Ash Wednesday was February 26.
In my journal that day I wondered what my Lenten practice might be. I was reading Marcus Borg's book, Convictions, written when he was 70, and he ponders how Ash Wednesday is a reminder that we are all mortal and marked for death.
I wondered if I could use the 40 days of Lent to prepare for my own death. I asked myself what I would not want to leave undone and what might be helpful for my survivors. I had a number of ideas.
One was to complete, page by page, a workbook called I'm Dead, Now What? Important Information about My Belongings, Business Affairs, and Wishes. Peter Pauper Press
Another was to dedicate myself to working on my memoir. Writing and revising two more chapters seemed like a reasonable goal for that time.
A third plan was to thin out my bookshelves in the garret; to decrease the numbers of books in my spirituality and theology library. The more I eliminate now the easier it will be for my loved ones later on. We have many Little Free Libraries in our neighborhood where I could donate my books.
On Ash Wednesday I had no idea how life would change. The week after I received the ashes on my forehead, my father fell a number of times and soon was confined to bed and is now in his end-of-life days. No longer was I thinking about my own death, but the focus became my Dad, as he approaches his death.
And, of course, no one needs to remind us of the changes we are all experiencing because of the Covid-19 crisis, and the fear and paralysis most of us confront. My Lenten practices seem fitting, but my ability to fulfill them was limited, emotionally and practically.
All was not lost, however, and most days I kneeled in front of one of my bookshelves and book by book decided what to keep and what was ready for a new owner. My goal was to eliminate one book every day. 40 books.
I am happy to report that I went beyond that goal and my bookshelves are now 90 books lighter. My bookshelves are breathing a bit easier.
On Easter Sunday I opened each book, in order to erase my name from bookplates or a front page, but all of a sudden I started second guessing myself. Maybe I will read this book again. Or to be honest, maybe I will actually read this book for the first time. Or I loved this book I can really give it up?
And that's when it became a real Lenten practice. It was time to let go, time to surrender, time to focus on what it is I most need to live a life connected to God as I move closer, day by day, to my own death.
I still want to continue work on my memoir and also on the BIG BLUE BOOK, and I trust that will be possible eventually, but in the meantime each day as I return home from my Dad's apartment I take detours, cruise down neighborhood blocks looking for Little Free Libraries. This week, as I dash from my car to one of those charming boxes with an armload of books, I have felt like the Easter Bunny hiding eggs. I trust my books will land exactly where they need to be.
And I trust that I am doing what I can do, need to do right now, and doing that is the heart of spiritual practice.
An Invitation
Did you have a Lenten Practice? How has that fared these last weeks? What are your current spiritual practices? I would love to know.
I guess it is time to make a confession: Books Are My Addiction. (Or at least my main one).
I have stashes of books I have not yet read. More than one stash.
One stash is on a shelf in the snug--mainly books I have found at Little Free Libraries in our neighborhood.
Another stash is hidden from view--on the back side of a pillar in the garret.
And then there are the miscellaneous books stacked on other shelves throughout the house. I think I have actually read more books currently in the house than there are books waiting to be read, but I am not willing to do a count.
And still I add more books, although not at the same rate as I did in earlier times of my life. Since January I have acquired eighteen books, and I confess that I purchased most of those. But not all, I hasten to add.
I know I could go a long time--a VERY long time--just reading what I have at my fingertips, but sometimes my TBR (To Be Read) list tugs, and I yearn to wander the stacks in the library. There is a kind of thrill, a rush, when I find a book that is on my TBR lists. One list in rough alphabetical order is for fiction and the other, which is more random, is nonfiction. Both lists are on my phone--handy when the car stops all on its own by the library entrance.
Recently, I made quite a haul at the library. Ten books--three nonfiction titles and seven novels. Once home I browsed my booty, both to determine what to read first, but also to make sure I wanted to actually read each one. In the process I realized that I have already read one of the titles, The Storied Life of A. J. Fikry by Gabrielle Zevin, and rereading the summary, I remembered enjoying it. Cross that off the TBR list--no one said my lists are foolproof!
I decided the first book I would read from this current treasure chest would be On Beauty by Zadie Smith, a writer I have heard about, but have never read, and I love this book. Now you know what that means--her other books are now on my TBR list! As luck would have it, a few days after I started On Beauty I spotted her book White Noise in a Little Free Library--no question about bringing that home with me.
Has anyone read books by Maggie O'Farrell? Well, I checked out two novels by her the day I roamed the library--Instructions for a Heatwave and This Must Be The Place. I have no idea how those titles ended up on my TBR lists, but would you believe in the next couple days I heard glowing reviews of her books on a couple podcasts about books? I will read one of those titles next.
I know there are people who do not keep a backlog of books, who don't worry about having a book for every mood, every reading emergency, and who only bring one book at a time into the house and then read that one before getting another book, but that clearly is not me. Who are those people anyway? And I know there are people who have a philosophy of one book in/one book out. I do that with pairs of shoes and blouses, but not books.
I am apologizing ahead of time to my family when it is time to dispose of my books. I have been trying to clear the space of other belongings, but that just is not going to happen with my books. Here's my suggestion: Invite everyone who comes to my memorial service to take a book or two or three. Open the house to everyone on the block and tell them they can't leave without an armload of books. You are smart people, and I know you will figure out what to do.
In the act of confessing there is the underlying intention to do better, to change one's wayward ways. Well, I have another confession, I am not going to conquer my book addiction. I love having a store of books, read and unread, to remind me of all the beauty in the world, of how much I still need to learn and all the ways I need to grow, and to inspire me to stay awake to the glorious diversity around me.
I have 20 more pages in On Beauty to read, and I am going to do that right now.
An Invitation
What addiction do you have no intention of reforming? I would love to know.
Do you have Little Free Libraries in your neighborhood? We have many scattered throughout our neighborhood and somedays my morning walk is almost like going to the public library or a used bookstore.
Little Free Libraries, in case you aren't familiar with them, are waterproof boxes located in front yards of host "librarians." Anyone can leave books already read and no longer wanted in a personal home library. Near our front door we have a basket where we pile books ready to be donated. All Little Free Library books, by the way, are free and available to any one passing by.
I find it difficult to pass by one of these Little Free Libraries without checking out the current selections. You never know what you may find. For example, recently, I found two books I had requested at the public library: Kristin Hannah's most recent book, Great Alone and A Piece of the World by Christina Baker Kline. Many others have requested these books, and who knows when it would have been my turn. My husband has had great luck, too, often returning from a walk with the latest page-turner.
I don't always come home with a book, but often I come home with the possible portrait of a reader. Take a look at these books:
What do you see? I see a reader who has had breast cancer, but has survived and now passes on books that helped her and her family during that traumatic time. I see books that helped them cope. A book on Ignatian spirituality. A book about baking bread--such a sensual and loving task. A light novel when escape was needed. And speaking of escape--a journal about sailing.
Now, of course, I have no way to know the real story or even if all these books were donated by the same person. I didn't take any of these books, nor did I have one to leave, but I did leave a whispered blessing both to the person or persons whose books these once were and even more to the person who will open this box and gasp, "Oh, these are just what I need."
Such a gift these little libraries are!
An Invitation
What do you do with the books you no longer want to keep on your shelves? I would love to know.
Ash Wednesday was February 26. 
On Easter Sunday I opened each book, in order to erase my name from bookplates or a front page, but all of a sudden I started second guessing myself. Maybe I will read this book again. Or to be honest, maybe I will actually read this book for the first time. Or I loved this book I can really give it up? 
