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I’m over at That Reformed Blog with an Ash Wednesday reflection. There is something vulnerable and gritty about marking worshipers with a cross of ashes, something that leaves us with dirty hands. Here’s an excerpt from my piece:

Last year as my husband and I were gathering our things following the Ash Wednesday service, my daughter tugged on my shirt.

“Momma, will you put one on my head and say the words?”

She pointed to where the ashes were kept.

“Sure, sweetie.”

I knelt down in front of her, dragged the tip of my finger through the ashes, and then looked up at her. My hands started trembling, which caught me by surprise. My mouth was dry, and it was like the words were caught in my throat.

You can read the rest here.