Worth the Wait: No. 2 of 40 Forts

As I shared last night, I worked steadily to try to catch up on this creative Lent adventure. I was a little concerned that the rush would minimize the content. But I loved this page of forced tips that reads tucked inside: worth the wait. Those words were pretty inspiring and reminded me a of a quote from the famous French author Anaïs Nin:

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.

This is such a beautiful quote about becoming who you are meant to be. And what a long, painful process that can be.

Tender tips forced their way through before relaxing into their natural state of lush opulence and beauty.

My own take on thoughts of blossoming reads:

Tender tips forced their way through before relaxing into their natural state of lush opulence and beauty.

During this morning’s nap, I read a little more about Nin. We both share a commonality of being avid journal writers. However unlike myself, she is known for writing female erotic literature.

And just when I doubted any thoughtful connection to the present, I discovered that, in fact, Nin’s birthday was yesterday. What a nice wink to my excitement from my first of forty pieces. Can you believe it?

How fortunate to find a writing from today on her thirteenth birthday in 1916. And how fitting that it describes the struggles one often finds when trying to make changes through the season of Lent.

It seems to me that yesterday I am newborn or have just died. It seems to me the old Anaïs has nothing to do with the new one. A year ago, 2 years ago, I glimpsed what had just happened like an old remembered story, because memory is like a film, for when the foggy curtain rises, an entire life unrolls before one, all the ups and downs of that long, simple, moving story, “Life.” Nonetheless, yesterday is gone. Today I picked up with the same habits, the same routine, and, I confess, the same disposition. Oh, but it’s difficult to improve oneself. Yesterday when I did the same things, I scolded myself. I promised to stop. Then someone calls me, I turn around, and Plif! it all disappears and I begin again only the regret again later.

Ah, how unthinking we are! And all-powerful God from His throne on high must certainly smile and say: I must make a soul of iron… I don’t think that it would be so frivolous, so forgetful. But then we would be completely useless and I suppose that it’s better to do something wrong that can be mended than nothing.

Happy Belated Birthday, Anaïs Nin. You would be 107 yesterday.

This paper sculpture, roughly the size of a coffee cup, is one of forty forts I created during Lent 2010 as a creative exercise and spiritual exploration.

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