Re-entry

Grandfather Mountain from Valle Crucis

One of the most challenging parts about a retreat is ending it and re-entering – the proverbial "coming down from the mountaintop."  In my case literally coming down from the mountains.  This is the first time I've made a personal retreat that lasted 5 full days plus a travel day on each side.  Although I could have stayed longer, this felt like the right length.  Usually I'm longing for at least another day if not more.  But I had done the things I had intended except for one.  I hadn't hiked.  I was saving it as a treat for my last day if I got my writing work done.  Forecast for the day was low 80's and sunshine.

Lavender House

On the afternoon of Day 5, Friday, after getting my book manuscript in as good an order as I could, I left the hermitage for the first time and drove down into the valley to visit the Lavender House and to get a sandwich from the Ham Shoppe.  I was running out of salad, and ready for some meat!  When I got down to the shops, I was overwhelmed by the people and cars.  Aplace as small as Valle Crucis doesn't have real traffic, but there were almost no parking places at the Mast General Store or the sandwich place.  I waited long stretches of time to be able to turn onto the main road.  All around, people were starting their summer weekend in the mountains.  After a week of quiet, I couldn't wait to drive back up the mountain and slip back into the quiet safety of my hermitage porch to eat.  As I ate and rocked, I felt peace creeping in and gently replacing the anxiety of my foray back to civilization.

After a late lunch, I grabbed one of the cabin walking sticks and went for a hike, down the mountain through the woods to a waterfall I have visited before, but never from this direction.  I had always climbed up from the conference center.  This time I climbed down from the hermitages, a much longer journey.  Rhododendrons greeted me along the way, and my walking stick served for removing spider webs from the path.  As I approached the waterfall, I could hear the water rushing over the rocks.  Once down among the rocks, I turned my face to the sunlight streaming through the leafy bower overhead and soaked up the warmth.  With help from my trusty staff, I clambered out onto a flat rock in the center of the river and sat in a beam of sunshine facing upstream.  A fine mist blew above the water, droplets not even heavy enough to wet my skin.  I sang, as I often do when I'm out in nature alone.
"Rivers belong where they can ramble.  Eagles belong where they can fly."

Of course, she who hikes down must also hike back up.  The climb back to the hermitages earned me 14 peak cardio minutes on my Fitbit.  The entire journey took less than two hours, and despite the cool temperatures, I was breathing and sweating heavily when I had returned to the top.  I spent some time in the wooden swing below my cabin before heading to the shower and my last evening of retreat.
I had intended to go to bed early, thinking my hike would guarantee me a good night's sleep, and I would have time to write in the morning.  But the 3/4 moon illuminated the sky so it seemed like perpetual twilight, and the fireflies flashed brilliantly and the stars called me to gaze at their light.  I sat on the porch wrapped in a shawl in the cool, still air and felt deep peace in my soul.

The last morning, mostly packed, I took time to journal and to ask God to help me with re-entry.  I had decided to take an alternate route home, up 81 and over to the Blue Ridge Parkway so that I could visit a favorite "God spot" at Yankee Horse Ridge.  In my journaling, I prayed that I could tap back into the peace that I had felt so deeply at the Valle Crucis retreat.  That I wouldn't rush, that I would stay strong and centered and not be buffeted by ALL THE THINGS that would engulf me upon return.  That I would be able to endure the 95 plus degrees and thick humidity that I had so blessedly escaped for a week.  That I would remember the moonlit sky and stars the bird song and the stillness the serenity and tranquility of my hermitage stay.

Yankee Ridge - waterfall above me to the right

I did take my time, but I almost lost my peace when I got to my spot at the Yankee Horse Ridge Overlook.  It was barricaded due to construction on the Parkway and machinery they were storing in the parking area.  I couldn't figure out how to park and I kept going, fuming and discouraged because it was quite out of my way and there had been a number of slow downs on 81.  I was starting to get worked up when I remembered my journaling.  "You can't lose your peace that quickly," I told myself, and I said a little prayer, asking God to help me find a solution.  Finally, I saw a side road that allowed me to turn around and head back.  Someone had already pulled down the yellow tape and coming from that direction, I was able to slip in between two orange barrels and park.  I took my lunch, climbed up on my favorite rock, and completed my retreat gazing at the much slimmer waterfall above me.  I have had many conversations with God there, and it seemed like a perfect way to bring my retreat to a close and look toward my birthday in a couple of weeks.

Re-entry was still hard.  My disposal wasn't working, and Williamsburg was a sauna, but the most difficult was having my computer stop working the day I returned.  I've spent the week erasing my computer, rebooting the Operating System, and restoring all my files.  I still don't have it all back, but I'm functional again.  And the peace hasn't evaporated yet, either, though there were a few challenging moments.  How grateful I am for the gift of retreat, of Sabbath rest, of renewal.

Rhythm of Retreat

From the day after Easter until July 1, I served as Acting Rector of Bruton Parish while our Rector was on sabbatical.  What an experience of having to think about ALL THE THINGS!  It was my job to keep the ship on course, and I did.  When Chris returned, I happily turned the wheel back over to him, and after a week of overlap drove away for my annual retreat.

Mountains are my favorite place to be, and after discovering the hermitages at the Valle Crucis Conference Center near Boone, NC last year, I had decided to return.  Perfect little cozy wooden cabins each with its own porch and rocking chairs, a jewel of a tiny chapel, mountains, cool nights with windows open to the mountain air, quiet, no mosquitos.

I have now been on enough retreats that I have discovered they have a rhythm.  And my rhythm is not necessarily like anyone else's - if only I could remember that!

First day = sleep.  Lots of it.  Usually sleeping late and falling back asleep and sometimes even going to bed early.  It's also a good day to take care of details like paying for the retreat, making sure I have food, getting unpacked and organized, and if there's something pulling at me like shopping in the local town or hiking, then it's a good day for that, too. Being gentle is important.  If I want to sit and stare, then I need to do that.  If I want to shop and hike, best to get it out of my system.  This time I knew that sleep would be the order of the first day.  Plus a trip to the Mast General Store and a walk on the labyrinth in the field below the main conference center.  Since I often intend to write on my retreats, it's important to remember that I'm not going to write on that first day.  Maybe a journal entry, but most of my time is spent settling in.  I am full of gratitude to be away.

Second day = more sleep.  This is where I fall into the trap of thinking that I have rested enough and it's time to Get To Work.  Whether that work is writing or hanging out with God or whatever, I feel the need to be productive at retreating.  This time I gave it a name - 2nd Day Low.  I'm no longer generous and gentle.  My inner critic starts expounding upon how I'm already failing at retreat - time's a ticking, and I'm wasting all this precious time that I've set aside to do nothing.  I start looking around for snacks, preferably of the chocolate variety.  I organize the books, notebooks, and I start reading.  Surely reading counts as productivity.  This time I read about Valle Crucis, Julian of Norwich, the enneagram - particularly type 9 which is me, and writing as a spiritual practice.  I also worked on The Recovering and the memoir that I've been assigned in my writing class.  And a cute little pocket edition of Monk in the Marketplace which led to a necessary internet search to see how much it would cost to order the full edition.  I wish I were one of those people who would take a technology sabbatical while on retreat, but I'm not.  Frequently I get pulled to the Internet to look up some important detail which CANNOT WAIT.  Late in the afternoon I was able to convince myself to start laying out the notecards for my book project and putting them in order while reading through old journals to get my chronology right.  With notecards spread across the floor and no writing done, at the end of the day, I'm still full of gratitude, but frustrated that I'm not better at retreat.

By the third day, I'm starting to be less tired.  More settled in.  I can usually cajole myself into getting up a little earlier and sitting down to write something.  Progress at last.  I stop reading about Valle Crucis and Julian and start focusing on writing or reading that pertains to what I'm writing.  I get my cards done and start transferring the scene and chapter titles into the material I've already written.  Bring order to the whole.  My writing class about creating a blueprint for the memoir is helping me with structure, and once I get all these headings in, I'll know what else I need to write, what I need to cut, and where this whole thing is headed.  There are discrete sections now that need to be written, and I can start anywhere I like.  It's just that there are so many of them; it's overwhelming.  Still, I've started, and that's progress.  Plus I removed about 15,000 words that don't fit in the current structure.  I'll keep them elsewhere for something else.  I get a short walk in and am happy to move my body. On this night I finish reading the memoir for my writing class - homework done, I can concentrate more fully on my own writing for day 4.

Day Four - Usually this is the last day, the most productive day, the day when I'm motivated because it's the last day, and sometimes the day for a hike or nice dinner.  But on this retreat I have given myself an extra day.  I'm still motivated, wanting to write, but I'm also restless.  It storms all day, but I'm no longer so tired that I want to curl up and sleep.  I can't get away from myself by taking a walk. I'm stuck in the cabin with me and my book, and suddenly I hate my book.  I know I'm a terrible writer.  Everything I'm putting down is boring.  It's not like I'm going to get published anyway.  I might as well trash the whole thing.  I finally convince myself to journal and I beg God, "Help me!"  Then I text my writer priest friend Elizabeth who helps me get unstuck and writing again, and I spend several hours typing steadily. The rain stops for sunset, so I take a longer walk to enjoy the beauty all around me, I pray Compline in St. Anthony's tiny chapel,  and then write and read more before bed. Sleep comes slowly, but I'm still so grateful for this time and that I have one more full day.

Day 5 is today.  I don't think I've ever allowed myself this many days, so this is a new one. Unfortunately my inability to get to sleep last night wrecked my attempt to start getting back to a more normal schedule - when left to my own devices, I will always migrate toward staying up late and sleeping late.  So I slept later than intended and have gotten off to a slower start.  It wasn't supposed to be raining today, but it is off and on.  My reward for work today is a hike down to the waterfall this afternoon.  It may seem like I'm avoiding by writing this post, but another goal for the retreat was to make a blog post, and so I'm getting that done now.  Then I'll turn back to the book.

It has been such a good time of rest and renewal.  Porch sitting, gazing at clouds and rainbows and birds and flowers and bunnies and trees.  Eating vegetarian all week with salads and fruit and whole wheat pasta.  Sinking into books.  Still getting distracted plenty, but having enough time to be distracted and then return to my purpose.  There is no right way to take a retreat.  No single right observance of Sabbath.  The only right way is doing it at all.  Finding the rhythm that works and not worrying about what gets accomplished.  Letting go of the need to produce and paying attention to what I need.  Listening to God.  Getting restless and distracted.  Returning to listening.  The rhythm speeds up and slows down.  All a part of the whole.  Thanks be to God.

49! And Going Strong

Today is my 49th birthday.  It's been quite a week.  On Wednesday at the SpiritWorks Women's Group, we celebrated several birthdays, including mine, with coconut cake, cards and laughter.  I received a locket with a labyrinth on it that has quickly become a favorite.  Yesterday, on my birthday eve, as I like to call it, I walked into SpiritWorks and saw a box of Godiva chocolates awaiting me with a beautiful card signed by members of the SpiritWorks community.  Then, in the late afternoon, Lynn Smyth and Jan surprised me with a gathering of friends from SpiritWorks and Bruton.  What a delightful end to the work week.  Tomorrow I leave for a retreat at Valle Crucis in North Carolina, where I will spend the week in a hermitage: hiking in the mountains, writing, reading, resting, and best of all, hanging out with God.  This year I will be on the brink of a new decade of life as well as starting a new decade of ordained ministry.  Seems like a good time to be quiet and listen to God.

For awhile now I have been struggling with what I suppose to be peri-menopausal symptoms that mostly affect my mood.  Anxiety/agitation takes over my body, making me feel like I'm crawling out of my skin.  Depression/hopelessness drags me down, making everything seem difficult.  Fatigue saps my energy and causes me to feel like I'm struggling through molasses to get up in the morning and then frequently overtakes me during the day.  Some days I just put one foot in front of the other.  I've tried many things with varying degrees of success, but recently the fatigue and roller coaster emotions have really been tough.  Thursday I went to Acupuncture Works for my first session of acupuncture, at the recommendation of my therapist.  I hate needles, and I've been known to pass out when giving blood.  But I've been so miserable that I was willing to try anything.

They say acupuncture doesn't hurt, and it's true.  Mostly.  I did feel a little prick from a couple of the needles, but only briefly, and not enough to be upsetting.  With a lavender eye mask over my closed eyes, resting comfortably with pillows supporting my head and knees, I felt like I was floating.  I drifted into what I call "lala land," a place that is almost sleep, but not quite - a place that I imagine some people experience in meditation but I almost never do.  I floated there, head chatter fading after a few minutes, feeling a deep, peaceful rest.  When the session was over, I felt spacey.  That evening I was a little off, going through short spurts of moods, even while I was walking the labyrinth.

Then came what I consider a minor miracle.  Or maybe not so minor.  On Friday morning I woke up before my alarm and had energy!  I don't realize how poorly I'm feeling until I feel good again. And yesterday was truly remarkable.  I had energy all day.  Even with all the cake and other sweets that I ate!  All week I had felt like I was running on the last wisps of fumes of fuel in my tank.  Today I also woke up with energy.  I am so grateful.

I love birthdays.  I always have.  It's the one day we get to celebrate ourselves and how amazing it is that God put us here on this earth.  It's our own personal new year's day.  I've never been one to hide from or dread birthdays.  (There was some grief at 40 when I realized I was probably not going to have children, so that one was bittersweet.)  I embrace them.  I am 49, almost half a century.  Thanks be to God.  My birthday wish is that all of us find joy in each day and love each other well.  May we all know the love of the one who created us and spread that love with abandon.  And may we all wake up with energy and purpose, facing our challenges and blessings with grace and returning to sleep each night with gratitude in our hearts.

Writing Retreat

I spent the better part of this week at The Porches, a retreat for writers.  It was my birthday present to myself, to escape for a few days to the mountains to work on my book and to rest and to hike.  I did a bit of all three.  One of the other writers staying there came to the shared' kitchen while I was eating breakfast on my last day.  She was amused at the human capacity to forget what we've learned.  She was remembering how it takes some time to settle down to a writing rhythm, how she's learned that before and how she always forgets.  I also forget that.  The first day, I was so exhausted that all I could do was sleep.  And then I was disappointed in myself for not writing much.  The second day I got up early and took a walk and puttered and did some writing, but it was hard to settle in.  By the third day, I got right up and started writing.  When I do these retreats, I need to remember to plan to stay for a whole week if I really want to get something done.  Especially if I also want to hike.

My goal had been to finish the current draft of my book.  I knew I needed to finish some editing on the 2nd section and complete the third section and Epilogue.  At the beginning of the retreat the book was about 112 pages.  Now it is 135.  I did do a bit of polishing of the second section.  Now I'm thinking there may be 4 sections instead of three and the Epilogue turned into part of the 4th section, and I need to add a whole new beginning to the second section, and I wrote a bunch of new material that reads like a diary - first this then this then that happened.  So that will need lots more revision.  It's like a big sticky gooey mess, and I don't know how to clean it up.

Sermons.  They're not easy, but I can hold them in my head.  They are 4-5 pages, space and a half, 14 pt. font.  I haven't forgotten the beginning by the time I get to the end.  I have a scripture passage to work with, and I understand the structure.  Books are long, and I forget what I've already said.  This piece started out as a short essay for a magazine.  But it has grown and grown and grown, and I can't wrap my brain around it.

It reminds me of a time at my parents' house when my mother was trying some kind of hash brown/potato dish in the microwave.  The microwave was new to us at the time.  Now usually we had real potatoes, but I guess she was trying something new.  At any rate, the hash browns never cooked.  They kept growing and growing, and the more she cooked them, the more they expanded like paste.  We laughed so hard.  I think she had to throw the whole thing out.  Hopefully that won't happen with my book!

After writing all morning on the third day, I treated myself to a drive on the Blue Ridge Parkway and a hike to Crabtree Falls.  I wanted to get into my body in a way that only a strenuous hike can do.  The first time I hiked Crabtree Falls was with two guy friends of mine on a cold November day in 2003.  Over the years I've hiked them many more times.  The trail is 1.7 miles straight up with switch backs that carry you close to the falls and then away through the trees and then back to the rushing water once again.  At the top there's a view of the surrounding mountains.  I don't always make it to the top, but this time I did.  Whenever I'm in the area, I can't resist returning to the Falls; they are like a magnet pulling me in and restoring me.

Now it's time to get back to my sticky, expanding book and hope that I can knead it into something readable.

Holy Week Beginning

Yesterday was Palm Sunday.  The beginning of Holy Week.  The week we remember Jesus' journey to the cross and beyond.  This weekend my students and I helped serve lunch to neighbors in need at St. Paul's in Newport News.  Pictured is the altar there prepared for Palm Sunday.  Students and I then went on a retreat to Yorktown where we spent time being.  Walking outside, eating ice cream, talking, sitting around a fire, sharing a meal.  We went to the Palm Sunday service at Grace Church yesterday morning.  Connie Jones' homily was about noise, all the noise that Jesus must have heard as he entered Jerusalem and went through the week, the cheers that turned into jeers as he walked to his death.  And yet, Jesus got more and more centered even in the midst of the noisy turmoil.  Connie invited us to find a time each day this week to invite Jesus into our hearts, without expectation of what would happen when we did, and then to accept what Jesus brings us.

Last night, (because there can never be too much church, even this week!) I went back to Grace for their Celtic Service.  It's theme was contradictions or paradox.  The opening prayer was this poem by Malcolm Guite:
Now to the gate of my Jerusalem,
The seething holy city of my heart,
The saviour comes.  But will I welcome him?
Oh crowds of easy feelings make a start;
They raise their hands, get caught up in the singing,
And think the battle won.  Too soon they'll find
The challenge, the reversal he is bringing
Changes their tune.  I know what lies behind
The surface flourish that so quickly fades;
Self-interest, and fearful guardedness,
The hardness of the heart, its barricades,
And at the core, the dreadful emptiness
Of a perverted temple.  Jesus come
Break my resistance and make me your home.

Wow.  This poem really brought Holy Week home for me.  I know how mobs can change, can get caught up in the moment.  It's not far from cheering and praising to shouting, "Crucify him!"  You can watch it at a football game.  But I always struggle because I want to think that I wouldn't have been shouting, "Crucify him!"  I want to think that I would have been with the women at the foot of the cross and that I wouldn't have been turning against him.  This poem, though, brings the story into my own heart.  How many times do I start down the path of good intention - waking up, praying, readying myself for the day and heading out into the world to love God and my neighbor - only to find that my resolve is shaken the first time I get behind a slow driver or someone says a sharp word to me or something doesn't go my way?  Then all that good will flies out the window and I start fussing at the driver or speaking shortly to other people or grumpily complaining in my head about the way things have turned out.

It's hard.  To love our neighbors.  It sounds easy in my house.  But it is hard. 

Will I welcome Jesus when he asks me to love those who differ from me over topics that I care about deeply?  Will I welcome Jesus when he asks me to keep walking through all the noise?   Will I welcome Jesus when he asks me to stop doing things I want to do and start doing things that are much less easy and convenient?  It's so much easier to love the world from within my quiet house.  But Jesus keeps calling me out into the world, into the pain and noise and daily minor irritations that add up.  It is easy to love my neighbor when I'm singing hosanna.  It is hard to love my neighbor when my neighbor wishes me dead.  Or wishes someone I love dead.  Or when my neighbor criticizes and judges me or my loved ones.

My week started with retreat time, time for being, with God, with creation, with students.  I'm filled with the easy feelings, caught up in the singing, "All glory laud and honor, to thee redeemer king."  Come, Jesus.  Come into the "seething holy city of my heart."  Help me to stay faithful as you did.  Help me to find my center as I walk through this week.  Soften my heart to those around me.  "Break my resistance and make me your home."