Winter blows in its last hurrah today bringing that wicked cold that cuts bone. The last vestiges of illness cling to lungs and throat and steal energy.  But there are snowdrops and crocuses, the days are lengthening and the light is getting in.

In my period of reflection and withdrawal during Lent I have been working on my resilience – hard to do when you get chopped off at the knees by illness.  An idiom that keeps coming to mind is the straw that breaks the camel’s back, the idea that when a person has had enough and finally breaks, it is often a minor thing that is the tipping point.  On more than one occasion over the past nearly two years, I have shouted, either to myself or someone dear, that’s it, I can’t take any more. 

Of course, you can shout it all you like but shouting makes no material difference. You still have to live the day you think has broken you. What amazes me in my most broken moments is that somehow and from somewhere I find strength.  We do have deeper reserves of courage, strength and resilience than we know and only when these are tested do they reveal their quality.

Like an overladen camel or any beast of burden, we carry a lot through our lives and sometimes it is hard to keep moving and seemingly impossible to lighten the load.  I don’t have any answers to this, only my own experience, and I know I’m lucky. I’m not homeless, I’m not fleeing a war, I’m not facing a life-threatening illness or situation. I am able to count my blessings as well as my burdens and to have the certainty, that is more reassuring than anything else, that all things pass.

It’s Day 3 of Lent, post pancakes and ash and into the real business of the wilderness. I don’t do the ashing because of my position as sceptic and it would be hypocrisy to take part in rituals I am wrestling with.

I’ve been wrestling with the words of psalm 51,

My sacrifice, O God, is a broken spirit;
    a broken and contrite heart
    you, God, will not despise.

and the whole notion of penitence. It’s not a comfortable place to be.  The wrestling will go on for some time.

In my state of wilderness I am seeking what is mine to own and what I should leave for others. Some of this is clear, some is not.

I have this recurring image of deep darkness, the depth and darkness of the abyss and of standing in it. Far above my head is a light, just the faintest show of it. I can see no way to climb out of the abyss and I think of a ladder.  One appears. But it is in fact not a ladder, it is a hand and it is within my reach. However, I am paralysed by the abyss and I cannot reach for that hand. Rather than disappearing, the hand remains and I feel in my heart that when I am ready, when I reach for it, it will assist me in my climb.

Today is the first day of Lent and for the second time in my life I am making a serious effort to use the forty days and nights to undertake a journey into the wilderness to gain greater insight into myself and my life.  Last year I emerged with a powerful realisation of the significance the grieving process has to our existence and how important it is to not pathologise it but to simply live it.

This year, I walk into that inner wilderness much more self aware and with a greater understanding of the importance of inner journeying. To undertake it fearlessly and with commitment is the first challenge. My other challenge is to stand and face whatever comes and to look square at it unflinchingly.

During Advent I subscribed to the Church of England’s daily reflections and found them enormously helpful as the approach of Christmas became increasingly difficult to manage.  I would describe myself as a devout sceptic, constantly interrogating faith and exploring spiritual matters with an open mind. I’ve subscribed to the church’s Lent reflections and on this the first day,  the focus is on the light that always comes out of darkness.

Speaking of light, the one thing I always take into the dark of the psyche is a candle. Even if its light is low and flickering, its presence is reassuring and it is something to follow when the dark becomes threatening or overwhelming.

I am peaceful at the start of this process and full of optimism that whatever the outcome the process will have been worthwhile. If you are undertaking your own journey, then keep a light with you as you go and walk safely.