Saturday: Tending What is Stirring
The Pause Between
The week has carried you across a threshold—through breath and uncertainty, through pauses at crossroads, through the weight and release of what was. And now, something within you has shifted.
Perhaps only slightly, barely perceptible.
Perhaps in a way that unsettles everything.
Lent is not a journey of immediate clarity. It does not demand resolution or certainty. Instead, it asks for patience—for the kind of presence that notices rather than rushes, the kind of tending that does not force answers but allows what is stirring to unfold in its own time.
Some movements of the soul rise in silence, not in words. Some shifts happen in the spaces we do not fill, in the pauses we allow.
Today is for tending.
Not for fixing.
Not for answers.
But for listening.
The way forward does not always come in declarations. Sometimes, it begins in the quiet act of noticing.
Sacred Invitation: Holding What Stirs
Find a place of stillness today—somewhere you can sit without distraction, if only for a few moments. Close your eyes. Feel your breath move in and out.
What has lingered with you this week?
A thought that keeps returning?
A feeling that rises when you least expect it?
A hesitation? A hope?
Let it come without forcing it to make sense. Name it softly in your heart, or simply let it be present without needing to define it.
The work of Lent is not only in the letting go. It is in the tending—the willingness to hold what is real, even when it is unfinished.
Embodied Practice: Holding the Ember
Cup your hands together gently, as if holding something small, something fragile.
Close your eyes. Imagine an ember resting in your palms—warm, flickering, not yet a flame.
This ember is something stirring in you. A longing. A grief. A quiet knowing.
Whisper to it:
"I see you. I will not rush you. I will tend you with care."
Hold this posture for as long as it feels natural. Then, slowly, open your hands. Let the ember remain, not as something to control, but as something to tend in time.
Closing Reflection: What Has Changed?
Lent is not meant to be rushed. It is a slow turning, an unseen becoming.
Tonight, in the quiet, ask yourself:
What has changed in me this week?
Not in a way that demands certainty, but in the way a seed shifts beneath the earth.
Even in silence, something is unfolding.
Even in waiting, you are being led.