Ash Wednesday.

Our family attended our second Ash Wednesday service. It was quiet, comforting and refreshing. A simple service. No loud music. The keys of the piano with our voices raised to songs. Reflection. Reflecting. We were given a small black piece of paper on which we were to write, reconize, realize areas in our life that need attention. As I used my ink pen to scribble my concerns, I noticed how one could not see what I had written unless the light fell just perfectly upon the page. The black ink against the black paper wasn't visible unless angled against the room's illumination. As our pastor collected our pieces of paper into a basket and began burning them one by one to make the ashes, I pondered. Sin. We can fool ourselves into thinking sin cannot be wrong if not visible to the human eye. If not effecting anyone but ourselves. If not murder. If not stealing, lying, betraying. But, as I laid my piece of paper into that basket, I could see clearly what I had chosen to write upon my slate. The paper was indented. The color not noticeable, but the mark ingrained into the parchement. Maybe no one else could see. The light not reflecting into one's eyes. Yet, I know. I have felt the marks when I have let God down. I have let discontentment, greed, selfishness carve into my soul. The ashes were dark. Smoldering across my wrist. But, when I chose to wipe my wrist clean of this mark...it was gone. Just like my marks across my palatte. Clean. Clear. Forgiven. No indentations regardless of the light illuminating my heart. Thank you for Your mercy and forgiveness.