My youngest child is all lightness and gaiety. She is full of goofy faces and her goal is to spread the joy. Ash Wednesday is not her speed. She was doing fine until we went forward to receive the ashes. Then she did a little freaking out. I could see her letting both her dad and then the priest know "not on me."
She made it through with gentle coaxing but several times during the service she would stare at my head and then say, "Get it off me."
At one point, I asked her why it was bothering her so much. "It's black," she said. "Does black make you sad?" I asked. "YES!"
I told Mike on the way home that now was the time to obtain a promise she would never get a tattoo. But in all seriousness, she grasped a truth in her childish way. It is BLACK. The reality of those ashes is darkness all over. And Ash Wednesday is a reminder that this is our destiny. Without Christ.
She faded into sleepiness on the way home and all was forgotten until the next morning. Then at breakfast she pointed at my head and said startled, "It's gone."
"Did you think it was forever?"
"Yes," her little head nodded. Pure, relief as I told her that hers too was nearly gone and we could wash it the rest of the way.
Yes, we can wash it. Yes, we are washed.
3 comments:
The girls had a completely opposite reaction. When they saw the cross on my forehead, Jacqueline cried because she wanted one. So Reverend Wendy gave her one and of course the others wanted one, too. So I explained to them, hopefully in little child language, what it signified. I didn't grow up with lent season, so this has been a new concept to me in the past two years working with the Presbyterian church. I wonder, now, why does my religion not recognize the season. Hmmm...
- Noelle
A powerful illustration.
Wow, I'm really glad to be back into reading blogs. Why did I ever think I should fill my time with other things?!
Love this post.
-- SJ
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