I was taught a lady of a certain age should cross her ankles, and I do. More than outmoded modesty, it’s a feel-good habit; folding into myself, feeling attentive, being in control.

It naturally follows that I also cross – er, make that formerly crossed – my legs. That’s on my ‘Thou Shalt Not’ list along with ankle-crossing. Tucking a leg or foot over the other may put stress on the hip joint, among other issues.

Like a lot of habits, this one is hard to break.

Adjusting to life with a fracture and cancer means changing how I do things. I don’t sip wine, not even on Valentine’s Day. I don’t walk the dog, reach for fallen newspapers, or yank on socks. After I broke my hip, therapy provided me with a super duper sock puller-upper that works best with socks that are looser than I like, so Jim helps me slip into them.

With Lent approaching, what other ingrained habits is it time to shed?

Time, polished with grace, has revealed more bad ones than I like, ways I distance myself from others and dull my faith. Each new day, though, opens doors to live as God’s forgiven, beloved, empowered daughter.

In Dublin my Celtic pilgrimage tour visited Trinity College Library, part of which resembles a scene from “Harry Potter.” We went there to view the elaborately illustrated “Book of Kells,” an Irish national treasure. It is a manuscript of the Gospels with colorful animals and symbols filling its margins, including snakes.

Snakes?

I asked a guide about that. Her answer surprised me.

Snakes are symbols of Resurrection to Celtic Christians because they shed their skin. This was in Ireland, where there are none! (Some think the “Book of Kells” was created 1,200 years ago on the Scottish isle of Iona and brought to Ireland for safe keeping during Viking raids.)

Who were the monks who designed those extravagant borders, laboring over each line, entwining color and fanciful creatures with Celtic knots? What did these guys who labored in dim light in a dreary land through long winters know about patience that has escaped me?

They knew they could only copy the Bible one word at a time, with the printing press yet to be invented. They fulfilled their job of passing the Bible on to future generations, immersing themselves in God’s calling to respect, honor, and preserve the Word.

In “How the Irish Saved Civilization,” it says early Celtic monks kept libraries alive on the far off British isles while the Roman empire was falling apart and European culture was being gutted by barbarians flooding across the continent.

Without their efforts, we would know less about the ancient history of western civilization, and consequently less about ourselves.

We’re all called to do our part in saving civilization. That’s why I write. A year ago, I posted my first blog, allowing me to interact with more people. A few weeks after my first online post, we learned cancer migrated far from my breast where I first discovered it in 2016, and had fractured my pelvis. I wondered if my new blog and I would both be short-lived.

Yet here we are, 12 months after receiving that devastating diagnosis. The year was filled with loving, praying, reading, writing, hugging, dreaming, walking, traveling, fishing, weeping, mourning, laughing, meditating. . .and more appointments than I can count.

Except for this hobgoblin called cancer that gobbles my energy, I feel healthy. My sunny outlook, deep faith and rapidly healing hip are due to the Holy Spirit’s grace and presence within me, not my own efforts.

We have a God who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power at work in us (Ephesians 3:20 NIV). When I feel pushed into a dark corner, all I need to see are the words exceedingly abundantly to know the Sacred Three hold the world—and me—within their care.

Still, the Lord and I know there are more habits I need to shed, to discard like a snake crawling out of its old skin, never looking back, moving into a new reality.

One of them is worry. I’d shiver under the covers if I spent much time dwelling upon cancer. Thank goodness, Lent begins Wednesday, a journey of 40 days to press into God as he conforms you and me ever deeper to the image of his dear son.

Therefore, we’re told, . . .throw off your old evil nature. . .your attitudes and thoughts must all be constantly changing for the better.Yes, you must be a new and different person, holy and good. Clothe yourself with this new nature (Ephesians 4:22-24, “The Living Bible”).

Shedding the old, putting on the new.

All will be well.

Texting Thru Recovery/ Indiana Gazette