Lent is approaching rapidly. Ash Wednesday is this week. I’ve avoided the questions of “what are you going to do for Lent,” but soon those questions will be in present tense rather than future tense and I won’t be able to dodge any longer.
I actually love Lent and look forward to a mostly depressing season in the Catholic Church where there are no songs of Glory to God, no Alleluias. No instrumental music or flowers at the altar. Lent is used as a time of removing the adornment and distractions – in ourselves as well as in the buildings.
As a Catholic kid I used to give up the standard “chocolate” every Lent. Then I would kick myself because my birthday was always during Lent and my Lenten sacrifice meant no chocolate cake for my special day. Oh, the suffering!
But when I got older and came back to the beauty and all the meanings within the Church, I wanted Lent to have a meaning within my soul as it was intended.
I looked for ways to sacrifice. I looked for ways to truly draw attention to the season. A daily reminder of what I was doing, who I was doing it for, and what I was needing to draw closer to. I believe Lent should be a time of transformation. To grow closer to being the person God intends for you to be.
For years I would focus on one of the deadly sins or one of the virtues of the Holy Spirit. I had some great Lents, but none have ever held as much meaning or changed my life as much as Lent 2019.
I was thinking one morning as I got ready for work of what I was going to do for Lent. Should I give up something? Should I do more of something else? What could it be? I was putting on my makeup when a thought flitted into my mind. “You should give up makeup.” ….. “Oh hell no!” I thought immediately. As soon as I had the hell-no reaction, I knew that was exactly what I should give up.
I knew that if it was something I was resisting that strongly that wasn’t actually bad or good for me, then I had grown too attached to something of this world and that could signal that it was keeping me from being close to God.
Now I am not now, nor have I ever been, a makeup fiend. I have always sought the natural look. The lacquered foundation, painted on eyebrows, smokey eyes, or layers of colors have never been my thing. But that reaction to going from a natural “look” to actually natural made me realize I was unhealthily dependent upon it.
I dreaded Ash Wednesday that year. I didn’t tell anyone except my husband and my mom what I was giving up. My husband shrugged. My mom was horrified. She said, “Well I will not be giving that up!”
My mom is one of the reasons I had grown such a dependence on makeup. She lived and died by the notion that one must be presentable at all times. For as long as I could remember, my mother had to be made up to go out of the house. She did her makeup and hair to go pull weeds in the flower bed. She would never have walked into a store in sweatpants. Instead, she wore slacks and a blouse and decent shoes at every appearance in public. Jeans and a sweatshirt were allowed only if the occasion specifically called for it, but that would never have been a go-to.
In 2019 my mom had been battling pancreatic cancer for 2 years. She had no hair left including her eyelashes and eyebrows. The chemotherapy regimen that she was on inflamed her skin so it was swollen and angry and red and scaly. Every day she spent 2 hours fastidiously layering makeup to hide all of those side effects and make herself look as “normal” as possible. She never went anywhere without her wig. Even the times she was in the hospital for days in a row, she would wear her wig around the clock so not even a nurse would see her without.
I hated Lent that year. Every day I was mortified. I still had to go to work, to Mass, to my book club. I was sure people were concerned about my health. Three weeks in to Lent I admitted my resolution to some fellow Catholic friends. “Really? I didn’t even notice!” they said. I was sure they were just being polite.
Every morning I sighed in the bathroom. For a time I started to really concentrate on making my hair look really good, but realized I was just trading one vanity for another. Every time I went to the bathroom, I dreaded looking in the mirror as I washed my hands. So I just wouldn’t look. I hated it all.
I was going to a work conference toward the end of Lent. At the time of my resolution, I considered that trip as a reason why I shouldn’t make this as my sacrifice. I’m going to meet professional colleagues and contacts looking like this? Maybe I could wear makeup that week. I debated packing some “just in case” but ultimately decided against. I kind of liked how easy it was to pack for the trip and how little setup was needed when I got to the hotel.
A funny thing happened during those 40 days. My friends still talked to me. They still laughed at my jokes. My husband still wanted to have sex with me. I was offered a job. My children still didn’t listen to me. But they still gave me hugs and wanted cuddled.
My world didn’t end. No one actually noticed. And if they did notice, they really didn’t care.
Lent is long. But it took nearly the entire season before I quit hating to look in the mirror. By Easter Sunday I had decided I would not go back to wearing makeup other than curling my eyelashes and putting on a layer of mascara. That season taught me to be comfortable in my skin and to pay attention to the important things in life. And how I look, is not what is important. I realized how many times I would miss out on something because I wasn’t “ready” aka “pretty enough.” Impromptu lunches out or trips to the store with my husband. Noticing the perfect weather and running the kids to the nearest park. A 6 a.m. hot air balloon launch.
It was August of 2019 and my mom was no longer taking visitors. She didn’t have the energy or strength to spend the now 3 hours to get herself made up for company so she refused to see anyone. I begged. Others asked on my behalf. My dad tried to coax. My mother held firm. No one. Not me. Not the grandchildren. She didn’t want to scare anyone.
I had taken a week off of work to spend the last week of summer vacation with my kids before they started back up to school. It was great timing because our area was hosting a national hot air balloon competition and the kids and I were making it to nearly every race. One morning we had ended up on a soccer field where we met with dozens of friends and acquaintances who stopped by to see the events. I had a ponytail, layers of clothes because the weather was unnaturally cool that early in the morning, and not a stitch of makeup. We had breakfast on the grass as we waited for the balloons to fly overhead. The kids played, the adults chatted. It was glorious.
I checked in afterward with my parents. My mother was getting worse. Hospice was being arranged. She still didn’t want to see anyone. By the time the kids and I got home it was nearing lunchtime. The day had turned warm again and I stood outside fighting back the tears as I began to face the impending death of my mother. My best friend. My biggest supporter. As I tried to picture this life, this day, without her. And how much I wished I could see her. Trying to remember if I hugged her tight enough the last time I saw her or if I had assumed I would get another chance. I was angry at her for abandoning me before she was actually taken from me.
As I heard my children playing and laughing and extending their morning of joy into the afternoon, I thanked God for my Lenten experience that year. For giving me that nagging thought that I immediately and vehemently wanted to reject. For giving me the wisdom to pay attention to it and the strength to follow it. Because of that experience, I am able to give a gift to my children and myself: That no matter what, my children will not be banished from my presence out of vanity. That at least I will not have my vanity standing in the way of life experiences ever again.
Because how I look should never be more important than how I feel. How I look will not matter as much as what I can experience. How I look does not define my worth or limit the love I can receive. Lent 2019 set the bar pretty high for my Lenten resolutions in the future and I hope to have more life-improving experiences each year. It just takes listening to those still, small voices.