Monday: Stepping Across the Threshold
Lent does not wait for perfect readiness; it meets us where we are and invites us to step in. This first movement is not about certainty but about noticing—pausing at the threshold between what has been and what is yet to come. We do not need to know the way, only to trust that something sacred is already unfolding.
Stepping Across the Threshold
We begin before we begin.
There is always a moment before the first step—the breath held in the chest, the weight of hesitation just before movement. The body knows this space well. It is the pause before the door swings open, the stillness before a journey truly starts.
Lent meets us here, not at a point of certainty, but at the threshold—where something old lingers behind us and something new stirs ahead. We may not feel ready. We may not even know why we are here. And yet, something has drawn us. A whisper. A longing. A quiet knowing that something must shift.
The instinct may be to rush forward, to prove our belonging to this journey by our effort. But Lent does not ask for striving. It does not demand that we come with answers. It invites us to notice. To pause before we cross the threshold and feel the weight of what we carry. To ask, without forcing an answer: What am I bringing with me? What am I willing to set down?
A threshold is not just a passage—it is a moment of recognition. The season has not fully begun, but it is already stirring. And so today, we stand at the edge. We breathe. We name what is shifting within us. And when we are ready, we step forward—not because we have everything figured out, but because the journey has already begun.
Sacred Invitation
Before you begin, place your hand over your heart.
Feel the beat beneath your palm.
You are alive. You are here.
This is where Lent Begins.
Lent does not begin with striving, but with presence. This is not a test to pass or something to master—it is a slow turning, a deep remembering. Each day, you will step into reflection, practice, and quiet moments of noticing. Some days, the shift will be felt. Other days, it may not. Both are part of the journey. For today, simply arrive. Let yourself be here. Let this be enough.
Embodied Practice: Standing at the Threshold
Step outside, just to the threshold of your door. Pause before crossing.
Feel the ground beneath your feet, the air shifting around you. Notice what you carry—not just in your hands, but in your body, in your breath, in the quiet spaces within. What thoughts linger? What emotions rise? What weight, seen or unseen, do you bring to this moment?
You do not need to name everything. You do not need to fix or release anything just yet. Simply notice.
Take one slow breath in. Let it fill the spaces within you.
As you exhale, let your shoulders drop, your hands relax. Let the threshold meet you.
Then, when you are ready, step through—slowly, intentionally. Not as a task to complete, but as a gesture of trust. A quiet, embodied knowing that something is beginning.
Stepping Across the Threshold
Find a doorway, a gate, a path—any place where one space shifts into another. Pause before stepping through. Notice what you carry—physically, emotionally, spiritually. Breathe in, feeling its weight. Breathe out, without forcing anything. Is there something you are ready to set down? Then, take one slow, deliberate step forward. Not because you have all the answers, but because the journey has already begun.
Closing Reflection: A Question to Carry
A threshold is not only something we cross—it is something we feel. It lingers in the body, in the breath, in the quiet spaces between what was and what will be.
As this day closes, let yourself rest in the pause. There is nothing to solve, nothing to force into clarity. Only a question to carry, a thought to linger with, a quiet exhale before the next step.
What is stirring in you as you step forward?
Some days, you may write. Some days, you may simply sit with what rises. Both are enough.