My Lenten penance

Lent is a special time for Christians.  It is the 40 day period from Ash Wednesday till Easter Sunday, the time during which a person prepares for Easter by testing themselves against temptation.  Giving up a luxury or worse, luxuries during Lent is modelled on Jesus heading into the desert and fasting under intolerable conditions for 40 days as he prepared himself for his ultimate mission, dying for mankind.

     Fasting has a place in religious and spiritual circles.  Ramadan is the annual 40 day fast taken by Moslems, Baha’is fast annually and Buddhists and Hindus may fast during certain phases of the moon.  And pagan practitioners may adopt different fasting techniques, some known as ‘detoxing’. 

     Interestingly, the word ‘Lent’ is derived from an Anglo-Saxon word, ‘lencten’ meaning spring.  For me, when the word Lent starts to be bandied around in early to mid-February, images of hope and new life, flowers opening in soft sunshine, furry bunnies and chocolate eggs spring to my mind!  
     As D-Day, that is Denial Day approaches, I am consumed by dread as I consider my Lenten penance.

     Being Catholic, I am old-school.  I go for denial with maximum effects.  For years I gave up animal flesh during Lent and became quite sick.  I was fatigued, probably iron deficient and bloated and if discomfort was the aim during my penance, I excelled.  I should have known. When the devil tempts Jesus in the desert telling him to turn the stones into bread, Jesus says, ‘Man cannot live by bread alone, but only by the word of God.’  Sadly, I was living on bread during those Lenten times.

     When I learned recently my practice of substituting carbohydrates for protein is unhealthy and stupid I turned to plant proteins and during Lent last year and ate chick peas and lentils twice daily.  The result, crippling abdominal cramps, but I lasted the distance, imagining myself as St Francis of Assisi, walking on his knees although I think that would have been less painful.

     This year I discussed the significance of Lent with the children, encouraging them to give up a luxury (‘what about sugar?’ I prompted). Seffy wasn’t interested.  She is too focused on getting her own room and own dog. Kibby had think about it and declared he would give up vegetables and homework.  
     'Act sense,' I admonished him.
     'Okay, I'll give up swearing.'
     I am giving up something different this year.  Owing to my addiction to powdered milk and elevated cholesterol levels which is, unfortunately a genetic thing, I am giving up the most delicious white power.  Only recently I gave up eating it by the dessertspoon full. 

     Why will denying myself powdered milk be so hard?  For a start, I consume a one kilogram packet (which makes seven litres) in two weeks therefore it is a staple.  Most importantly, it is yummy and if enough is added to cups of tea and coffee it takes on the viscosity and sweetness of honey.  This is how I can live on tea and coffee alone, forget bread and the word of God.  On an environmental note, powdered milk carries considerably less food miles than fresh milk and that is why we should all eat, I mean drink, powdered milk.

     It’s day three now since I mistakenly began my denial on Shrove Tuesday. I feel worse than if I was fatigued, bloated and in crippling pain while moving along an unsealed road on my bare knees.  My cups of tea and coffee are watery like dishwater and taste worse.  And I am constantly hungry.  It is the ultimate penance.  If the devil tempted me with stones, I’d swallow them whole to fill the vacuum within.