Ash Wednesday

Walked into the church and caught the eye of our neighbor, the school teacher, so we sat with her.

I'll be volunteering in her classroom soon. I'm not certain how these things happen, other than that it's Lent. You're supposed to take on new burdens, step out of your comfort zone, grow a little.

Ms. Maria, the teacher, asked what I was giving up for Lent.
"I gave up my whole freakin' life and moved here."

Ok, that's a little unfair and untrue. I only thought it, didn't say it. But I did have to admit to Nothing. That's what I'm giving up for Lent. Doing nothing. Thus, the classroom volunteering.

Anyway, I was sitting there at Mass tonight, watching the children being carried, pushed, pulled and prodded, up to the priest to be marked with ashes and I remembered Hannah and Ash Wednesday.

2002. Hannah was not quite 3 years old as Lent began that year. She was at the evening service with us and very reluctantly allowed Father Andy to mark her forehead with ashes. Her eyes were huge as she watched him mark my forehead. As we returned to the pew, she tugged at me.
"I have to go potty. NOW!"

You don't ignore the urgent warnings of a barely trained 3 year old so I hustled her off to the bathroom. She headed for the sink rather than a stall, climbed up the sink and peered into the mirrow. I could see indignation on her face as she moved her bangs back to reveal the cross of ashes.

"He DIRTED me!"

It was beyond bedtime as we left the church and I thought she was asleep in my arms, head on my shoulder. I learned differently, though, as we passed Father Andy and I heard a muffled little voice whisper, "DIRTER!"
Hannah went with me to St. Tom's on Ash Wednesday every year after the "dirter" incident. For another 5 years, I would tell her the story and, through those years, her understanding of Ash Wednesday, of Lent, of becoming clean through faith, her sure and simple faith, surpassed my own.