Lent - 2014

My wife and I watch a TV show called “Little People, Big World” it’s about an Oregon family of little people (except for three of their four children) and how they get along in the world.  In one episode the family was at some event somewhere and some people were calling them “midgets.”  They explained that calling a little person a “midget” is akin to calling a black person the “N” word.  In fact, I’m pretty sure I read somewhere that a national association of little people had contacted all the major networks to please refrain from using that word and explaining that it was, in fact, offensive to little people around the world.

http://www.lpaonline.org/the-m-word

Ever since that episode, I have become hyper-aware whenever that word is used.  Just recently it was used in an SNL “Weekend Update” sketch.  The more I hear the word dropped – even by the most unassuming, didn’t know it was offensive, person – the more it clangs around in my head like bell.

Years (and years) ago, I remember meeting up with a friend of mine who was bothered by the fact that I had not thought of him in regards to trying to option one of my scripts.  He was deeply offended that I had become so selfish to not think about him and his desire to make my film.  Granted, he had no resources at his disposal and the script is, admittedly, a big budget film but I was taken aback by his challenge of my selfishness because, simply, I’ve always tried to be “hyper-aware” of my own failings.  If anything I try to be UNselfish and work towards that so, yes, I was bothered by his insistence that I had insulted him.  I certainly didn’t mean to and that was not my intention and, damn, I had screwed up again.

Let me be clear, though, about one thing.  Even though I try to be hyper-aware of my own idiosyncratic issues and limitations, I’m not a falsely modest person. (Wait, is saying I’m not a falsely modest person being falsely modest?)  I know what I’m good at (writing, teaching, editing, managing, being a parent, being a husband, being a friend, film-making, film knowledge, grilling a hamburger) and I know what I’m bad at (pretty much everything else) and I also know, very clearly, that there are others out there who are even better at the things that I consider myself good at – so there’s always something to strive for, something to reach for, something to get better at (wait should I finish a sentence with the word “at?”  Maybe I should re-think that editor part.)

Kinda feels like a jail-cell...don't it?

When Lent comes around every year it feeds right into my own world of self-examination and my relationship with God but, and I’m being honest here, I don’t like giving up “stuff.”  I don’t truly understand the concept of giving up meat or chocolate or whatever for 40 days.  Yes, Jesus fasted, good for him.  Not my shtick.  Michelle gave up Facebook one year.  My mom gave up “Sudoku” for Lent.  My mom has the brain of an 80 year old (since she’s 80) and it can use all the exercise it can get.  Why give up brain games for Lent?  I don’t really understand.

And, inevitably, I run into that person who’s over at my house, or we’re out to dinner and I say:  “You want to split some cake?”  And I get the response of:  “No, I’ve given up sweets for Lent.”  And then I feel both bad that I offered to split a cake and then think you know you could just lie and say:  “I’m full.”   I don’t need to know why and what you gave up for Lent.  But that’s just me being all judgmental and feeling like I should step the hell up and give up something for Lent.

Instead, over the past few years, I’ve tried to “take-on” something for Lent.  Lighting a candle every night to think about love ones who have passed.  Reading the Bible.  Reading a daily scripture thought.  Doing random things for people.  Try to shift the focus of my hyperawareness about myself and taking away from myself and instead shift that focus to others and what I can do for them....even if I inevitably fall short.

 Candles are neat.

This year during Lent I decided to send a message to three of my Facebook friends every night.  I determined, early on, that this message should be more than just say “Hi.”  And more than just something that gets hastily scribbled in a yearbook between classes:  “Hey, let’s hang out this summer, stay classy, see you in P.E.”  It had to be personal and that means bringing up a story or a memory.  It couldn’t be too long but it also couldn’t be too short.  It had to have substance and I actually had to THINK (something that many of you probably know that I don’t do often enough).  It had to mean something.  I couldn’t half-ass it like I do most things.

So I started.  I tried not to say:  “This is my Lenten discipline” like some kid saying “this is what I have to do because my mommy told me to.”  This wasn’t to be a punishment – or the equivalent of such.  Like when you were forced by your parents to send a thank you note for the $5 bill you got for your birthday to the grandmother that still thought you were 9, even though you were 17.

According to Twitter - what people were giving up for Lent.

Beside the rules above about having it have to mean something, I incorporated a few more rules:  Minimum three people.  You can’t just slam one person but you also can’t do them all in one evening and be done with it.  They had to be parsed out.  Three seemed like a good number.  It’s the magic number (according to “Schoolhouse Rock”).

Another rule:  No doing them on Sundays.  Sundays are, technically, feast days during Lent (they don’t count in the “40”) and there was a reason for this.  Not to give me a much needed break of sacrificing my vastly important time from sending three whole people messages – but to give me time to pause and reflect what I was doing.  To make sure that it was “real” and not becoming rote and boring and stupid.  A day to pause and think about it.  To make myself hyper-aware of what I was doing.

Another Lent meme.

And the final rule, which didn’t really come into play until a week or so in, was to do them at night before I went to bed.  Reason one is that it gave me the entire day to think about what I might say to the person I chose next on my list.  Reason two is that it meant I couldn’t just go to bed and do them in the a.m. or during the middle of the day – again, I was trying to be intentional here.  Reason three was, hopefully, when the other person opened their Facebook message in the morning after a long commute or a spilled coffee or a stinky bus rider they’d find this message and they would be happy.  Maybe it would start their day out right.  Maybe it wouldn’t get lost in the clutter of voice-mails/e-mails/facebook statuses (statusi?) in the middle of the day.

Out of the 40 days, I only forgot 3 times and then quickly recovered with three the next morning (breaking that final rule).  I felt bad that I didn’t get to ALL my friends but, again, the caveat was that I needed to have a memory or something specific to reference.  Casual friends of friends on Facebook upon which I know because they’re a screenwriter friend to a screenwriter student, etc. didn’t get top priority (of which I still felt kinda bad).  And, of course, I just couldn’t get to everyone and didn’t want this to dissolve into:  “Hey, this is Matt.  Have a nice day.”

What did I get out of the 40 days of doing this?  Well, the first thing I got were positive messages back.  That’s always swell.  Not everyone, mind you, but most.  Some were pleasantly surprised by my message.  And some told me that my message of love or encouragement or re-enforcement that they are, indeed, AWESOME struck a chord with them just at the right time they needed it.  I would say, at least, 10 of the 120+ people responded that they needed what I had to say just when I said (wrote it).  Is that God at work?  Just good timing?  Or just the blatant reminder that just saying something nice to someone is worth it, as we never know what struggles they are going through at the time.  I also learned one of my favorite teachers in High School also went to West Woodland Elementary School in Ballard.

So the Lenten Discipline is done and as the last of the chocolate marshmallow eggs get more and more stale (note: that won’t stop me from eating them) I look back fondly on my Lenten season.  I feel both closer to God and I feel both closer to my friends and, I hope, they feel a tad bit closer to me.  Now, maybe I won’t need a self-imposed structured season to get off my ass and tell my friends how much I love them, miss them and hope that they are doing well.