The Book of Common Courage: Prayers and Poems to Find Strength in Small Moments

by K.J. Ramsey

There are no ashes on my head. I wanted to make my way down a creaky aisle today. I wanted to hear my priest speak the truth that I am dust and to dust I will return. I wanted liturgy to cut like a knife through the strands of this season that seems hell-bent on strapping me to sickness. But I spent the entire day in bed. Forehead bare. Schedule canceled yet again. Soul-weary of new diagnoses and scary symptoms and the endlessness of it all. I know I’m not alone in feeling like I’ve been living an endless Lent. Today, just as I was lamenting—languishing really— a knock came to the door. A care package. A blanket. Orange sunglasses. And the kindest note. And wrapped in that love on a bench in the cold, watching the afternoon turn to night, I know: just like the fire that burned last year’s palms into today’s ashes, the purging fire of today is being tended by others with care. There are no ashes on my head. There is only hope, burning like a fire through my hardest days, lighting up incandescent moments when time folds in on itself and I suddenly see: human and heavenly hands are tending this blaze into that which will enrich the brightest blooms. This fire isn’t for nothing. And long after this fire loses oxygen, the ash that will remain will become a source of life. Not one speck of this soot will be wasted. All our ash will nurture new life.