The final days of Lent are upon us and again I am left to wonder what happened to these forty days. Lent is a time I usually look forward to. I see it as a time for change in my life. Pruning out the bad habits and growing in virtue.

Most years I get overly ambitious and set out to do a long laundry list of things. This year I decided to keep it more simple. Still all good intention aside I feel like no progress was made and wish for a little more time to prepare for Easter.

Last Friday I packed up the kiddos and took them to Stations of the Cross. Before Stations began the priest told a little story and related it to how his Lent did not go as planned. Here we are in the final days, he reminded us that if our Lent was anything like his to not be discouraged we still have time. Make the most of today. Seemed exactly what I needed to hear.

We were the three ring circus in a quiet church mostly filled with retired people. Grace took off her shoes and socks and threw them over the pew and continued to do so with everything in the diaper bag exclaiming, “uh-oh!” Diaper bag emptied she threw a fit finding that her snacks weren’t in there. Every few sentences the boys were tapping me on the shoulder asking me where we were in the book.

The 45 minutes felt more like a workout than a time of prayer and reflection on our Lord’s passion. At the end a man walked up to me and thanked me for making the effort of bringing the kids. While it would have been easy to leave the church feeling frustrated, somehow I left feeling renewed.

My Lent may have not gone according to my plans, but every day I am given multiple opportunities to grow in virtue. To make sacrifices. To die to myself and give completely to those God has placed in my life. To grow in patience. To let go of my will. To love completely even when exhaustion has set in. To do all of this with a joyful heart.

This week quickly got away from me as three of the five of us were hit with head colds, mine of course being the worse complete with the chills and body aches. Thanking God though that little Grace has managed to stay healthy so far, praying it continues!

Squeezing this post in while we are still in the Easter Octave, still celebrating like it’s Easter Sunday!

As I sat at Good Friday service this year and reflected on Christ’s great passion and death suffered for me we were asked to think of our own crosses. The small and the large, the daily inconveniences to the heavy burdens. The ones that seem to come and go quickly and the ones that forever remain on our shoulders.

For seven years there had always been a particular cross that I found so hard to carry. One that never seemed to get lighter, never seemed to get easier and daily there for me to embrace. I wish I could say I carried it well, but most days I met it with resistance. Complaining at the pain it brought into my life. Wishing it would go away and hoping that some day we would be blessed with children.

Yet this year as I thought of the pain Christ endured on that dreadful Friday and the cross that forever changed humanity I found my heart praising God, because I knew what Sunday would bring. The victory had been won! Death conquered, the gates opened. New life given, humanity restored.

After every Good Friday we are met with Easter Sunday. No matter the cross, no matter the struggle. Every cross carried will someday be lifted, someday made glorious. It may not be in three days, in three years or even in our lifetime. But the hope is real, the promise is ours. Our suffering is not in vain. The Resurrection gives us peace allowing us to journey in hope knowing that at some point we too will be victorious.

Oh how this has been made so tangible in my own life. These three are my witnesses. This is the hope of Easter!