Tasting the Ashes

It was only a few weeks ago when those ashes were marked on my forehead. A swift stroke of the thumb across and then down formed a faint and smudgy cross. I was happy when I got home on the evening of Ash Wednesday and discovered that the ashes went into my hairline…I had to make extra effort to scrub them away when washing my face. Extra effort to scrub away the ashes. Jesus had to make extra effort to scrub away his own ashes when he went into the desert to pray. It can be argued that Jesus became the man he was meant to be during that time; that his 40 days in a barren land was absolute preparation. He emerged stronger and with a clear focus. This lenten season, the father has invited me to consider my own wilderness experience and the wilderness of our baby and his/her birth family. There are many ways for me to fast, consider my focus and taste temptation while sitting in my own ashes. Sitting in these ashes long enough to appreciate the journey into barren land before scrubbing them away with intention is precisely what I am being asked to do.

Some of you are familiar with the time Donovan and I spent in the Sahara Desert a few years ago (what were we thinking???). What started out as an adventure quickly turned unnerving when the winds picked up and we realized the sky had turned dark--pitch dark--and there was not a star in the night sky to guide us on our camels. It felt like we were going in circles, but who knows, we couldn’t see our hands in front of our faces. We had to trust the two young men leading us. I’ve never experienced such literal darkness. Also, I have never been so worried for my physical being as when my already loose joints began shifting left and right on that jolty camel’s back. In between telling Donovan to stop repeatedly asking me if I was OK (such a sweet husband—what would I do without him?), I reciteded I Peter 5:10 over and over again in my head. I was begging God to literally hold me together--and He did. Eventually we reached “camp” and passed out under the night sky. We later woke to a sea of stars these eyes had never before witnessed. In that moment, it was all worth the journey. Our ashes in that desert were hot, dirty, thirsty, sore and exhausted but we were witnesses to God’s glory. I emerged physically shot, but better connected to my maker.

How will I emerge from this season? Right now, I am on that stinky camel in the desert, praying for God to hold me together. Right now, so is the family who is losing its son/daughter. So, too, is the baby being orphaned. I can taste the ashes. It seems that God may be asking me to sit just a little bit longer with the darkness. He’s not asking me to hide from it or pretend that it isn’t dark—God’s asking me to stay for now. Nope, I won’t scrub those ashes off just yet. I’ll hang out in this lenten wilderness, knowing that our stars are the same stars that shine on Ethiopia and that something of glory is about to be revealed. God’s got a lot more work to do in my life.