I really would like to be profound at the end of this Lenten season. I would like to say that my life is changed, or that I achieved new spiritual highs, but I didn't. I did find something I could commit to and do for six weeks, and even if that was to commit to not doing something, I suppose that's an accomplishment of sorts.
I had as much hair as I could muster on my head and face by the end of Lent, and it was more than I had at the beginning. Every day I looked just a bit different, and every day I was curious about what I would look like the next day. Admittedly, remembering that I was supposed to be trying to be a little more pleasant made me uncomfortably conscious of just how impatient and crabby I've become, but that's good. I know what I have to work on.
I really would like to be profound, but the truth of the matter is that I didn't change much. Yet, in a way, that's the point. I'm human. I'm broken. That's just the way I'm made. But Lent is not a destination; it is the anticipation of Easter. Once you've spent Lent realizing there are things about yourself that simply seem beyond repair, you arrive at Easter with its incontrovertible proof that God has already taken care of it. There is nothing that God can't change, not even death.
He is risen. Alleluia. Alleluia.