Makeshift Altars

I recently came across a poem that I wrote one Lent.  It reminded me of the intentionality of the Lenten journey: not merely giving up chocolate or wine to say we did it, but going all the way down the path to find our True Self.

What is this stone?  I ask myself.
Am I pushing or pulling?
Is it something in front of me that obstructs the path,
keeping me from seeing where the path leads before me?
Sunken into the mud, are its smooth,
but long-entrenched edges immovable?
Should I sit here, lean against it, and rest awhile
as moments give way to a lifetime
and shoulds become the regrets
of mortal yesteryear?
Ashes to ashes, must to must.
Or perhaps I should rise.
My hands cramped and bloodied from dragging
Atlas's woes.
Behind me is a trail worn deep in ancient dirt
that should have been left settled.
Yes, yes.
I stretch my aching back and gaze
with longing eyes down a path yet untouched
by these feet.
The stone that was mine,
but never was,
I leave behind.
It shall never seal my tomb.
Ropes and chain fall to the ground with my fears
as dust rises with remembered hopes.
And as I start this new journey into the
Lenten Wilderness,
one that is finally mine,
there in the distance
I see me,
I am,
my True Self,
kneeling at the makeshift altar made of stone by these
simple but capable hands.

What does this journey look like for you? Are you being intentional about the journey? What practices are you engaging in to remind you who you really are? What needs to be let go so that the process can continue? What is the rock that you are dragging? Is it a story that was never true to begin with that needs to be rewritten?

God’s Peace on the Journey,

Rev. Brandyn Simmons, MBA, MGCM, MDiv., PCC
Executive Director
Generations Care Partners Foundation
bsimmons@generationscarepartners.org
CRS Board Member