I’ve been telling this story to a few of you one at a time, but I think I’d like to tell the rest of you all at once, and this seems like a good place to do it.

Back on Fat Tuesday when we were at Karl’s house many of you spoke of what you would be giving up, or adding to your lives, for Lent.

It got me thinking, but I was concerned it would be similar to making a New Year’s resolution, which for me is like making a wish when blowing out birthday candles; a nice idea but without much expectation that it would yield results.

I was pretty sure I was going to opt out of the whole Lenten experience (I love that our church is like a huge buffet, we can pile our plates high with our faves, and leave the lima beans for those who like them.)

However, when I headed home I noticed a rather whiney song on the radio and it occurred to me that I could use a dose of “positive, encouraging” music, so I changed the dial to 91.1 and declared that I would leave it there for the next 40 days. I was almost immediately reminded that some of the on-air folks have got to be as good for the teeth as chewing sugar cubes, but I was determined to try to hear from God during my commute time, and since I only drive 15 minutes each way I knew it wouldn’t hurt too much.

At first I found myself thinking things like, “just 38 more days”, and then things like, “only 33 more days”. But then I started listening intentionally to the lyrics, determined to try and relate to what I was hearing, or at least try to picture what it would look like to be able to sing those words to God…and mean them. Things started to change.

One evening on my way home from work I got a call from a friend who was in the hospital. Hospitals are NOT my thing. Stopping anywhere on my way home from work is NOT my thing. But my car was now possessed by the spirits, Positive and Encouraging and it seemed to be driving me to the hospital. I wasn’t feeling put-out or guilted into going either, I kind of wanted to love on this friend a little. Weird.

Many times over the ensuing days I’d be faced with choices to do the selfish thing, or the selfless thing and chose the latter. I could tell it was different than before because there was no residual resentment or martyred stoicism, just a peace and a sense of gratitude that I got to be part of what God was doing.

A few weeks ago Steve got a call from his mom in Arkansas. Her husband of 38 years was dying and she was going to try to make his last days comfortable at home. He could tell she was scared and exhausted and there was no way of knowing how long he would need her constant care. Steve felt compelled to drive out immediately to help her with his step-dad, give her some rest, and just be there for her. He wanted to take the good car—“my” car. Now I’d only been on the K-Love diet for about a month, so I was by no means fully sanctified at this point. I frankly bitched a little. And then a little more. And then acquiesced with just a hint of martyred stoicism, but a mere fraction of what it would have been in pre-Lenten days.

Steve had a great week with his mom and visited the rest of his family in Missouri on his way to and from Arkansas, and on his way home he got the call…Smitty had passed away in the night. Towards the end of that conversation his mother told him, “I wish you and Deb lived close by.”  Steve relayed mom’s comment to me and in my new and improved heart I heard myself ask, “Why not?”

God was doing something, in fact had been doing something for quite some time. Our lease was up, I’d reached the rather low glass ceiling at work, and my wandering children were on the road again. Why not, indeed?

Since we’ve made the decision to go I’ve felt like a kid on Christmas Eve. I wake each morning full of hope and expectation and NOT wanting a cigarette. Hallelujah! There are many uncertainties ahead, yet I have every confidence that God’s all over it.

I’ve no idea what’s next, I’m just pretty sure that I’ve entered a new chapter of my life which began on Fat Tuesday and by no means ended on Easter Sunday. In fact I can hardly wait to turn the page.