ashes to ashes...

"What are you giving up for Lent?" my students banter amongst themselves. "Coke." "Mineral water." "Chocolate." And me? I've decided to give up my pride. I mean, do I really have a choice? I'm clunking around with a big ol' hunk of imperfection on my leg for all to see. A sign of my mortality, my limitation, my terrifying dependence on others around me. The ash on my forehead wears away in a matter of hours, but this leg? It will be reminding me every moment of every day for a long, long time.

It is so easy to get caught up in accomplishments, driven by goals, go to bed exhausted each night to wake up early and begin again the next day. Running an endless race. Proud when things go well, crushed when they don't. But a phrase keeps coming to mind. "It's not about me."

I'm not the one doing all this! Sometimes I fool myself into believing I have some modicum of control in the matter, but that usually doesn't last long. Life has a way of reminding me. And if I'm honest, I'd tell you, it's actually a relief. After weathering the customary panic attack, I enjoy falling again into the realization that I'm just an instrument on this earth. My only job to play the song given to me to the best of my ability. I enjoy stepping outside myself for a second and marveling at the masterpiece being played through me, through each one of us. Each of us playing a riff off the other. One day it might sound a little country, another kind of folksy, and maybe another with a touch of merengue... I just try to be true to the rhythm of the moment. Let it flow through me without going too far off key. Hold on to the spirit within that carries me through the ever changing melodies of each day. Sometimes I forge through, sometimes I dance, and sometimes I hobble. But it's not really about me.