By Jill Kotrba
I like to think of myself as a simple person. Not too much ruffles my feathers or gets me worked into a tizzy but when it does, you had better duck. We all know the mile markers on the way to our own personal Meltdown City. Mine usually involve screaming kids, burnt food, wadded up washcloths and the phrase ‘yes, dear’. Did I mention the washcloths? Though left with good intentions, these wet wadded pieces of material are the nails on the blackboard of my soul. Whether left in floating in dishwater or just balled up in the tub or sink I can’t stand it. For years I have harped on my husband and vented my anger about these detestful landmines and then a few weeks ago my husband asked me the greatest question ever: What should I do for Lent?
Sound the trumpets! Play harps! Joy all around! Of course, in my usual charming and subtle wit I replied, “Let me get a pen and some paper!” Then a lightbulb went off in both of our heads. Just like Adam and Eve in the garden we realized this principle could be applied to both of us. My soul dove for cover. Surely, nothing I did could ever irritate my husband! (note the sarcasm) . A wise professor of mine once talked about the saints of the Church who had joined in the practice of wearing hairshirts under their clothes. The irritant served as a constant source of sacrifice they could offer to God. They rejoiced in this sacrifice. Married people, our professor joked, didn’t need to wear hairshirts because more than likely they had married theirs. Lent is an irritant but it is there to make us holier, to call us to be better so that something as tiny as a toy car or wadded washcloth will no longer hold the power to force virtue out of our souls and curse words out of our mouths.
I love my husband and kids dearly and thank God for them, but they would not be helping me in my journey to heaven if they didn’t irritate me. In St. Paul’s letter he encourages his people to ‘count it all joy’ (James 1:2). This is my Lenten challenge, to count everything joy. What a buffet there is in family life! Step on a toy car? Count it joy. A toy car means I have healthy boy who envisioned the rug as a tunnel and not a booby-trap to see how quickly mom’s foot would find it. Wadded washcloth left a sink of dirty dishwater? Count it joy. I have a husband willing to help with dishes in the first place. Lunch is burning during dual temper tantrums? Count it joy. God dedicated an arm for each of my boys to cry on. Dirty dishes, crackers smashed into freshly vacuumed carpet, a to-do list as long as the hallway, blow-out diapers, middle of the night feedings, kids puking, laundry as tall as the Himalayas? Never has such a tree been weighed down by such abundant chances to taste the fruits of hard earned virtue. How blessed am I that every single day my kids lay out constant challenges to my virtue and joy! Of course, I rarely am able to recognize these things for what they truly are at first glance. Usually they are the banes of my existence and cause for me to dive once again into my secret dark chocolate stash but the fact remains that beneath their irritating surface, they are small opportunities to grow closer to God.
I wish I had the stamina to do great sacrifices during Lent. I wish I could give more, do more, and be more than the person I am right now. The fact is, my soul is weak. It is not ready for large sacrifices. It would be like taking me to a gym and throwing me into an hour long Zumba class. My body just is not ready for that, I haven’t trained it to be ready for it. Having indulged in the joys of the Christmas season my body was not ready for Lent but neither was my soul. I didn’t want to leave the happiness of the manger for the dreariness of the Cross. It is a depressing drop in the tone of things. Everyone goes around with long faces lamenting the loss of whatever it is they have given up for Lent, the ‘A’ or ‘H’ word is gone, no Gloria, no closing hymn. Even the Mass gets depressing. What is there to enter into? The world is full of darkness already so why steep ourselves in the most depressing event of all—the Passion of Christ?
Because, like those Hotwheels stashed under a rug, it serves as a reminder of love and life. Venerable Fulton Sheen wrote of love saying, “Love does not mean to have, to own, to possess. It means to be had, to be owned, to be possessed. It is the giving of oneself for another. That is why we speak of ‘arrows and darts of love’—something that wounds.” Through the piercings of thorns and nails, Christ gave Himself fully to the world and specifically for us. To see His Passion should wound our hearts and draw ours closer to His. Though we may fear the sharpness of the thorns the sweetness of a life of love is worth the pain. As His flesh was stripped so must our selfishness and fears. As He endured torture and ridicule the entirety of eternity was before Him and He saw what His love would bring to the world. And, I feel safe in saying that He counted it all joy.
[author] [author_image timthumb=’on’]http://catholicwife.macandmedia.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/04/jill2-e1397231424746.jpg[/author_image] [author_info]Jill Kotrba is a ’08 graduate from Benedictine College and has her MA in Theology with an emphasis in Catechesis and Evangelization. She and her husband Bret have been married for nearly 5 years and live with their two sons in Littleton, Colorado. [/author_info] [/author]
