trying so hard for a very long time to build a career, to prove myself, to write a good enough book, even to earn acclaim. And Ace came along and refused to eat. Then struggled to meet physical goals, then slowly changed our family's values.

Here's what happened: I released my career, watched it rise away like a balloon, and I discovered the magic of the small life I was always writing about but wasn't sure I believed in. That's the kind of story I hope to begin to tell. Ace has been part of that story. But so have my other kids and my husband. So has my church.

In the days before Ace was born, I pitched a second book to the my publisher for Found. I wanted to write a book about rest and pregnancy. I wanted to write out the story of my pregnancy with Ace, long before I knew how interesting that pregnancy was really going to get! They turned it down. And I'm deeply grateful for that, because the story of rest in my life lies far beneath the ideas I had before Ace came along. I've learned to rest because of the crevices of my life, the gaps between hoped-for-milestones and my baby's hard work to get to them, in the pain of watching my older children grieve the realities of their brother's differences and their own, in the depth of joy in the remarkable sweetness of Ace's unique and beautiful way of encountering the world. Rest has been waiting for me here in the struggle.

Lent is a metaphor for that kind of struggle, isn't it? The days of Lent are the quiet days, the days we wait, we prepare, we do without. These are the days in which our struggle becomes the erosive tool that smooths us, that forms us into something lovely.

This is my second Lent in which my spiritual practice has been sleep. I know, sounds hard! For me it is. Until last Lent, when my spiritual practice was to sleep eight hours a night, I hadn't slept the recommended eight hours since middle school. My false story to myself has always been that I need to work harder, prove myself. And there is always a reason to sleep less, push myself more. Sometimes there were, of course, babies waking through the night. But even in the easier seasons, I stayed up late to write, or fold clothes, or pay bills. There's never enough time.

Last weekend I spoke to a women's retreat in New York about our culture's collective "Time Sickness," a term I got from Bridget Schulte's book Overwhelmed. I spoke about the feeling that we can never do enough or be enough in our society. And the reality that we have that feeling because it's true. There is literally not enough time for what we're supposed to do each day. Our way of living in this world asks too much. Slowing down, I'm learning, is not only telling The Empire that we refuse to buy into their definition of a productive life. It's also embracing the gentle, paradigm shifting way of Jesus.

Jesus made me to be a human, and therefore, I get to sleep. And in doing so, I remind myself that I am most definitely not enough. Neither are you, friend. We get to be weak. And, yes, there are careers to build, and kids to care for, political movements to stand behind, books to read, and people to love. But just consider this your Lenten reminder that rest is waiting for you too. And rest is sometimes one of our deepest acts of faith.

A Slow Practice (Present Day)

Seven years later, between tasks and kids’ needs and schedules, getting eight hours of sleep still feels like a feat, like something worthy of a Lenten practice. We make progress slowly, friends.

What about you? Is there something you gave up seven years ago for Lent that would still be valuable to return to?

Take a moment to reflect back on your practices for the last few years if you have practiced. If you have a journal, jot down what you gave up or added each year going back as far as you can remember.

As you look at the list, ask yourself if there is a theme to your Lenten practices. What do you suppose causes you to lean toward embracing or releasing specific rhythms during Lent?

Name one practice from the past that shaped you in a way that still affects you.

Name of practice that you wish had shaped you more .

Now spend some time in prayer, considering these next two weeks of Lent, and how you long for God to meet you.

A List of Things

• This week on The Lucky Few Podcast, I’m sharing about my and Chris’s decision to hire a potty training specialist who focuses on autistic children and adults who have not responded to typical potty training techniques. This is very personal episode, but one I believe is so important, because it’s about a challenge that many families face, and rarely have space to talk about. You can listen here.

• I loved spending the weekend in North Carolina with the women of Trinity Episcopal of Asheville. I’m available to teach at your church event or retreat. Reach out at michaboyett@gmail.com to chat about having me out to speak at your event.

• Also, have you gotten a copy of Blessed Are The Rest of Us: How Limits and Longing Make Us Whole? You should get it here! Or find the audiobook version (I read it!) at Audible.