King Amon, Margaret Feinberg and Attempting Lent

I totally failed at life yesterday.

I stepped in dog poop, my book manuscript was officially rejected from a publishing house, I cussed and hollered at an invading army of ants in my kitchen as if they could understand me, I lusted over everybody else’s life, and narrated (in my mind) a citizens revolt and takeover of the Department of Motor Vehicles. I may have, in my mind, also killed off some of Jesus’ family-lineage in a coup takeover too. I blame that on Margaret Feinberg.

Margaret’s books have been life-giving to me, but more so, the way she lives her life and treats people at events has awed me from afar. Her faith is rich and welcoming. And it seems to spill out and fall on everyone she touches. But I blame this entire story on her.

Well, some of it anyways.

It all started at the Department of Motor Vehicle. The birthplace of every negative connotation that surrounds the word bureaucracy. All I wanted was to become an official citizen of the State of Tennessee and leave with my peace and sanity intact. I walked into that DMV fully armed. I had every form of identification they could possibly want from me, a granola bar, soothing music, headphones and my Margaret Feinberg 40 Day Lent Challenge loaded and ready to read on YouVersion. Margaret invited some friends and I to join her in reading the entire New Testament during lent. And by ‘invited’ I mean ‘she doesn’t know me and invited millions of us.’  But hey- I took it as a personal invitation from the Lord and Margs. She lets me call her that.

Lent is often associated with what we give up. But giving up something during lent isn’t actually the ultimate goal. The ultimate goal of lent is giving something up in order that we might take something else on.  And that something else we take on is the special invitation to join believers in Christ all around the world in a season of preparing our hearts to deeply abide in, remember, reflect and react to the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

So Margs says this year, in order to reflect on the life of Christ in a unique way, she is sitting down each day to read the redemptive narrative that is the New Testament. And she is reading the entire narrative in 40 days and I can join her. And I say thanks M-Feiny (another name she lets me call her). I’d love to join you. And I am a day late to the lent party, but I go to the Department of Motor Vehicle with every intention of catching up by reading the first 14 chapters of the book of Matthew. Reading the redemptive narrative of Jesus on my iPhone while I wait in the long DMV line to get my license. A duel lenten challenge of sorts.

Oh the DMV. Oh. Oh. Oh.

Thirty minutes turned into sixty minutes. Sixty minutes into ninety. Ninety to one-hundred and twenty.  The super pregnant lady who was there with her 3-year-old daughter was uncomfortable, antsy and making sure the agents knew how much discomfort she was in: grunts, holding her belly, and switching butt cheeks to sit on. The 93 year-old-woman who could barely walk was stomping her cane. One man, who was told that he needed to wait outside the building with another fifty people who were in front of him in the line, began to yell “Come on bro. You know this ain’t right for nobody in here. NO. NO I’M NOT YELLING BRO but there is a pregnant woman and senior adult lady who ain’t been seen in over two hours bro and you acting like you can’t even hear us. Like you won’t even look us in the eyes bro. COME ON BRO be cool.”

Still, the supervisor kicked him outside to wait and threatened to call the police.

One hundred and twenty minutes turned into one hundred and eighty minutes. That’s three hours, y’all. My original number in line was spot nine and after three entire hours, I had only moved up to spot number six. Bureau-craaaazzzzzzy taken to an extreme new low.

I made it to the Beatitudes.

Except that’s a total lie. A total lie.

I made it to Amon.

Matthew Chapter 1. Verse 10.

That’s as much Bible reading as I got done at the DMV, Margs. I totally failed.

Amon. That rang a bell. I think people hated him. I googled him and it was as I suspected. Some say say he burned the Torah and let spider webs cover the alter. Others say he was just like his dad, sacrificing children at alters of fire and leading out in witchcraft and sorcery. Others say he was lustful, idolatrous and just plain mean. So mean, in fact, that two short years into his kingdom his servants rallied a revolt, started a coup and took him out in a bloody assassination.

And I am NOT ONE TO BE DRAMATIC BUT…

But I’m telling you…

The supervisor at the DMV LOOKED JUST LIKE AMON.

And everyone in that room started to line up in the lineage of Jesus Christ himself. I saw it in front of my very eyes. There were at least two prostitutes. Two or three kings rolling up in their Land Rovers. Lots of ordinary, everyday faithful types. A shepherd boy (under the custody of department of child services) who wants to fly planes in the Air Force. A few Ruth’s taking care of their elderly mother-in-law’s. One sweet lady who was fanning herself in a corner, God love her, and kept saying for all to hear (including King Amon) “Looorrrrd help me to accept the things I CAN NOT change and courage to change what I can.”

And then there was Amon and his cronies.

Those of us who were nearing the four hour mark of DMV hell-dom began to fraternize. We knew each other’s names and the last four digits of each other’s phone numbers. Those were our call numbers when in line. We cheered when people’s numbers were finally called. Audibly. Cheered, hooted and hollered. I would’ve handed out cupcakes and princess crowns if I had them. We knew where each person was moving from and how long it would take them to get back to their home state. We figured we might just have to move back to where we came from if the State of Tennessee couldn’t figure out a way to give us a new drivers license by the end of the day.

We tried to help translate for our non-English friends, tried calming our tyrannical friends down and made seats available for the elderly and pregnant. And finally, at hour four, I suggested to our friends that we find ole’ Amon and tell him, respectfully: We will be seen now. And we found him. And we were immediately seen. A huge oversight, he assured us. And the revolt was averted. And we passed out comment cards and pens to everyone in the building and I launched my own twitter campaign to try and track down whoever was in charge of that building and swore I would run for public office and reform the DMV system. And we left with our own newly formed anarchy of friends, most of us angry to the bone and completely aware that the DMV beat us.

So yesterday, MFeiny, I failed at day one of Lent. But Lent is the preparation of the soul. And if my soul were fully prepared to celebrate the most holy season of the year, I suppose I wouldn’t need the 40-Day challenge or the act of laying things down and taking things up in order to get myself out of the way. As it stands, I need a lot more soul work. Don’t we all?

Grateful I still have 30-something days. 
And a lifetime.


11 Responses to “King Amon, Margaret Feinberg and Attempting Lent”

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