“Are you a Christian?”, asked the woman as she scrubbed and trimmed and polished the impurities from my nails. Our conversation had suddenly shifted from friendly formalities, of where I lived and what I did, to something of deeper significance.
I immediately questioned just how deep I should let the conversation get (granted it was still very much surface level). On the one hand, the woman’s genuine interest intrigued me, and I myself was curious to learn more about her religion. After all, questions and conversation create understanding and mutual respect.
As an introvert, having meaningful, deep conversations one-on-one with individuals is my forte. At nail salons, with virtual strangers, not so much. But I decided to let me guard down, just to see where the conversation might lead. She wanted to know what branch of Christianity I was involved with, and she gave me insight into her own religion—a form of Buddhism. We talked about cultural and religious holidays, such as how her family was celebrating Chinese New Year. And she wanted to know about Lent.
More specifically, she wanted to know what I had given up for Lent. When I told her I hadn’t given up anything, there was no look of shock or horror. However, her continued questions told me she was very curious—curious as to why I had not given anything up. Her Christian friends had told her this is what Lent was about—why hadn’t I? Well… because I had been there and done that.
Yes I could have told her about my 9th grade year in high school when I gave up eating sweets for Lent.—the same season in which my grandfather passed away. Their home was filled with temptation as neighbors brought endless trays and of desserts, goodies and sweets. I could have proudly told her that I never touched one.
I could have also shared about my junior year in college when I gave up Facebook. 40 plus days without a single daily update about my friend’s social lives and relationship statuses. Been there and done it.
I could have told her all about my Lenten triumphs—these seasons of excelling at being the “good” Christian (or the better Christian). But had I decided to tell this lady all about my successful Lent seasons, I likely would have omitted the fact that during each of those periods I never once felt closer to God! I had thought I was growing closer to God through the self-inflicted fasting and repenting. But instead I remember drawing on my own strength during these times—exerting my sheer will power to make it the 40 days without cheating. I was living out of my self-centeredness—my egocentric mind had me thinking I could do things without really drawing strength from God. I had completely missed the point. I had failed even thought it looked like a success from the outside.
To top it off, I think I failed at my conversation in the nail salon. I failed to articulate why, as a Christian, I purposefully chose not to give anything up for Lent. I failed to reveal that I am still fully engaged in the season of Lent—by trying to be more intentional in my relationship with God. Praying. Reading devotionals. Drawing on God for strength instead of myself.
But I didn’t say any of these things. I failed. I was more worried about my nail polish drying without any smudges, than really delving into the conversation.
But strangely, I am okay with failing.
I am sinner, after all.
I was born to sin.
And my failing is the exact reason I need Lent. The reason we all need Lent.
It means that Easter is coming.
It means that Christ died on the cross to save me and you and the world from our sins. To save a world full of failures just like me.
Photo by (Flickr CC): Drew Herron
