It's Ash Wednesday - my favorite season of the liturgical year. And while I'm working on my own post about why this season means so much to me, I wanted to share a letter I came across the other day. Every Sunday, for the last 20 or so years, my dad writes a Sunday letter to his congregation. This one from 2014 is a favorite of mine and perfectly encompasses the depth and power this season holds for me. Enjoy. Once in a while I feel nostalgic; to the tipping point: inducing me to try replicating the past. For example, before the kids were born, their mother and I used to go out to Pizza Hut for Sunday night supper. I don't even like pizza that much. But once every four or five years, I'll get a hankering for a Pizza Hut on a Sunday night. Certain seasons and days seem to arouse nostalgia--such as the start of Lent. On the day before Lent starts (Fat Tuesday), I make a fuss of making fasnachts (potato donuts fried in lard.) This was the 35th year I've indulged ...
learning to refocus