A sacred time of year like Lent requires sacred spaces. Not necessarily the spaces of a physical nature, but the sacred places of the soul. Places reserved for stillness.
When was the last time you were drenched in quietness? With a silence so deep that it seeped into your soul? Or does the thought of that make you so uncomfortable that you are even now reaching for a remote to turn up the volume in your life?
Yet our noisy and sensory-saturated world only increases the need for silence. The kind of sweet solitude a child seeks under the welcoming arms of a weeping willow tree. I remember such a tree from my childhood. On a summer day the long, leafy branches brushed the grass, creating a sanctuary of solitude where pleasant play and imagination flourished. (Do I hear a collective sigh of contentment here?)
Lent calls us to quietude. To a refuge of reflection. To a place where we can breathe and imagine and become a little child again.
And while your image of a peaceful place may not be found in the whispering breeze underneath a willow tree, I would invite you to create your own haven of hush. A shelter where you can shut out sounds of distractions and usher in the silent songs of the sacred.
For now that is enough. Silence. Quietness. Solitude. Sacred spaces ready to embrace the sacred gifts that this season of Lent longs to offer.
Where do you yearn to go—either physically or in your imagination—to give yourself a place of quietude during these days of Lent?