We were still vacuuming the odd leftover pine needles from the Christmas tree when a glance at the calendar told us that Lent was looming on the near horizon.
When I made mention of this, our grandson immediately asked about Ash Wednesday. Since he is still more than a year away from his first confession and first holy Communion, we know how much he relishes being able to fully participate in such an important liturgical event. He also likes to look in the mirror the rest of the day to make sure his ashes have not faded away.
He has put our family on the clock by also announcing he is giving up ice cream for Lent. He has gone even further by stipulating that this act of self-denial will include refraining from our Friday ritual of getting “yogurty” ice cream from our local frozen yogurt vendor.
It may not sound like the biggest sacrifice this side of Abel’s altar, but if you were 7 years old, it might be seen in more Homeric terms.
This is not the first time our little guy has gotten our spiritual attention. Lent got real for him last year when he made a similar pronouncement — that he’d be forswearing his favorite snack: Goldfish. (For those without a 7-year-old, this is a little fish-shaped cracker whose crumbs can be found in every kindergarten through second-grade classroom on the planet.)
We were supportive but also a little patronizing last year. It seemed quaint and a little cute that he wanted to try to give up something that he really liked. But everyone else in the house believed our grandson had outkicked his self-discipline coverage, and sooner or later a surprise raid on the pantry would leave behind a trail of Goldfish crumbs leading from the kitchen to the chipmunk-stuffed cheeks of a little boy.
But no crumbs were ever discovered. Our grandson remained as stoic as a hermit in a cave in the Sinai. The only thing missing was the hair shirt.
Days turned into weeks and weeks filled out the 2025 Lenten calendar, and our grandson never wavered. We attended the Easter Vigil, a first for him last year, and on the drive home he proclaimed with joy that he “did it!”
I may have grandfatherly-fashioned blinders on when it comes to this little boy, but I have enough perspective not to suggest he grasps the theology of the hypostatic union, understands the totality of the concept of the Trinity, reads the “Summa Theologica” by candlelight every night.
He can be petulant, tends to talk back, and leaves his LEGO bricks all over the house — I have the bruises on the bottom of my feet to prove it.
This would not be the first time God got our attention utilizing imperfect couriers. And the message this little boy was delivering rang in my ears at the end of last Lent and cannot be ignored for this Lent. I gave up nothing last Lent, though I had grandiose plans of reading Scripture every day and carving out time every morning for contemplation. And with every passing 24 hours’ worth of Lent, my commitment grew weaker while my then 6-year-old grandson remained resolute.
I may be tempting fate here, but my grandson’s most recent Lenten declaration has inspired me. I have told him I will be joining him on his journey this year. Since not eating ice cream is what my doctor has been telling me for years, my sacrifice may resemble more Cain’s than Abel’s, but I will do it out of a sense of solidarity with my spiritual better. At the same time, I plan to give the adult part of Lent another try. My grandson will supply me with the inspiration and the new Crux Lenten Challenge on my phone’s Ascension app will hopefully keep me on track.
If I make it, it will be less about my own capacity for self-control but more about my grandson’s example of “dying” a little for a greater glory. And I do not want to trivialize my grandson’s efforts. If you ever saw him with a bowl of regular or “yogurty” ice cream in front of him, you would understand just how sacrificial this Lent is going to be for him.
So, take heart, all who are contemplating a more meaningful Lent this year. And remember, that if wolves and lambs, and leopards and goats, and calves and lions can all be led by a child — so can we all.
