It took me a good while to recover from the habit of cowering and whimpering within sight of the Lord’s table, which its injunction to “do this in remembrance of me.” We did that every Sunday with extra verses of “Just As I Am.” We didn’t need a designated time to “come under conviction” for sin which, like dust, finds its way around every closed door and shut window of our souls. These were her travel memories, and she could name where each was purchased. She had dozens of affordable mementoes purchased on the many cut-rate, baloney-sandwich vacations we took, my sister and I sleeping in the back of a Ford station wagon, our parents in a tiny pop-up trailer.

That includes wiping each little piece of my Mom’s curio salt-and-pepper shaker collection. Among my chores as a child was to “dust” the living room - a housekeeping necessity in West Texas, where dust storms were still a thing. My association with the phrase wasn’t a good one. (Modern verses substitute or add “ashes to ashes.”) We I did, of course, hear the echo of Genesis 3:19 - “dust to dust” - pronounced at graveside services for the dearly departed. If you heard that word spoken, the association was with what gathered in your navel upon wearing cotton t-shirts. “To prevent this from happening, occasionally you need to set your plow deeper.”īaptist-flavored, southern-accented folk of my generation didn’t do Lent in our formative years.

“The bottom of the plow compacts the soil beneath it, so that, over time, a thick crust forms, separating the plant roots from essential nutrients,” he explained. In years past, Marvin noted, most farmers plowed at the same depth every year.

It was suggested by one of our members, a retired farmer named Marvin. “Set your plow deeper” was our congregation’s theme for Lent some years ago.

Imposition of ash styles