what we're giving up

I don't think that I've ever given anything up for Lent. I've thought about it, of course. But I could never get past the coffee/chocolate/TV-type sacrifice—none of these things have ever meant enough to me to garner a 40-day strike. Probably I haven't been looking deep enough.

Many people who read this blog may be surprised to know that I yell at my kids. Not all the time, of course, but when they disobey or I'm tired and frustrated, it's my instant response. And I don't like it. At all. In the aftermath of yelling, I feel mean and sorry and disappointed with myself.

What gets my hackles up most, ironically, is rude and snotty behavior in my six year old. Like when he whines and stomps around because "It's not fair" that his friend has more LEGOS than he does, or when it's time for piano lesson and he acts all sour and pouts, "I hate piano lessons!," or when he calls someone or himself "stupid." I want to shout or grab him angrily when he acts like this. And sometimes I do.

Well, over the next 40 days we're going to break this cycle. Because here's the deal. I'm giving up yelling for Lent. And my son is giving up every ugly word he knows.

Unlike giving up chocolate or coffee, where you have a lot of conscious choice over whether you are going to break your vow, giving up what has become a fairly instant reaction is going to be a challenge. So Liam and I have brokered a deal to help us out—and hopefully give us back control of our angry impulses. Every time we break our vow during these 40 days, the vow-breaker will have to pay the one he hurt with his words $1.00.

My son is both overjoyed and petrified by this arrangement. He has become quite fond of money. Although he feels confident he'll get a buck off of me here and there (I plan to prove him wrong!), he's not so sure he can channel his frustration well enough to avoid breaking even or losing a little more.

But he's willing to try. I think it's because deep down he feels like I do when the ugly, angry words come out—about as separated from God as it gets. And, really, this is what the "giving up" is all about - eliminating a not-so-great behavior in order to fill our hearts and lives with something so much better.

I'm hoping that we break even and that the something better we both make room for is deeper love and understanding. And next year our ugly, unkind words won't be in the running for a lenten sacrifice . . . because we will have already given them up.