The only Lenten observance I took up this year was recognizing that I had too many commitments. I’ve begun teaching religion over the past few months, while trying to continue with everything else I’d been involved with before. Obviously that’s impossible—the silence here at Mildly Mystical helps make the point. But it took a while for me to realize it.

So Lent was a time of paring down, letting go of some of the responsibilities I’ve been involved with. It’s not easy to do when those things mean a lot. But it’s necessary.

What I didn’t expect was the further, drastic paring down that would come in the wake of a knee injury. I spent over two weeks on crutches, unable to drive, and negotiating the stairs in my home only with great difficulty. Under those circumstances, life constricts to the basics in a flash.

Fortunately, the setback is temporary and I’m improving every day. I’m grateful for this, and for the care and support of family and friends who have gotten me through this rough patch. It’s a reminder of what is and is not essential in this life.

So this year, the theme of paring down has been imposed not only on Lent, but Holy Week and Easter as well. I didn’t make it to Easter services, but in the week since then I’ve gradually been able to do some everyday things—really mundane stuff, like loading the dishwasher and walking down a flight of stairs. There have been no sudden transformations, only the slow progress that comes from gaining strength and confidence. I have a long way to go before I resume the two-mile walks I enjoy, but at least I’m walking without crutches and driving again. In those moments when I feel impatient to get to where I want to be, I try to remember how far I’ve come.

The work of transformation is slow, and many of its stages can’t be observed. The changes we do see take time to adjust to, as well. I kept using a crutch after the point it was absolutely necessary, because walking without it made me feel so vulnerable. Change is difficult, but somehow we keep expecting it to be otherwise.

Even with the celebration of the ultimate transformation, at Easter, we approach it as if the new reality were instantaneous. We condense the mysterious remaking of the disciples’ world into a single worship service, a morning’s event, then go home as if it were finished. For most of us last Sunday was a long time ago, and by now Easter is over.

But the bewilderment and doubt, fear and uncertainty, as the followers of Jesus tried to understand what was happening were not overcome in a morning or a day or a week. There were no instant explanations of their experiences and their path was in no way clear. It took time for them to absorb what was happening and decide how to respond. It’s the same with us.

The liturgical calendar calls this time Eastertide, in recognition of the time it takes for Easter to be absorbed, recognized, and lived. That’s where we are now. Eastertide is ongoing.  The spirit remains at work in us, and seen or unseen, the mystery of our healing, our growth, and our transformation unfolds. It’s a season of leaving crutches behind.

Over the past few days I’ve been saddened by the passing of Steve Jobs. Along with many others, I’m inspired by the creativity and persistence; vision and excellence; risk, failure, and resounding success that he exemplified. As he grappled with illness and the imminent possibility of death over the past few years, he seemed to gain a clarity and perspective that enabled him to encourage others to realize their gifts and offer their best. If you haven’t seen it already, or even if you have, his speech to the Stanford graduates in 2005  is worthwhile.

A college class in calligraphy was among his formative experiences. The beauty and variety of the ancient writing styles, called “hands,” drew him into the art of lettering, which shapes the fonts employed by technology today. He entered the realm of design through the study of beautiful writing and artistically rendered text. Looking back at what was worthwhile from the past informed him as he designed so much of our future—and our world looks better for it.

I can appreciate that aspect of his education because calligraphy has taught me a lot, too. It was in the study of lettering that I learned to appreciate the power of good design. I began to see the world in a different way, noticing the importance of visual elements that I had never before attended to. As I studied the work of others, I realized that every aspect of the world created by human beings is the result of some kind of choice—sometimes a conscious one and sometimes not, sometimes a reflection of limited understanding or limited resources, but always a choice.

I also came to understand that good design results from the pursuit of excellence; it comes about through intentional choices. I learned what I could about good design from seeing it, studying it, and trying to understanding the choices that achieve to it.

In a similar way, we design our lives through the choices we make. If we are wise, we learn from others who know how to live well. Within our limitations, and working with what requires accommodation, we choose what we do and how we do it. We can bring creativity and persistence; vision and excellence to the way we live. We have genuine freedom in the way we take risks, survive failure, and continue to pursue success.

Steve Jobs reminded us of that. It’s no wonder we miss him.