Bits for Sunday, March 1, 2009

One of my friends has “SNS.” Sunday Night Syndrome. Hits her every Sunday about 5 p.m. and lasts until she pulls into the parking lot Monday morning. I’ve warned her that next week it will get worse. Yes, in case you are unaware, this is our last blissful weekend of time as it should be. Next week – you can kiss a whole hour of sleep BYE-BYE. I warned those in my pew this morning that ugly Bekah could emerge next week. I thought it only fair.

I have SNS combined with SNR – the Sunday Night Rush. I can have a perfectly calm and collected weekend and when Sunday night arrives…as I’m trying desperately to claim the few last precious minutes of rest…I suddenly realize I’m not at all prepared for the week.

Just now I sat with the day planner, trying to get the month in order (love doing that at the first of each month) – and more specifically my week. What chores must be done on which day? What food must be prepared on what day? Which days must I exercise and which one can be the free day? How do the must-see TV shows overlap each other and which ones will I choose to watch over the others? Which days must I pack a lunch? Pack the workout clothes? Go to work early? Stay at work late? Go to bed early only to stare at the ceiling until the normal falling-asleep-time?

Where will I sneak in the writing? The scrapping? The card making? The laundry? And of course, each day must be lovingly packed with time for emergencies. Like, for instance, cleaning up the bathroom after the cat falls into the toilet and shakes water everywhere. (Not that this happened yesterday or anything like that.)

And in the middle of all this, Lent began. I thought about giving up Daylight Savings and choosing to stay on real time, but I wasn’t sure how I’d manage to make that work among those who cave to it. In years past, I’ve given up things like pop, dessert, a meal…usually something food related. This year I decided to give up…nothing.

I’d learned that the self-sacrifice of things I loved so much served as a great diet…a great discipline…a great story for the weekly Bits…but very little spiritual growth came out of it. And that is one of the main purposes I even participated in the first place.

This year at our Ash Wednesday service at church, the pastor handed out little Lent devotion books written by Henri Nouwen. You don’t really forget a name like that, and since I semi-recognize it, I must have read his work somewhere before. But since I can’t remember where, I’m just enjoying the things he has to say. And the second day was very important to me.

I believe I mentioned last week that in our Sunday School class, we talked about the Proverbs 31 Woman. That prompted me to revisit a book I’d read on the subject. For several lunch hours this week, I perused the pages of the book I read 3 or 4 years ago. I read the things I’d underlined and the notes I’d made in the margins. I read the “on a scale from 1-10, I’m a…” measurements I’d made for myself in various topics.

And something very exciting happened.

I saw some growth.

Funny how separating yourself from something for that length of time will bring so much perspective. I saw areas where I’d really struggled – and while I may not be struggle-free now – I’ve made some pretty significant improvements.

And that was what I immediately thought of when I read day two in the devotion book. He says, “Because life is very small, you can never see it happening…Growth is too gentle, too tender…It is small and begs for constant care and protection. If you are committed to always saying ‘yes’ to life, you are going to have to become a person who chooses it when it is hidden.”

That gentle, tender, immeasurable-in-the-moment growth can be marked…after a time of waiting. The giving up of things didn’t make me grow. It was the embracing of life, the diligence to push forward when I was tired or had Sunday Night Syndrome or Sunday Night Rush. It was the willingness to find the hidden and allow it to live and thrive.