Then I set my face toward the Lord God to make request by prayer and supplications, with fasting, sackcloth, and ashes.

—Daniel 9:3

It feels somewhat strange to say it, but I look forward to Lent every year.

I look forward to a time of self-deprivation, fasting, and penitence?

Yes, I do.

As an unbeliever, when I was growing up, my understanding of Lent was that it was something Catholics did in the weeks leading up to Easter, and they weren’t allowed to eat meat on Fridays the whole time. They also gave up something, like chocolate, and generally complained a lot about it.

Even after I joined a Lutheran church, while there was an added emphasis on midweek worship, there wasn’t necessarily much discussion about fasting or other types of spiritual disciplines that could enhance our annual Lenten pilgrimage.

Many years ago, I undertook my first Lenten fast. I failed within a few days. I called my pastor in tears.

“I already screwed up my fast,” I confessed in between sobs and sniffles.

“Good,” he said in his typically blunt and matter-of-fact way.

“Good? How can it be good that I’ve failed my fast after only a few days?”

“Because I know you, Amanda. You’re a perfectionist. Failure reminds you that only one Person was ever perfect—and that Person is not you.”

I felt concurrently called out and seen.

He continued, “Listen, I didn’t even make it two days. But I just prayed and got back on track.”

My pastor had given up coffee for Lent, a sacrifice I couldn’t even begin to fathom. (Which tells me that I probably should give it up for Lent one of these years…)

You mess up and just get back to it? My disordered all-or-nothing thinking—the same mechanism that said things like, “I’ve already eaten half this box of Thin Mints… I might as well eat the other half”—was more inclined to accept the failure as evidence I wasn’t disciplined enough to do a Lenten fast.

He made it sound so simple. And perhaps it really was that simple.

“Well… maybe I’m overthinking this.”

I could hear his smile through the phone. “You? Overthinking?”

I laughed and said, “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

He waited for me to speak again.

“Okay, Pastor. I’ll take a few deep breaths and pray and do my best to recommit to my fast. I appreciate your time—and your encouragement.”

“I’m here for you anytime. And I’ll be praying for you.”

“Thank you. I’ll pray for you too!”

After we hung up the phone, I spent time praying and reading some psalms. I asked God to help me be strong for my fast, and to help me remember why I was doing it.

I realized that prayer and His Word were the two most powerful tools at my disposal during the remaining days of Lent. So I committed to dedicated prayer times throughout the day, and I printed out Scriptures related to fasting and strength, posting them around the house to read as I entered and left different rooms.

Honestly, I don’t remember whether I stumbled again on that first fast. But I do remember how different I felt on the other side.

I felt lighter, calmer, and more attuned to God, others, and myself. I felt a peace I rarely experience in my life. And I felt humbled, knowing that I hadn’t made it through my Lenten fast under my own power or sheer force of will, but by His power and His Holy Spirit dwelling within me. “For [His] power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9).

Every year since then, I’ve given up something for Lent. Sometimes I fast certain food or drink. Other times I fast media, the internet, or games and other apps on my phone. Regardless of what I subtract, I also add: more worship, more Scripture, more hymns and praise music, more stillness before the Lord.

Regardless of the shape my Lenten fast takes, when I’m sitting in the pew on Easter morning, I truly feel resurrected—mind, body, and spirit.

If you’ve never fasted during Lent, I can’t recommend it enough. When we’re willing to sacrifice something we enjoy, even for a portion of the year, it heightens our appreciation for our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, who was “despised and rejected by men, a Man of sorrows and acquainted with grief” (Isaiah 53:3). He sacrificed His very life for us—for the rebellious, sinful prodigals and lost sheep He loves so much.

Praying for all of you this Lenten season! <3

Yours in Christ,

Amanda

xoxo

Scripture taken from the New King James Version^®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.