Exhaling at Home (Opus Gloriae): Can a mother observe Lent? (retread)

Can a mother observe Lent? In some moments, I think moms have the most difficulty observing Lent; at other times, I think they have the least difficulty of anyone.

My ideal Lent would include 40 days of disciplined fasting and recollected prayer, with the possibility of actually reading the books I've set aside to help prepare for the celebration of the Paschal Mystery, and a great deal of silent solitude.

But I'm a homeschooling mom with 7 children and a full-time job, to which they often accompany me. Small and growing people need a lot of fuel and won't eat rice and beans for 40 days; and our meals must often be portable. My time is not my own, and I am often caught up in the rushed race of responding to what is coming at me, rather than pro-actively planning and implementing the plan; too many variables, schedule changes, mini-emergencies to ever be on top of the schedule. I go to sleep with people talking to me, and I wake up with people talking to me. There is little solitude in a house of nine and a busy parish. So, forget the small stack of books I’d like to curl up with (prayerfully) or devoting solemn hours to quiet recollection. There is no silence here except between the hours of 2 a.m. and 6 a.m. and I'm usually sleeping through it, gratefully. In this way, it seems I have some difficulty observing Lent in the way I'd like, but that's just the point. My ideal Lent is not ideal, because it is not God's Plan for me. "My ideal Lent" is just that: MINE. It would be for me, not Him.

His Plan includes 7 children (one 20-something, 4 teenagers, and two rambunctious boys finding their way), a husband who works from home, a barking dog, a guinea pig, four fish, deadlines, RCIA rites, and other always-unfinished business. His Plan is perfect. It doesn't look like my Plan, and that is just what I need to work on this Lent (and every Lent, it seems): changing my own mind and will to match HIS. I need to give up my own ideas and try to see what His are.

So even though I cannot reduce much of the noise around here, I can learn to enter into that inner silence where He dwells. Even though I cannot live on lentils and rice for 40 days, I can learn to be more grateful for the food He allows me to put on the table; grateful for all the dirty dishes, as they are signs that I have a full and healthy household to eat what He gives us; and I can mortify my own appetite in little and hidden ways. Even though I cannot carve out more solitude to pray, I can remember that everything I do, I do before His Face. His wounded, suffering Face. I can be more conscious that everything I do, I do for love of Him who died for love of me.

I can be more attentive to each little need before me. So often, the exigencies of the day come at me at such speed, and I am so busy multi-tasking, that I can only be reactive; at least I can try again during Lent to respond to each person fully. Let each person who interrupts what I think is important be like Christ asking for my attention, and then it will be easier to respond properly.

I can also focus on ways the entire family can move closer to the wounded Heart of Christ during this season of preparation. We pause at 3 pm to pray the Divine Mercy Chaplet or, if we cannot, to sing Adoramus Te. We pray the Rosary together in the evening. On Fridays, we all attend the evening Fish Fry and then go to pray the Way of the Cross at our parish. We have limited media (or "screen time") and shut down the music. We are taking up our pastor’s challenge to have read the Sunday readings before Sunday, discussing the Gospel readings and how they lead us to Holy Week.

As a homeschooling mother, I am in a perfect position to find ways to let Lent permeate our days and weeks in little ways that have a cumulative impact, and that can help children feel that we have entered into something special; this is not Ordinary Time. We are preparing for Something.

All of this takes mental and physical effort on my part, and that is part of my Lenten offering as well. I would prefer to find some silence somewhere and look on Christ there; God's will for me is to remain where I am and find Christ here in these circumstances, and serve Him in these people. No pious escape.

Christ didn’t try to escape the fatiguing demands of His life here on earth, and I should not either. Instead, I should try to focus my energy on walking with Him in every moment, opening myself to the possibilities for love every step of the way. Every wearying, noisy, crumb-filled, God-willed step of the way.