Think back to the moments after you got engaged, or the bated breath as you prepared to meet your spouse at the altar on your wedding day. Were big, unfaltering hopes filling your heart?

I’m going to be the best spouse ever.
Things are great and they’ll only get better. Anything worse will feel easy because our relationship is so strong.
I could admit to, and forgive, anything with this person.
We won’t make the same mistakes as everyone else.

I’ve thought all of these, and more! As Lent gets underway, my hopes are astonishingly similar:

This will be the best Lent ever.
I made a plan, so I can’t fail. I’ll only get better at my Lenten promises, never worse.
I can be totally honest with God and would give anything He asks of me.
I won’t make the same mistakes as in all those other years. 

The start of a new season, be it in your vocation or in the liturgical year, so often brings forth your most determined self, and that’s good. The desire to be your best and most faithful for the sake of love is an honorable one. But of course, time passes and your determination might wane, or what once felt exceptional now feels ordinary. I’ve found myself looking up from my phone mid-Lent, bewildered as I emerge from an hour-long rabbit hole that I’d only gone down as a seemingly noble substitute for the social media I gave up. Was this really the point?, I’d wonder. Giving up one bad habit only to look for loopholes and take up another?

After 14 years of marriage and a range of fruitful and less-fruitful Lents, I tell myself I should be wise by now to the fact that it’s impossible to sustain the levels of willpower with which we first take up something new. My optimism always prevails and I think I’ll be able to do it. In doing so I have at least gotten wise to this: it’s not about my will, but the Lord’s. I don’t need to do everything, but I do need to let Him do it.

I deeply love my married life, and deeply love my faith, even as I live them out imperfectly. I’ll never stop hoping and trying to be my best, despite knowing there are times when my zeal fades or when I’m tempted to hide and put on masks. So today, at the start of another Lenten journey, wherever you are in your relationship with your spouse and with the Lord, here are three practical consolations and actions I’ve found to reignite my dedication to my spiritual life and to my husband:

First, on difficult days of Lent or of married life, I’ve stopped trying to just power through them. I’ve made relative peace with my own poverty, knowing I’ll never endure on my power alone. My parish priest frequently invokes the Spirit: Come, Holy Spirit. More of your power, more of your presence, more of You in my life. The amount of times I have prayed these words, and the consolation they’ve brought me, really does feel staggering sometimes. The Lord desires to give us rest. And the whole end goal of Lent–and of marriage!–is a decrease in self-reliance and an increased reliance on His unitive, life-giving love. 

In a recent Ash Wednesday homily, a deacon spoke of the discouragement we’ll inevitably feel during these 40 days, and encouraged embracing it, rather than trying to silence it: “Say to God, ‘Thank you for this chance to rise with you above my mediocrity!’” These words were so motivating–I’m human, yes, and my humanity is a great gift that I only want to enter into and embrace, never to diminish. The human love of marriage is only brought to perfection in heaven, yet each day is an invitation to imitate the love of the Cross.

Second, when my fortitude in my commitments is faltering, I’ve tried making it a point to return to what ignited me in the first place. 

At our wedding reception, my husband and I put out cards for guests to write their best marriage advice. When we read them, three expressed the same essential idea: remember why you fell in love. Maybe it’s an overused sentiment, but in my opinion, it’s overused because it’s true! In marriage and in the season of Lent, something drew you to answer a call, to commit yourself to deeper love and union. When the well feels dry, ask yourselves what that something was. 

With your spouse, was there a particular activity, habit, or gesture that brought life and meaning into your relationship? With the Lord, how have your most powerful encounters taken place? Maybe it’s through Adoration or the sacraments, a particular hymn or worship song, devotion to a specific saint, or a prayer routine that felt right. Have you sustained these practices, and is it time to reintroduce them? Find opportunities to seek out these encounters again. 

About that (finding opportunities, that is). My final word of wisdom for the deserts of Lent and of marriage involves making time for your earthly and heavenly beloved. It’s embarrassing how easily I sometimes convince myself that things other than just sitting and praying, or even conversing with the Lord throughout my day, are more pressing. I’ll push back Saturday afternoon confession thinking that evening plans might open up and I shouldn’t overfill my schedule. I’ll make lists of errands and household needs that I’ll try to finish quickly, only to pick up my phone and scroll as soon as I’m done. 

I fully believe all of us, me included, have more time than we think! Family and work responsibilities aren’t unimportant, yet in pockets of time throughout the day, I’ve experienced a renewed desire to use them well. Prayer might not look like frequent, silent holy hours during this season of my life, so it’s up to me to find contentment and fruit in the moments I do have. To check in with the Lord and offer even the mundane activities of my day for His glory. Let Him into all parts of your day, not just the parts involving formal prayer, and your entire day can become a prayer.

Pray for me as I pray for you this Lent. If you are in a desert, I’m there with you, awaiting the hope and restoration of the Resurrection. When I read John’s account of Mary Magdalene first encountering the risen Lord, the fact that she “thought it was the gardener” leaps out at me. The Resurrection taking place in a garden feels so significant. 

The first garden brought about temptation and death. The second, on Easter morning, is the source of new and eternal life. Our humanness, fully, faithfully, fruitfully and totally redeemed. May we rise with Jesus, eager to live out His love and mission; restored and fortified anew in our marriages.