Saturday after Ash Wednesday
Why are you so full of heaviness, O my soul?
and why are you so disquieted within me?
Put your trust in God;
for I will yet give thanks to him,
who is the help of my countenance, and my God.
Psalm 42:14-15
It has been a long time since I kneaded dough, but my hands remember, and soon my whole being is absorbed with the calming rhythmic motion. I had forgotten the pleasure of the feel of it.
I have decided to make pretzels, something new for me. As I pull the dough apart and begin form each one, it becomes less cooperative, the consistency not what I expect or want. I wonder what is amiss. Is it the yeast, my kneading, a missed step?
I ask a friend. It could be the dryness and the cold, she speculates. Let it rest for a while. Of course. The dough, like me, like the rest of us, is susceptible to the environment around it. It becomes less when it doesn’t have what it needs. And rest helps.
I know rest is important. But what if I understood rest as a necessary ingredient? Not just something that is nice when you can get it, but an essential component in Lent and life?
Which leaves me to ponder not only how I will find rest in the wilderness, but what it might look like.
