Friday, October 16, 2009

At Retreat's End

Yesterday I closed the door on a retreat I took alone for a week. These were my parting thoughts.

Today I leave this place, this retreat from the everyday. I am moving slowly, thoughtfully. Packing some, a little cleaning, reading, writing. The question looming in my mind still: What is it that happened here these last few days? What are the lessons learned? the wisdom gleaned? I sat down for a minute and picked up the book Answered Prayers: Love Letters from the Divine by Julia Cameron. I opened it randomly. The page I turned to said this:

"You have a sense of weariness. The world tires you. You hunger for renewal but seek to find it in sleep, not experience. You are too much with yourself. Come to me. Let me awake you gently. Let me show you the world through my eyes. I have seen everything, and I have seen it over and over, but I am not tired of this world. To me all things are new, all things are possible. You are not old. You are just being born. Your consciousness is just waking up to its potential.

Live with me. Commit to this life. It is an unfolding odyssey. You do not know the end of your journey. Each day holds new thoughts and new footfalls. Dare to have an adventurous heart. I do. I am the great adventure and I am available to you. Bring me your stagnant days and allow me to infuse them with freshness, with the flow of grace and ideas. I am brimming with life. I am a fountain of new thoughts and experiences. Allow me to rejuvenate you. Bring me your tired soul. I am the deep water your spirit craves. I am the well you long to drink from to slake your travel-weary thirst. Come to me tired and worn. Ask me to refresh your heart. Offer me your long day's journey. We are only starting, you and I."

I wept!

So I pack all this crazy stuff I brought along on the journey. I load the car. I travel home. I go to rehearsal tonight for worship on Sunday. I step back into the everyday. I look exactly the same as when I left, but inside, my heart is more willing to trust Him for who He has created me to be. I realize now that every time I second guess myself, I second guess my Creator. In that doubt I say to Him that He could not possibly have chosen well. I tell Him that I cannot live up to the gifts, the talents, the dreams He has planted in me. Why would I ever believe that He would separate Himself from those things? He did not make me and then toss me out to work it out on my own. He is the very life and breath of those gifts and we walk side by side, Him pointing to all the things I need to see. Him calling me to listen to the sounds of life all around me. Him reminding me to breathe in the beautiful fragrance of all He is...all He has given. If I may quote my own song title, I truly do "Dance with the Divine".

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Autumn...I Apologize!

An apology is in order. Autumn, I have always withheld my admiration for you. You are the thief that comes in and carries summer away. Sometimes you come in subtly and we are slow to notice the change. Other times you come over night with your cool wind and frosty bite, causing us to quickly bump up the thermostat.

I love summer! It makes me happy! Summer speaks to all my senses. My eyes are drawn to bright, beautiful gardens, boats floating on lakes, baby animals in every field and forest. Children's laughter fills the air as they play in the pools and run through the garden sprinklers. Birds and squirrels in the nearby trees shatter and chirp all day. Summer thunderstorms are a glorious concert of light and sound! How about that crack of the bat on the ball, in that great summer game of baseball. Can't you smell the fresh cut grass or the sweetness of the rose garden? Watermelon, fresh grown tomatoes and corn on the cob make the mouth water for the hot, steamy growing season. My body rejoices with summer and it's burden is light...no heavy sweaters or coats and sandaled feet that can breathe with ease. Summer helps me relax, as I float in the middle of the lake...just me, the water and the sky!

Autumn, with your gorgeous hues, you come and steal summer away. I have held that and one other thing against you. It's that day we call Halloween. I can't even say that I am not a fan of Halloween because my dislike of this so called holiday goes much deeper than that. But, October, it is not your fault and I shouldn't hold you accountable.

You are teaching me something this year aren't you, Fall? (I wonder why you are the only season that gets two names.) You are brilliantly beautiful, and though the breath of death is on the sidelines waiting its turn there is still so much life in you. If I listen, I hear the rustle of leaves as I walk on the path and the crisp snap of an acorn beneath my feet. The squirrels are frantic, swishing their bushy tails as they flit about gathering the bounty for their winter storehouses. As the summer flowers close their blooms to colder days, fall's mums burst forth with life, ready to withstand the cool, frosty nights. And who would have imagined that the tender little pansy could be so resilient as she adds her color to the autumn days. The hot days of summer wither her, but when the days become shorther, colder, she rises to the occasion.

The trees do their best work in autumn. Who would have thought there could be so many shades of red, yellow and orange. I hope that I am like them. I hope that as I grow older, beauty radiates from me and that I burn in glorious color...doing my best work yet. You've taught me something this year, Autumn. Winter comes soon enough, but for now it can hang out in the wings, blowing out it's frosty breath, waiting to make an appearance. I have some shining yet to do! Autumn, I apologize for not appreciating you. Thanks for the lesson!

Saturday, October 10, 2009

Seeds

Autumn is harvest time. The majority of us don't harvest any crops. We may have a backyard garden which yields its fruit mid-summer and into the fall, but that isn't exactly harvesting. At any rate this harvest time of the year has got me thinking about seeds. Unless the seed is planted there will be nothing to gather at the end of growing season.

What happens, though, if the seed itself is not healthy. It doesn't produce a very good crop. Let's think about this together. A seed needs to germinate, to grow roots and to simultaneously grow a stalk that can push up to the surface toward the light. A damaged seed may not be able to become well rooted. It might grow roots, but not have enough energy to push upward toward the surface of the dirt above it. If it does manage both, perhaps it will wither soon after beginning to sprout. Let's say the seed is healthy enough to do all this pushing and shoving of dirt. It breaks the surface. It grows, but it hasn't enough stamina to bear any fruit for its labor.

There are all kinds of seeds that can get planted in our hearts. These tiny grains may be healthy, such as, truth, love, joy, or hope. They also can be kernels of doubt, anger, pain, bitterness, or resentment. These are unhealthy seeds. I am wondering what kind of fruit these latter seeds will produce, yet I find it interesting that most of us are so willing to fertilize these kernels. Perhaps it is subconscious effort, but still we allow ourselves to feed them until they become a large fruitless, thorny bush. I am wondering what would happen if we were willing to unearth the damaged grains, cast them aside and begin to water and nourish the good ones that are also there, but getting crowded out as the others grow into worthless weeds. What if we allowed the Son to cast His light on the small but healthy seeds of truth, love, and joy. What would the hope within look like if we allowed The Gardener to attend His crop?

"We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain, where our forerunner, Jesus, has entered on our behalf." Hebrews 6:19

"Break up your unplowed ground and do not sow among thorns." Jeremiah 4: 5

What does the landscape of your heart look like today? Are you going to continue to do-it-yourself and feed those worthless seeds, that grow into briars and thorns or will you let The Gardener water and shine His light on the seeds He has planted there?

Friday, October 9, 2009

Solitude

I am on a retreat. I am alone. I have been on many a retreat, and some of those times I was the retreat organizer. I have to be very honest and tell you that when you are the organizer, it is NOT a retreat for you. I don't mind, though, because I love to help other people find space, refreshment, rejuvenation, or maybe just a place to get some much needed sleep. Being alone is not unusual for me either. Now that I have sent 4 children along their merry way into the grown-up world or should I say nearly grown-up world, I find myself alone a lot of the time. I don't mind that either. I am fond of the quiet, but quiet doesn't mean non-busy for me.

People often ask me what I do for a living. My response is that I do absolutely nothing for a living, but I never do absolutely nothing. I am one of the busiest unemployed people I know. I work, I just do it all for the fun of it. Okay, sometimes it isn't all that much fun, but I give my time, because I like to and because I can. Beyond my volunteer time, I am a homemaker, a wife, a mom to 4 grown children who do still require that I engage in their lives, a sister, and a daughter. I am a musician, a singer/songwriter, a pianist, a player of gigs, a student of piano and music theory, a worship leader, a worshiper, one who loves and pursues God, a student of the Word, a small group leader, a gardener, a scrapbooker, a paper crafter, an avid reader, a perpetual student, and a friend who loves spending time with those friends. I am often an event planner, I help put other volunteers in place, help plan worship services, a sometimes childbirth instructor, a sometimes labor coach (doula), a traveler, a photographer, etc. etc. etc. One who is very close to burnout!

I am on a retreat. I am alone. Solitude.

Saturday, October 3, 2009

Bikes, Bridges and Songs

I am a songwriter. There I said it! I am working on believing it. There are certain things about songwriting that frustrate me to no end! A few weeks ago the angst of it totally outweighed the joy and I quit. Yep! I was completely done with this writing thing. The problem is I am compelled to write. God must have planted something in me that said, "Here is a little writing seed. Let's see how she will nuture it, feed it, water it and help it to grow!" Sometimes I want to say, "Really, God? Are you sure THIS seed wasn't meant for the next guy in line?"

And so I constantly work through this rollercoaster ride of writing. The day after I quit I went to a songwriter meeting. I write, I don't write. I lay it down, I pick it up. I quit, I start again! And so for the last few weeks I have been wrestling with this writer in me.

Four days after the big "I quit" I went for a long bike ride with my husband. The half-way point of our ride was at the center of a high bridge over the Missouri River. Here is where you need to know something about me. If I have a phobia, it is bridges. It only includes large bridges over somewhat large bodies of water. My fear isn't so strong that I would drive a hundred miles out of my way rather than cross the bridge, but I do have the same reoccuring thought each time I go over..."What if something happens and I go over the bridge and into the water?" This anxiety is twinned with the fact that I am also not a fan of heights. I'll do them, but I don't like it very much.

So the ride...We approach the bridge and I come to a full stop and step down off the pedals and just stare at the path that goes out over the bridge. I turn to my husband and say, "I am not sure I can do this!" He comforts me in saying, "We don't have to, you have already went farther than you ever have. It has been a good ride." I ponder his words for just a moment and I hop back on the bike, push hard on the pedals, compelling my bicycle and my heart to move forward across the bridge. I had gone farther than I ever had before, but there was just a little farther that I could go.

While riding toward the middle of that very high bridge over a large body of moving water, it occurred to me that it was a whole lot like songwriting. Something right dab in the middle of songwriting scares me. I'm not sure I can even define it. It could be the fear of critique, fear of failure, maybe it is a fear of succeeding. What I did know in that moment was this: I had come a long way, farther than I ever had before, but there was so much farther that I could go.