40 Days of Ashes

Forty days ago, I sought to burn my psalms for Lent — my ptalms, you might recall. Writing one in the back of my journal before bed each night, then ripping out the page, entering my closet and closing the door behind me, and setting fire to my words in an old toolbox.

I said I’d do this until we celebrated the Christ’s resurrection, and forty days later . . . I’ve accomplished my task.

It was a different sort of Lenten season this year, for many reasons, and I have three main thoughts.

1. I didn’t really “give up” anything this year like you’re “supposed” to do. But sometimes “taking on” is just as vital as “giving up.”

When I first started out, I had this ambition of “giving up” the last two hours of my night to journaling, to ptalming, and to Scripture and prayer. No internet, no phone, no distraction.

I think I accomplished this the first two or three nights? But then I got bored.

And then the global pandemic with a once-in-a-lifetime quarantine hit, and I got really bored.

Still, whether I wrote my ptalms at 10pm or 5am (and, no joke, some deafeningly restless nights I wrote my ptalms as the birds were awakening), I wrote them. I sat on my bedroom floor and wrote the dang things for forty consecutive nights.

I’m proud of myself. I haven’t been that consistently spiritually intentional in a long time. Despite my not giving anything up, per se, this Lenten season has encouraged me to set better practices in place. It’s not just good for me; it’s achievable.

2. Who cares how good the “quality” of each ptalm was? Each one was authentic.

I’ll admit, I had a lot of hesitation entering these forty days because I’m a perfectionist, especially when it comes to words. Why enter into such a poetic endeavor if each ptalm penned wasn’t the envy of King David himself?

But therein lies the beauty with burning each one. I wrote forty ptalms over forty days, and only maybe four or five them were particularly poetic.

But all forty were genuine. Some nights I felt joyful and grateful; others, I couldn’t see the light.

God, you are so good.

And also —

God, where are you?!

Both sentiments are true of me, true of us all. In these forty days, I’ve learned I struggle to be real with God when the shadows fall. I turn off and seek other outlets for fulfillment rather than splay my heart for Him.

I suppose I don’t want to disappoint Him with my human weakness. My endless obsessions, my view of how my personal story arc should go (you know, since I’m a writer who’s now penned two books).

I struggle to take a deep breath when the world is not as it should be and say, “You are God, and I am not. Blessed be your name.”

It’s that classic “if I show you the real me, you’ll reject me” people-pleasing syndrome, only with the Almighty, and God how I want that to change.

3. Ritual can be life-giving or life-stealing. It all depends how you approach it.

Indeed, if I continued this ptalm-writing ritual beyond Easter, it’d feel more than a little stifling. A forty-day goal is what I set, and I somehow reached that goal when I thought I wouldn’t for at least ten or fifteen nights. Again, I’m proud of myself for accomplishing that kind of spiritual intentionality.

I found something beautiful each night, kneeling to my floor when the day was finally done, silence around me, darkness beyond my windows, just a pen and blank page before me. A chance to unfurl the coiled ball in my heart, whether I needed the whole page to unwind or only had enough energy for a couple lines.

It wasn’t an easy forty days by any means, pandemic notwithstanding. But it was life-giving. No matter how quenching the days were, each night and each ptalm gave me back at least one little flame.

I fasted with my church on Good Friday and followed some more intentional practices all Easter weekend, and I’m just grateful for the last forty days. They’re some of my better days in recent memory.

I don’t feel magically “healed” or “rejuvenated” or any sort of dramatic word. But encouraged? Yeah. I feel that.

With enough baby steps, valleys are spanned. Mountains are climbed. Continents are conquered.

Forty days can be the start of something beautiful. And even though the Lenten ritual is over, I want the spiritual connection to continue.

Perhaps I’ll pen another ptalm one day soon. Perhaps I won’t burn it this time; perhaps I will?

Maybe you’re wondering if I miss any of my ptalms. Especially the four or five I felt especially proud of?

Not really. I feel like if God wants me to reproduce those refrains for the future, if only in my relationship with Him, He’ll help me conjure them back from the ashes.

In the meantime, it’s time to live this fleeting life beyond the ash. Beyond the flames. Beyond the putting to death, night after night.

It’s also time to take on new life, new life here now for us all.