The Time of My Life: Mardi Gras Confessionals

Y'all, I am blogging. On a blog I created three years ago. And haven't written on in two years. And it's not the apocalypse. Prepare yourselves.

Occasionally, over the last couple years, I have considered picking up this blog again, but really who has the time?! I was getting my feet wet in a new job (and probably over extending myself, let's be honest). I had started getting active in a new church. I was volunteering with some lovely college women. I was keeping up a home and a pup and long distance relationships with friends and family. There were births of nephews and a niece. A wedding. A funeral. Too many of life's hiccups to count... and somehow time just got away from me.

I catch myself saying that a lot. Time got away from me. There's not enough time in the day. Where did the time go? How has that much time passed? If only I had more time, I would...

Call my grandmas more. Finally mail out those thank you cards from Christmas (sorry y'all, they're coming!). Take a long walk. Pamper myself. Take a (real) vacation. Call and write my friends more. Go to the grocery more. Do laundry before it piled up. Take up yoga. Learn a new skill. Cook something. Volunteer more. Relax more. Laugh more. Enjoy more.

As Lent has been (quickly!) approaching, I've been considering the areas in my life that could use some intentional practice. Can you believe I actually even spent a little while wondering what type of practice I had time for? Talk about missing the point. Sheesh. As I thought and thought (and thought) on it, I began to consider how Jesus spent his time.

He worshipped. To the point that his parents accidentally left him behind at the synagogue. Oops.
He ate with a lot of people. He got to know them. He asked questions. And cared about their lives.
He prayed. Sometimes alone. Sometimes not.
He napped. Even on a boat, during a raging storm.
He served. Fishes and loaves and healings and foot washings come to mind.
He hung out with kids. And old people. And sick people. And prostitutes. And prisoners. Diverse, huh?
He taught. He rested. He gave. He made friends and he sought solitude.
He loved.

But nowhere in my Bible did it say that Jesus had too much on his plate, too much work to do, too many Jerusalem cruisers to shop for (I kid, I kid), to make time. For God. For Others. For Himself.

With that in mind, I am committing in writing (eek!) to spend the next 40 days making time. I'm fairly certain this will be my hardest Lenten practice yet (including the year I gave up Diet Mt Dew- which is pretty much my lifeblood), but it's time to make time. For God. For Others. For Myself.

And to make sure I do, y'all are going to hear about it. Every day during Lent, I am going to make time to do something I wouldn't otherwise have done that day, with the intention of strengthening my faith walk, my relationships, and my personal health and peace. So bear with me. It's going to be a rocky road. But it just might be the best time I've ever spent.

Happy Shrove Tuesday, friends!