The worst times are the times of waiting. Waiting for a prognosis. And then it comes: the news that finally confirms all you've suspected, or that tells you you were kidding yourself. But whatever the news, good or bad, when it finally comes, there is relief. Relief that now there is truth; that there is a reality which must be lived into.
While these times are tremendously "meaningful," their meaning is derivative from what is real. In the end, the truth gets out. And, thank God, in the end, there is Him who Is the Way the Truth and the life.
Lent began in earnest today. Today we tasted ashes.
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