The day begins in fog and so does my mind. Of all the days, this is the one I most yearn to spend in quiet, in prayer, in fasting, in closeness with God. I want the ashes on my forehead; I want the certainty of being marked as belonging to God. Marked with dust. Marked as dust. As God’s dust.

Like this morning’s fog, the shape of my longing is unclear, does not seem to have a beginning or an end. Lent seeps into my soul without me consciously choosing to step on the path through the wilderness.

I am already in the midst. Of ashes. Of the need to turn. Of the aching desire for God’s redemption.

For the Lord knows whereof we are made;
and remembers that we are but dust. Psalm 103:14