4-16-22 REPEAT - REPEAT - REPEAT

First thing this morning I made fifty cupcakes for Easter Dinner tomorrow. The recipe I use for the cupcakes is an old family chocolate cake recipe. A bit of family lore has given the cake a beloved name: Garbage Cake. No, its not one of those dump-a-bunch-of-ingredients-in-at-once recipes. It's called garbage cake because its good enough to eat out of the garbage. (You can find the story and recipe HERE.)

Garbage cake is one of those recipes that I no longer need to look up. I have it locked in my memory, and it sort of falls out without thinking when I need it. It's so natural, in fact, that I instinctively set the butter and eggs out the night before to let them come to room temperature.

Bunny ear Garbage Cake cupcakes.

Recipes, for me, are evidence of the power of repetition. We not only remember what we repeat, we also begin to own it in a strangely autonomous way, like we have a responsibility to each part, like the eggs and butter and bitter cocoa are letting themselves be used in a pleasing way. It feels, and I know this sounds weird, like the ingredients and I are in sync with each other and we all agree to work toward the same delicious goal.

I just realized this might make me
a piece of Garbage cake.

Today marks the end of Lent, the 40 days before Easter. I can now take a rest from my daily writing exercise. I have to admit I look forward to not thinking for a minute. During the Lenten season, because I have committed to writing something that takes effort, my brain tends to go into overdrive. Every. Day. Symbols swirl around me, concepts consume my thoughts, any spare moment that isn't taken up with demands for my attention is swept up in what I might write about that day. It wasn't quite this hard 14 years ago. But sometimes I feel like I'm running out of things to say. I am certain there are topics I've addressed repeatedly, and stories I've re-told multiple times in all these years of Lent writing. But the real reason I set out to do this is two-fold. When I pause and think about it, I feel satisfied that my efforts have fulfilled those reasons.I began writing every day of Lent for these reasons:

1. I recognized that the Lord blessed me with a love for the power of words. While the religion I embrace does not officially observe Lenten practices, I felt there was value in sacrificing "easy time" and committing myself to stop, think, and write. I sincerely consider this daily exercise a form of sacrifice. But I am also a believer that few sacrifices are purely selfless. There are inevitably benefits that come to everyone because of sacrifice. It often takes divine vision to see them. Because I shamelessly practice my religion, my writing comes out spiritually based. This is a natural byproduct of trying to align myself with my power source, whom I believe to be my Savior, Jesus Christ. (Thus, pre-Easter prep happens fairy organically.)

2. In my quest to become a better songwriter, I believed I needed to become a better thinker, and user of words in general. Daily writing helps me feel safe with words. The biggest problem I see is that I tend to overwrite. That probably comes from my propensity to overthink. I've tried to talk myself out of this, but my brain does not listen. If I want to become a wordsmith then I'd better learn how to wrangle words. Songwriting is an exercise in chipping away and boiling down words. These Lenten essays free me up.

When you've lived enough decades that it starts taking two hands to count them, you start realizing that repetition is what brings all of us to our end. We become what we repeat. I repeat this practice every year, for over forty days in a row, except for the Sabbath, which is not counted as a day of Lent since the day is already set apart. This observance feels to me like a sacrament for the year. I feel blessed by it in ways I may not logically comprehend.

Speaking of repetition, I hope to get better at repeating a lot of skills I have not yet honed. I will resist, however, spilling my thoughts here, like milk on the kitchen table. There is no need right now for me to beat myself up for the things I am not doing, that I should be doing. Just as it will not serve me well at 1 a.m. to reprimand myself for repeatedly doing things that are not good for me.

What this daily Lenten practice has done for me is made me use my mind and marry it to my heart, even when I haven't felt like doing it. It's sort of like gym for my brain. There are days you just plain don't feel like going to the gym. But in the end, the muscle is better for it. (not that I would know this in a literal "gym" sense.) 

The ingredients in my recipe for life lay out on my proverbial counter and wait for me to combine them. Sometimes we work together to create something wonderful. Sometimes, not so much. But I figure anything that leads me to love more deeply, have more compassion and less judgment, to sustain kindness, to motivate to positive action, and to direct me toward what will eventually be my eternal home... these are the things I want to know so well I do not need to look up a recipe. I will only need the whisperings of the One who journeys with me to tell me how and when to use them. I pray I have the courage, the intrinsic motivation, and the wherewithal to do my part... repeatedly.

A blessed Easter to all.