Without going into the history of the Christian Lenten season, I’ll share with you that I observe it annually. It began yesterday, on Ash Wednesday. As many do, I usually either choose to give something up (sacrifice) or add a spiritual practice, in hope that I’ll turn toward God and continue to grow in Him.
I didn’t feel I had the energy to commit to anything huge, but I chose to sit for a simple daily loving-kindness meditation, in hopes I might grow in compassion toward my neighbors and myself.
The words will vary from practice to practice, but the gist of the meditation is this:
May I be filled with loving-kindness.
May I be free from suffering and pain.
May I be peaceful and at ease.
May I be happy.
May you (our community/our country/our world) be filled with loving-kindness.
May you (our community/our country/our world) be free from suffering and pain.
May you (our community/our country/our world) be peaceful and at ease.
May you (our community/our country/our world) be happy.
Cuz if the world needs anything now days, it’s love sweet love… right?
I announced my intention. Picked out a 10 minute guided meditation on YouTube. Sat down on my bed. Invited my very wiggly, giggly, and very up-in-mah-bussiness kids (2 and *almost* 5) to join me.
Took a deep breath. Let go of expectations. (Yeah, right.)
I pressed PLAY.
And the play… ahem, began. He who is almost 5 (less than a week now, people!) began chanting … softly whispering initially but growing in volume and pitch and passion…
“I’mma lick a COW!”
(Because isn’t that the important and impassioned message we all have on our hearts most evenings? 😐)
I put a finger to my lips.
Leaning in close to me: “I’mma LICK A COW. I’m a liccka COWWW…”
I cracked an eye, asked him to be quiet, and…
“I’MMA LICK A COW!” Absolutely howling with laughter now.
I put two fingers to his shoulder and pushed him backwards on to my bed.
And the almost-5-year-old’s howling laughter turned into screams of despair and dissolved into tears of betrayal.
What?! My eyes open again, I hit PAUSE.
I made it a mere 1 minute and 28 seconds into my loving-kindness meditation which ended with a child howling their rejection and screaming in lament.
Yes, he was playing initially. But when the tears come, I have to remember that this child of mine — who is in so very many ways much like me — has a big heart. And that can come with big reacts.
My oldest boy (9)? Oh, he and I could holler back and forth all day and I could beat him over the head to get him to cease in a behavior, and he wouldn’t be phased by my requests. There might be annoyance on his part, but he’d also dig in his heels, and pretty much dare me to yell louder.
My almost-5-guy is not my 9 year old. His feelings were real, his tears were real, his TIRED was real.
He cried and cried. We hugged, we rocked. I said I was sorry. I told him I wished he’d listened, but I never wanted him to be hurt. I told him next time he can do the meditation with me or he can choose not to. He cried and cried some more.
And thus ended the loving-kindness meditation, with me feeling like it was a MESS-itation and I was an darkly-ironic-at-best person who needed something a little more like an intense conversion “come to Jesus” experience.
Things finally started to quiet down. I changed him into his pajamas.
I started to change his solid and strong 2yo brother into his pajamas, who in an effort to escape changing his shirt, thrust himself backwards and… head-butted his almost-5-year old brother square in the damn nose.
So much for loving-kindness.
At least the formal, meditation sort. We cried and cried and hugged and hugged some more. And fell asleep.
Sometimes meditation brings us shiny, peaceful we-are-all-one insight.
And sometimes, it confronts us with uncomfortable reality; that life is messy and flawed and our best efforts are essentially crap.
May I be peaceful and at ease. May we all be peaceful and at ease.
alive. awake. uncomfortable. 