Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, the day that marks the beginning of the season of Lent. Today is Shrove Tuesday, traditionally celebrated with the "Feast of Pancakes" or other rich and fatty foods, a sort of celebration or "get rid of the sweets and fat" ritual before the fasting that begins the next day. But tonight, churches all over Hampton Roads have canceled their pancake suppers due to unsafe road conditions. Facebook indicates that many are grieving the loss. Since it is Shrove Tuesday, I have a confession to make. I don't really like pancakes. They're okay, and I eat them when I have to, but they're really not my thing. Now if was Waffle Supper, I might be feeling the loss, but pancake supper, well, I can take it or leave it. (Sorry pancake grievers!)
The truth is that having a snow day on the day before Ash Wednesday feels like taking a deep breath right before Lent begins. I slept late, took time for meditation, spiritual reading, and journaling, and then I headed out for a walk in the snow. Time with God in the creation. Though I don't love winter, there is something very special about walking in the snow after it has just fallen. With the sun out, the snow glittered and sparkled. I went slowly, partly because it was difficult to walk, cutting the first tracks through the snow, but also because I was trying to pay attention to what I was seeing, to breathe deeply and notice the world around me, to inhabit my body and get out of my head just a bit. As I walked through the neighborhood I saw that very few people had been out. I was the first to venture down to the iced over pond at the back of the neighborhood and the first to walk around it. I almost didn't go because I didn't want to mess up the pristine snow with my tracks, but it was so beautiful, I couldn't help myself. A few tiny bird tracks appeared along the side of the path, but otherwise there was no evidence of other living creatures. It wasn't quiet like I remember from walking in the snow in my childhood - too many sounds from nearby roads, probably snow plows and other equipment. Still, it was crisp and cold and full of beauty.
As I headed back up the hill I bumped into a friend I haven't seen in a long time walking her dogs, Bella and Rugby. They were adorable as they romped in the snow. My friend offered to let me use her snow shovel, so I wandered back to her house to pick it up. We chatted a bit and then I got to work shoveling out my driveway. Fortunately the snow hadn't packed down yet and was still light enough to remove with ease, though I am unaccustomed to the work and will have sore shoulders, I'm sure. I worked up a sweat. 31 degrees in the sun felt warm after my long walk yesterday in 18 degrees. When I returned the shovel, I was invited in for a cup of tea and some conversation. When do I ever have time for that? It was lovely to sit and chat and sip some spicy pumpkin tea with my friends while Rugby tried to chew my hand and jump in my lap.
In the afternoon I made an early dinner to share with Jan, and we made plans for upcoming meetings. It was all very relaxed. Now I know that I could have filled this time with a million things I need to do: cleaning, sermon prep, various work projects, taxes, did I mention cleaning? Instead I just tried to be present to the gift of the day, to breathe and ignore the occasional moments of anxiety and head chatter that said, "You need to make the most of this time. You need to get stuff done!" In my journal this morning I wrote, "There is enough time." What if I believed that every day?
There are many things I can do to honor the season of Lent that starts tomorrow. Maybe one is to practice being present and telling myself that there is enough time, to talk back to the voices in my head that say there will never be enough, and to take time just to be with God. Taking a deep breath before the season starts feels good and right. Snow interrupts my life like Jesus does; often in inconvenient ways. And yet, there is also an invitation. Stop. Look. Listen. Be. 
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