Looking for the Profound Thought: Thursday's Reflection

I am frustrated as I begin writing today's post. I have this vague idea of what I want to write about. In fact, I was awake thinking about it last night, when I would have preferred being blissfully asleep. But now this morning I can't find the reference I think I need to make my point. 

I thought it was in a charming little book I finished reading a few days ago. Let Evening Come, Reflections on Aging by Mary C. Morrison. She says so many profound things, but says them simply. Few words. Big meanings. 

                   We will come, each of us, to see our life
                   as the whole that it is. Events that seemed
                   random will show themselves to be parts
                   of a coherent whole. Decisions that we were
                   hardly aware of making will reveal themselves
                   as significant choices, and we can honestly and
                   dispassionately regret the poor ones and rejoice
                   in the good ones. We can call up emotions that
                   seemed devastating in their time, and recollect
                   them in tranquillity, forgiving others and 
                   ourselves.  p. 30

                  We do not know. We cannot know. But meanwhile
                  we can watch what we do so we can find out who
                  we are before we come to the end of the long day
                  that is our life. p. 128

Somewhere I read about giving up a pleasure, something we enjoy or even love, before we are quite ready to do that or even need to do it, and that idea seemed like something Morrison might have said in her book. I have paged through the short book several times now, almost re-reading the whole thing, and I can't find it. Did I dream it? I can't believe this is an original thought on my part.

I was going to connect it with the idea of giving something up for Lent--chocolate or Diet Coke or watching Netflix--an idea that has sort of gone out of fashion. Now, it seems we are encouraged to add something of consequence during the the season of Lent. More prayer time. Doing something nice for a stranger everyday. Giving our time to a charity. Still, I wonder about the value of giving something up. 

I check my list of books I have read recently to see if that gives me a clue. I just finished reading for the third or fourth time A Writer's Paris, A Creative Journey for the Creative Mind by Eric Maisel. I've underlined all sorts of meaningful advice, like "Get up, even if you don't feel like it." (p. 152), but not what I am looking for. 

Then I browsed through a book I am using during my morning meditation time, Simplifying the Soul, Lenten Practices to Renew Your Spirit by Paula Huston. I think I am getting close when I see I have circled the words "spiritual recalibration," and "soul simplification," and "energy budget." Good thoughts that lead me to other thoughts, but not quite what I think I remember.

I give up. Maybe eventually I will stumble on the idea I wanted to offer. Perhaps not. In the meantime I am humbled. I don't have much to offer today, except for the awareness that I often feel lost and muddled and way below the poverty line that measures profundity.

                   Mystery--it is all around us, and we do not
                   know it. But sometimes when we give it time
                   and space, whether in deep peace or great 
                   anguish, it will come up behind us, or meet
                   us face to face, or move within us, changing 
                   the way we see everything, and filling our
                   hearts with joy and an upspringing of love
                   that needs no direct object because everything
                   is its object. p. 87, Morrison

Pray for me. I'll pray for you. 

An Invitation
What missing piece are you looking for today? I would love to know.