Or, a thoughtful and realistic Lent for a stay-at-home-mom.
“Deny yourself, take up your cross daily, and follow me,” said Jesus, not just to the apostles, but to anyone who at the time or in future would claim to be his disciple.
Me: *raises hand, though feebly*
That doesn’t sound like fun. That’s the part about discipleship that’s hard, and so counter-cultural.
“Take up your cross. Daily.”
I’ve been pondering this phrase this Lent. Luke’s sleep has been so … what word, even … hard to cope with, I guess, since switching him from crib to toddler bed, making him sleep in unfamiliar places while traveling, and then daylight savings was thrown in, too, over the past two months. Y’all know how important the sleep routine is to my sanity.
At 1:00 in the morning, when he’s been awake for an hour already, I ask myself, “Is this my cross that I must take up?” I sometimes joke that “I can sleep when I’m dead.” There’s a kernel of truth in that, perhaps. If Jesus has asked me to patiently bear the trial of unexplained two-year-old midnight awakeness, while I’m already not sleeping beautifully (because pregnant), then I dare to hope he will give me rest with him later.
The problem is bearing it patiently.
This Lent, I’ve turned to prayer to help me with that, at least to help me a little. For weeks now, I’ve been sitting by Luke’s bedside at naptime until he falls asleep. In the crib, I could do the routine, blow him a kiss, leave the room, and know that he would put himself to sleep within 15 minutes. In the toddler bed, I tried various methods to make him choose to stay in bed and close his eyes, but they all failed; or maybe I wasn’t persistent (patient) enough with them, so I changed my tactics.
Sometimes he wants me to hold his soft little hands as he gets comfy and drowsy after a peaceful pre-nap routine. Other times he’s giving me mean mugs in between my hostile whispers of “close your eyes!” from the bedside, after a two-year-old-stubbornness-meets-Mom-stubbornness pre-nap routine. But in the end, my stubbornness is bigger than his, and he’s tired, so he goes to sleep, even against his will, if I wait.
For Lent, I started bringing prayer into my waiting, which has enabled me to wait more patiently.
I made a list of individuals and families to pray for at the beginning of this Lent. Once I get Luke tucked under his blankets and at least somewhat subdued, I make the sign of the cross and begin a Rosary for whomever I’m praying for that day. It’s given me a daily spot to make sure I don’t forget to pray for my person, and it’s given me something other than “I wish you would just go to sleep!” to think about as I sit on the floor next to Luke. (I’m too tired myself to formulate spontaneous prayers at that time of day.)
Some days it takes him over half an hour to fall asleep. On those days, I am thrilled to have a 25-minute prayer to occupy most of that time. Many days, he falls asleep after only one or two of the five decades of the Rosary, in which case I postpone the rest till later (or delegate the rest to the angels), because I need to work on getting Miryam ready for her rest time, too.
Before and during Lent, my husband, Justin, always points out that sacrifices taken up during Lent should be meant to be maintained beyond Lent, ideally for the rest of one’s life. In this way, Lent becomes a yearly, compounding chipping away of vice and planting of virtue, that should be slow and steady, rather than drastic and short lived (looking at you, The Year I Gave Up Chocolate).
This nap time waiting time Rosary is a sustainable practice, at least for as long as I have a kid who needs my quiet presence to fall asleep in daylight. I hope he won’t need that forever; I hope I will transfer the practice to nursing time with the new baby, or something, in the future.
The other things I told myself I wanted to do for Lent (and wrote down by Ash Wednesday so I wouldn’t forget!) this year were small. I got the idea to pray Rosaries during the nap time wait from my intention to pray at least ONE whole Rosary this Lent. When you’re not in the habit, committing 20 minutes to one prayer can feel overwhelming, so I hadn’t done so in months. Hence, I started with half Rosaries, and have now completed multiple (as Luke just isn’t as tired yet on days I put him down for his nap early enough to be able to pick up Miryam from school later).
I said I would say at least ONE Chaplet of Divine Mercy. I have said exactly one.
I said I would get my kids and myself to daily mass at least ONE time during Lent. We finally (barely) made it this Monday.
I said I would go to Reconciliation; I have. I forgot to on the first Saturday I had mentally scheduled it for, but I called Justin in to hold me accountable the next week.
I said I would only check Facebook on the weekends. I’ve been mostly successful with that one. As the weeks have gone by, my thumb doesn’t twitch to open it on my phone every time I have 2 free minutes now, so staying off of it has gotten much easier. This is one of those Lenten practices I hope to sustain indefinitely.
Just before Lent, I banned the kids from candy “until Easter” because of their sneaky shenanigans, so I decided I would give up candy in solidarity with them during Lent, too. I know some people give up all sweets…but I know myself: that’s too drastic for me.
There are still a couple of things on my Lent list this year that I haven’t gotten to. I have ten days left–Miryam asks for the Countdown to Easter update daily–to continue working on them. And hopefully, I’ll emerge from this Lent a little bit more patient, more disciplined, more willing to take up my cross, daily, so I can be a better wife, a better mom, and a better disciple of Jesus.
