Reflection 14: Living Distinctly This Lent

Ash Wednesday is tomorrow.

We will walk forward, receive ashes on our foreheads, and hear the words that steady the soul: Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return. Forty days begin. Forty days of repentance. Forty days of renewal.

And this year, Lent feels different for me.

This past weekend, instead of doing the typical Valentine dinner, Kierston and I attended a marriage retreat at our church. It cost less than one fancy night out. Meals were included. Childcare was included. But more importantly, time was included. Time to reconnect. Time to listen. Time to strengthen the foundation of our marriage.

It reminded me of something simple but powerful: love is not meant to be celebrated once a year. It is meant to be lived daily. Investing in our marriage is investing in our children’s future. It is investing in the stability of our home. It is choosing something deeper over something flashy.

But even that weekend did not unfold the way we imagined.

On Saturday, we had to take our son E to stay with his grandma. He had a rough time in the childcare provided at the retreat because he knew we were right there. He did not want to play. He did not want to settle. He wanted to be with us. He wanted our time.

And honestly, that hit me.

We were there to invest in our marriage. He simply wanted to invest in us.

Then, as if to underline the lesson, a thunderstorm rolled through and knocked our power out for twelve hours. So much for a quiet evening at home. So much for a nice meal and a glass of wine. Instead, we packed up and went to stay with my mom and our son so we could get some sleep.

Nothing about the weekend was polished. Nothing went exactly as planned.

And yet, maybe that was the point.

Living distinctly does not mean living perfectly. It means living surrendered. It means remembering that God is in control, even when childcare falls apart and the lights go out. Especially when the lights go out.

During the retreat, we learned communication tools that forced us to slow down and truly listen instead of reacting emotionally or rushing to solve problems. I realized quickly that these tools do not only apply to marriage. They apply to our relationship with Christ.

How often do we pray emotionally but not intentionally?
How often do we bring God our frustrations without actually listening?
How often do we focus on outcomes instead of surrender?

Our son wanted to be near us because he knew we were close. How often do we forget that about God? He is near. We are the ones who wander. We are the ones who get distracted by plans, schedules, and expectations.

Lent is an invitation to return.

If we blend in completely with the world, if we chase comfort and cling tightly to our plans, our witness fades. A priest once said that if we do not live distinctly, we become extinct. That line has stayed with me. When Christians stop choosing sacrifice, stop choosing intentional love, stop choosing surrender, we lose something essential.

This season is an opportunity to choose differently.

Let go of what fills your schedule but empties your soul.
Strengthen your marriage.
Strengthen your prayer life.
Dig deeper instead of staying surface level.
Listen more than you speak.
Surrender more than you control.

Our time here is temporary. Eternity is the goal.

The ashes are not meant to shame us. They are meant to wake us up.

So as Lent begins, I am asking myself: where have I blended in? Where have I chosen comfort over growth? Where have I reacted instead of listened to my wife and to Christ?

This season is an invitation to live distinctly. To love distinctly. To trust distinctly.

Even when the power goes out. Even when the plans change. Even when the child just wants to be near.

See you in the Eucharist.

Lord Jesus,

As we enter this Lenten season, remind us that we are dust and completely dependent on You. Strip away our pride, our need for control, and our attachment to comfort.

Teach us to love our spouses with patience and intention. Teach us to listen before we react. Teach us to surrender our plans when they fall apart and trust that You are still working.

When the lights go out in our homes or in our hearts, be our light.

Draw us closer to You over these forty days. Help us live distinctly in a world that forgets You. Shape our marriages, our families, and our souls for eternity.

We give You this Lent.
Amen.