Lent has always been familiar to me.
As a Catholic, I grew up knowing the rhythms of the Lenten season—the ashes on my forehead, the quiet reverence in church, the call to fasting, repentance, and reflection. Lent was serious. Sacred. It was a season that asked you to slow down and look inward.
But over the years, as my faith has deepened and I’ve come to know Jesus not just as Savior, but as my Savior, Lent has taken on a richer, more personal meaning.
Today, I stand in a place that some people struggle to define. I am Catholic. And I am also a born-again Christian. I treasure the history, beauty, and reverence of the Church, and I cling just as fiercely to the truth that I am saved by grace alone through faith in Jesus Christ.
“For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God.” (Ephesians 2:8)
So what does Lent mean to me now?
It means remembering—without drowning in guilt or shame.
For a long time, Lent felt heavy. I approached it with quiet pressure: What am I giving up? What am I doing wrong? Am I doing enough? Reflection sometimes slipped into self-condemnation. There was an unspoken belief that if I felt bad enough, suffered enough, or sacrificed enough, I would somehow be closer to God.
But Jesus already suffered enough.
“Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows.” (Isaiah 53:4)
Lent is not about punishing ourselves. It is about positioning ourselves to remember.
Remembering the road to the cross.
Remembering the weight Jesus carried—willingly.
Remembering that the sacrifice was complete, final, and fully sufficient.
“He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness.” (1 Peter 2:24)
This season, I don’t want to sit in shame over who I am not. I want to sit in awe of who He is.
Lent invites us to look back—but not to live there. We look back to see the cross clearly so we can move forward in freedom. We look back to remember the cost of grace, not to question whether we deserve it.
Because we don’t—and that’s exactly why it’s grace.
“There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” (Romans 8:1)
As a born-again believer, I understand repentance differently now. Repentance is not self-loathing or spiritual self-punishment. It is turning—turning my heart, my eyes, and my life back to Jesus.
“Repent therefore, and turn back, that your sins may be blotted out.” (Acts 3:19)
And as a Catholic, I still deeply value the quiet discipline of Lent. The fasting. The stillness. The intentional pauses. Lent reminds me that faith is not always loud or dramatic. Sometimes it is humble obedience. Sometimes it is sitting in silence, letting the magnitude of the cross speak for itself.
“Be still, and know that I am God.” (Psalm 46:10)
This year, I want my Lenten sacrifices to look different.
Less about obligation.
More about intention.
Less about what I am giving up to prove something.
More about what I am laying down out of love.
“Present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship.” (Romans 12:1)
That may look like more time in Scripture.
More gratitude instead of grumbling.
More honest prayer instead of polished words.
More remembrance of all that Jesus has already done.
Because when I look back at the cross, I don’t see condemnation—I see mercy.
“But God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:8)
I don’t see a demand for perfection. I see a Savior with outstretched arms declaring, “It is finished.”
“When Jesus had received the sour wine, he said, ‘It is finished,’ and he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.” (John 19:30)
Lent is not a season to earn forgiveness.
It is a season to remember that forgiveness has already been given.
“In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of his grace.” (Ephesians 1:7)
So this Lent, I am choosing reflection over shame. Gratitude over guilt. Grace over striving. I will look back—but only long enough to see the love that changed everything.
And then, with eyes fixed on Jesus, I will move forward in freedom.
“Let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith.” (Hebrews 12:1–2)
That is what Lent means to me now.
Faith Love n Joy 