Last Day of Lent. Confirmation Tomorrow.

There has never been a time in my history when Easter has meant so much to me. I've usually greeted Lent (the 40 days between Ash Wednesday and Holy Saturday) in years past with either apathy ("I'm not Catholic so I don't care about it") or half-heartedness ("I'll try to give up X and we'll see if I can actually do it or not . . . "). But this year, knowing that Confirmation, Eucharist, and new life await me on Easter Sunday, I jumped into Lent with both feet: Mass every Sunday, RCIA class every Monday, daily readings, morning prayer, evening prayer, etc. etc. etc. And here it is, six and a half weeks later . . . . and Lent is over. Tomorrow is Easter Day.

I asked myself in early March how I was going to be different after celebrating Lent. Spending so much time in silence, meditating, reading, or simply feeling stuck in my head, have definitely helped me come nearer to God. I even had a few epiphanies along the way--most of them along the lines of, "You are not the only person who ever suffers, you know. Try listening to other people more."

The one thing that I didn't really expect to feel--but that may not be all that surprising--was something akin to exhaustion. Towards the end of Lent, I started feeling so sick of being contemplative, sick of thinking about penitential things, sick almost to the point of resentment. I'd look at the stack of things I was "supposed" to read for the day (self-assigned, of course; no one told me to read them), and feel like giving up.

I don't think it's just me who felt this way, though. A few weeks ago, I was having a similar conversation with one of my friends from RCIA. She, too, gives herself a checklist of things to do to be more spiritual: "Before you go to work today, go take a walk in the woods, meditate, come back, do some yoga, and read the Bible." Those are healthy things. But she--like me--tends to view them at times as things to get through instead of things to enjoy, and that's when they lose their meaning.

I don't want to feel obligated to seek God; I want to seek God because my heart compels me to. Sometimes I set the bar so high for myself that I can't do it all. But that way leads to despair. I have come to the conclusion that it is just as authentic and valid--and maybe even more so?--to approach God with empty hands and an open heart. Like our Psalmist friend wrote, "You do not delight in sacrifice, otherwise I would give it . . . " (Psalm 51:17) God would rather see our authentic selves. So I think my struggle to do the right thing should involve more sitting in silence and less frenzied labor.

This is not to say I feel my time spent in prayer, fasting, and charity was spent in vain. Far from it. I have been blessed beyond imagining. Lent is a glorious time for self-analysis, -reflection, -discipline, and -denial. And honestly, I've been too excited thinking about Easter Sunday to really be properly sad during Holy Week. I am immensely grateful for the experience of Lent and for this time of preparation leading up to Easter Day.

Tomorrow at 1:30 p.m. I'll be officially accepted into the Catholic Church. I'll be confirmed and take my first Holy Communion (time to edit this one, huh). I am also thrilled beyond belief that even though none of my family lives nearby, six--count 'em, SIX--of my good friends in Raleigh are coming to the service to cheer me on! It makes me so happy to feel such tangible support from them. (I appreciate everyone else's love from afar, too!) It's been an exciting journey, and tomorrow is just the beginning. Feliz Pascua!