Ashes

A little over a year ago, on Ash Wednesday last year (which fell earlier in February than it does this year), I landed in Rome.

As that day drew to a close, two friends and I were able to be part of the last mass marking the day being celebrated in St. Peter's Basillica.

A year and a bit later, I still have very few words for those moments.

To describe what it was to stand in that place, after the trip that was drawing to a close, and mark the beginning of Lent.

To remember the scent of incense that seemed to linger long after it should have drifted away.

To recall how I'd French braided my hair into two separate braids that day, and remember the sensation of the ashes sitting in the part of my hair, resting on my head for the day that followed.

To remember the blessing of standing amidst a deep and holy space with friends.

Much has changed in the year that has followed, and I remain uncertain how I will mark this Lenten season.

But today, today I'm remembering the ashes. The feeling of them on my head, and in my hair. The moments that are too deep for words, but are treasured in my heart.

Today I'm marking again the beginning of a season of fasting, waiting, praying. A season traditionally of preparation for baptism. A season that moves without faltering towards death, and then culminates in the celebration of life.

And so, I will wait and watch and fast and pray. For miracles of joy and hope and restoration. For miracles of resurrection and new life. For peace. And I will remember ashes and dust and let my heart be changed.