[Father Seth is an Anglican priest at Village Church in Greenville, SC. I have never loved a church more. There is still room for you, and I wouldn't call you crazy if you moved to Greenville just to come to Village. Tandem would be a bonus.]

Dear Father Seth,

Thank you for your Ash Wednesday homily yesterday, and especially for the words “Remember to die” that you shared with us. I looked up those Latin words you spoke of, Memento Mori, and I love this simple definition I found on Wikipedia: A memento mori is an artistic or symbolic reminder of the inevitability of death. I don’t want a skull on my bookshelf like you said some monks had, but a pretty little note like this will do:

Thank you again for reminding us of our mortality as we move into this season of Lent. Thank you for the ashes and for the weightiness of the communal prayers we shared yesterday.

Yesterday morning, I got up a little early to pray about the start of the journey that is Lent. As you and most others know about me, I like to stay home. I don’t like to go on journeys because of the inevitable unknowns of travel. Yet here I am, starting another Lenten journey. As I sat on the bathroom floor in complete quiet and prayed and listened, I journaled a few thoughts and then heard the clear voice of the Spirit saying, “Give up your coffee, just today.” In the days leading up to Lent, I had already prayed and contemplated my list of “give-ups” and coffee wasn’t on it, not even for a day. Yet, I sensed this ask from the Lord, and in reply, I prayed the prayer of Jesus in the Garden, except the opposite: God, please don’t take this cup from me. I literally wrote in my journal, “Will you please let me drink coffee today?”

I still felt a gentle “No” in my spirit, so I practiced doing what my friend Delnora describes as flipping on the trust switch. In other words, though I wasn’t eager to give up coffee and worried about a headache, I chose to obey. I am more religious in my coffee drinking than almost anything in my life, and yet isn’t that the very thing God comes after, the thing we think we have to have?

Can I tell you something else? We didn’t attend the Shrove Tuesday pancake dinner, and my public reasons were two-fold: We needed the night at home as a family (very true), and it makes me very anxious to be around a lot of kids in a setting where there is syrup and whipped cream (also very true). But my third, more-private reason is that I wanted to be able to drink alcohol on Mardi Gras. That night, I planned Taco Bowls for our dinner at home because I knew it meant TJ and I could savor our last Hazy Little Things for a while. You see, we are giving up alcohol for Lent, except for a couple very special occasions (i.e. TJ’s birthday celebration). My body needs a break, and my will needs to be broken. I am aware that I have demanded more than I should, so Lent is a welcome stop for the way it will help me check my heart around the role of alcohol in my life.

There are a few other places God is leading us during Lent, for which I am thankful and willing to go. One is that TJ and I will read Hannah Coulter together as a way to remember a different way to live. Two is that we will charge our phones downstairs at night, rather than bringing them to our bedroom. I intend to forget, rather than remember, my phone. This morning, I had a startling incident while driving Sailor to preschool before heading to Aldi: I realized that I had completely forgotten to bring my phone along. It was still charging in the homeschool room, and not once since getting up had I remembered to check it or to put it in my purse before leaving home. I had to remind myself at that moment that it’s actually okay to be away from home sometimes and not have my phone. Though accidental this morning, it was a freeing experience, and I am thankful to have begun as I hope to continue this season.

I am no longer going to let my phone follow me around like a puppy. I have some new and recent thoughts on technology, in part due to the fact that our small group is reading John Mark Comer’s book The Relentless Elimination of Hurry. Have you read it? I can’t recommend it without some qualifications, but if we talk face to face about the book sometime, I’ll share what I think. This letter can’t contain the technology thoughts, so I will save those for another day. Suffice it to say that reading Wendell Berry does as much for eliminating the hurry in my soul as anything I’ve ever found. So Hannah Coulter is certainly a good Lent practice for us to add, along with our efforts to disentangle our phones from our embodied selves.

In closing, I have a quote to share that feels appropriate for this season:

You have shown us that, Father Seth, in the way you love and serve our body at Village so faithfully day by day, and week by week. Thank you for that, and for leading us into Lent once again.

May we all remember to die (even our phones),

Ginger

P.S. I didn’t get a headache yesterday.