“Ash Wednesday arrives with a whisper—a call to stillness, reflection, and grace. As we step into Lent, may we embrace the small, sacred moments that draw us closer to Him.”
Ash Wednesday arrives not with fanfare, but with a whisper—a quiet call to step away from the rush, to still our hearts, and to remember what truly matters. It is a day of simplicity, a return to the essentials: dust to dust, grace upon grace.
A Season of Reflection and Renewal
Lent is often viewed as a time of sacrifice, a season of giving things up. But what if it is also an invitation—an opportunity to embrace the small, quiet luxuries that bring us closer to God? Not indulgence, but the simple joys that create space for reflection and renewal.
Consider these gentle practices as you step into this sacred season:
A slow morning—letting the warmth of coffee or tea settle into your soul.
Stepping outside—listening to birdsong as a prayer, letting nature remind you of His presence.
Lighting a candle in the evening—watching the flame flicker as a quiet reflection of His light.
Keeping a journal nearby—jotting down simple blessings, whispered prayers, or moments of gratitude.
Reading a passage of Scripture or poetry—allowing it to stir something deep within.
Preparing a simple meal with intention—savoring the nourishment and offering thanks.
Less Noise, More Grace
Lent is not merely about giving things up—it’s about making room.
Less noise, more grace.
Less striving, more resting in Him.
Less of the world, more of His love.
As the ashes are placed upon our foreheads, may we enter this season with gentleness, welcoming its quiet call. Let us embrace the small, sacred moments that draw us nearer to the One who is always near to us.
What Brings You Stillness?
What little joy or quiet luxury helps you embrace the stillness of Lent? Share your thoughts in the comments—I’d love to hear how you are making space for grace this season.
Two years ago, I stepped into Adoration for the first time, not knowing what to expect. My sweet friends from work had invited me, and though I had always loved the Lord, I had never leaned on Him as I should. At the time, I was moving forward the best I could after my husband’s passing earlier that year, but inside, I was not well. I carried a guilt so consuming that it overshadowed every step I took. I put on a smile, a brave face, especially for my daughter, who was deep in her own grief. But I could not let go of the weight I carried.
My husband and I had a difficult life together. He was a good man, but he struggled deeply with addiction and his own demons. Over the years, I grew resentful, exhausted, and emotionally shut down. I hated the life we were living, but I felt responsible for him. Even though he was a grown man, he couldn’t function as such, and I bore the weight of holding everything together. I hid things, covered wounds, and did everything I could to protect our daughter, even sacrificing my own well-being in the process. My life on the inside was nothing like what people saw. My pain and guilt were not because of a marital love, that had been lost years earlier due to broken trust and the damage of addiction, but because of a deep sense of responsibility—for the person I had shared 24 years with, for my daughter, and for the man I had always wanted him to find in himself.
I prayed for him for years, but addiction had such a tight grip on him. Eventually, in a moment of courage, I told him I wanted to separate. I had hoped with all my heart that he would seek help and turn things around, but instead, he sank deeper. His anger toward me grew, and the addiction worsened. Our daughter was now being hurt by the fallout. After months of agony, the unthinkable happened—he died of an overdose. It was ruled a suicide.
The grief was unbearable. I didn’t want this. I never imagined this would be how our story ended. My heart shattered in a way I never knew was possible, but even more crushing was watching my daughter suffer. The guilt consumed me. I questioned every decision I had made. Had I done enough? Could I have saved him? These thoughts tormented me.
Then came that invitation to Adoration. I went, not knowing what else to do, only knowing I was desperate for something, anything, to lighten the burden I carried. I sat in stillness, my mind replaying every painful memory. I prayed the Our Father over and over because I didn’t know what else to pray. Then, in the quiet, something happened. The weight—the one I had been carrying for years—lifted. It was as if His presence wrapped around me, breaking the chains of guilt that had bound me for so long. I sobbed harder than I ever had before, yet I left Adoration renewed, free from the crushing pain and guilt. From that moment, I never felt it again.
Now, Adoration is a sacred part of my life. It is where I go to lay everything before Him, to rest in His presence, to listen, to heal. Miracles have happened since that first visit, and one day, I will share those stories with you, too.
If you have never been to Adoration, I encourage you to go. Here are a few things to keep in mind:
1. **You don’t have to know what to do.** Just go and sit with Him. There is no pressure, no expectation—only an invitation to be in His presence.
2. **Pray however you can.** If words fail you, repeat the Our Father, whisper His name, or sit in silence. He hears the prayers of your heart even when you cannot speak them.
3. **Bring your burdens.** Whatever you are carrying, lay it before Him. He will lift what you were never meant to bear alone.
4. **Expect nothing, but be open to everything.** Sometimes, He speaks in peace, in clarity, in a weight lifting off your shoulders. Other times, He simply lets you rest in Him. Either way, it is enough.
5. **Make it a habit.** Whether once a month or once a week, Adoration is a refuge, a place to be still and know that He is God.
If you are struggling with guilt, grief, or burdens too heavy to carry, I invite you to try Adoration. You may find, as I did, that in His presence, even the heaviest weights become light.
