One cannot skip to done.

It is tempting, of course!  I remember doing a project during junior high school.  When video production was young in that school district, we thought ourselves quite-the-quite when we rolled the lumbering A-V cart from the library into our multi-purpose room.  We were going to create a ficticious product to sell, complete with video footage, that was a convenience for last-minute needs: an instant, already frosted and decorated birthday cake.   The story line of the ad was pretty flimsy.  "Oh my!  We are in need of a cake for a quickly put together, albiet important, surprise birthday cake.  What to do?"  The product we hawked was an add-water wonder work.    We were thrilled at being able to stop the camera, hold our poses, and have one of the team switch out the mixing bowl for a magnificent birthday cake.  I think it even had the right number of needed candles on it.  Roll tape once more.  To quote the recent Staples advertisements:  "That was easy."

What a silly little experience.  It came to mind for me as I was in the middle of preaching this past Sunday, the first in the season of Lent.  Part of our call at baptism is to grow in depth and maturing of faith.  Within that call, we cannot skip to done.  This may have been part of the temptation Jesus encountered with Satan in the wilderness.  Skip to glory in fullness, renown and protection without the deepening and maturation of the journey.  Luke's Jesus is growth in wisdom and stature from the beginning.  Skipping to done at Chapter 4 seems premature to the plot of the literary endeavor, and to the truth of our salvation.

Today I am trip-hung-over.  I've driven 800 miles in too short an amount of time.  The two round trips were necessary, but my fiber is balking.  This seems a physical reminder too of how there are some parts of us that need more time to adjust.  In a couple of days, I will have caught up with myself.  But my head and backache are helping me the ponder some more about how some things, not including suddenly called itineraries, cannot be forced.

In Advent, we wait and prepare for four weeks. 

In Lent, we have a time of 40 days.

Our liturgical life offers us intentional space to approach done in a salutary way.

Earlier this week, the end of January, it was nearly 60 degrees and the yard was wet.  I went outside and started digging in the dirt.  I raked some leaves.  I pulled some weeds.  I moved a few bulbs as they were thawed momentarily from their winter dens.  It felt wonderful to do all of this, bending, reaching, cleansing perspiration.  It was a workout that provided an endorphin balm for a wintery spirit.  To have touched the earth and labored this bit,  I felt renewed in a way that the isolated treadmill cannot offer.

The next morning, amid snow squalls and frigid temperature returned, I reached for a knitting project. It was nearly finished, and I prepared it to be a gift.  From knitting needles I moved to using a mending needle and rejoined shreds of a tired lining in my winter coat.  Some loose ends on my sweater got TLC as well.  My fingers were partners in a morning of restoration, as a group of quilting women around me plied their yarns.  Our conversation wove us into refreshment as well.

In the afternoon, it was tea and berry crumbles, with two sisters, gathered in our shared friendship and love for pondering theology. 

The deep breath in of loamy life.
The sight of breath out into crisp cold.
The peaceful breathing in and out in comfortable presence.