I never really looked forward to Ash Wednesday. This is not because of the mass or the ashes that – to this day – make my forehead break out, but rather because Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of one thing: Lent.
When I was younger, my mother made my two sisters and I give up television and the computer for the Lenten season. I always tried to come up with clever responses to my mother’s demands, telling her that I would give up doing homework or going to school on Mondays. Shockingly, she never agreed.
As a child, giving up TV was epic; Saturday mornings seemed deadly when I couldn’t watch “Saved by the Bell” and “California Dreams.” Afternoons dragged on without my daily dose of “Hey Dude.” We couldn’t even play outside because it’s always cold during Lent.
So, for a 10-year-old, losing TV was like losing the joy in your life.
There was one plus side, however. I am almost positive it was all the TV-free Lents in my childhood that gave me enough time to read the complete “Baby-sitters Club” series.
As I got older, TV got less and less important, but my exodus from all things computer related, including the ever-popular AOL, meant I was a stranger to the middle school social scene. Without checking the daily AOL profile updates, how was I supposed to keep track of Jonathan and Nicole’s relationship? Without the constant barrage of Instant Messages, how was I supposed to know if Stephanie and Lauren were still friends?
Every morning I would walk into school thinking I knew the gossip (because how much could change in one night?) and people would give me looks that clearly meant, “You know nothing.” It was terrible.
With Lent also came the no-meat-on-Fridays rule. But, unlike the no-TV and no-computer stipulations, meatless Fridays were the one part of Lent I actually did not mind, as a guaranteed pizza night was the highlight of my week without electronics.
But even that backfired when my mom forgot to get pizza and, instead, decided fish-sticks were an adequate substitute; fish sticks are never a replacement for pizza. Fish sticks aren’t even a replacement for food. Fortunately, as I got older, my mother lightened up on the Lent restrictions. I think she finally realized that it made us look forward to Easter not for the resurrection of Jesus, but for the resurrection of our pre-adolescent vices.
So, throughout most of high school and now college, I’ve been left to my own devices to decide what I’m giving up for Lent. One year I tried to give up saying the Lord’s name in vain. (I spent 40 days screaming “oh my GEORGE” when I stubbed my toe.) Then I gave up soda (and spent all of Easter Sunday in a Diet Coke-induced haze).
It seems that whatever I give up, I just spend all of Lent mad about, and then just jump right back into it come Easter.
People of the Church always seem to tell me I’m missing the point, and maybe I am. My Lent sacrifices never seem to make me closer to Jesus, they just make me a caffeine-deprived girl spending her days thinking up synonyms for “God.”
This year I’m not even going to try to give something up. (Don’t worry, I’m also not about to make some resolution where I’ll try to be “the biggest college chick I can be.”)
Instead, I’m going to live my life – a life that includes VH1 reality TV marathons and way too much diet coke. And I’m going to spend the next 40 days making an effort to be thankful for everything I have, which I think may be my best Lenten promise yet.
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