a January retreat day

(re-post from Facebook on January 19, 2012)

Personal "retreat days" have been a tradition of mine since my late teen years. The shape and nature and timing of these days have evolved as I've aged, but the soul of them remains the same: to put on the calendar four days a year for talking to/listening for/being with God. In my thirties, I have used some of the day to re-read at least a year's worth of journals and to "listen to my life" for change, for God's love, for the lessons I've learned, for a sense of where--in what spiritual season, in what help-me-now-neurosis, in what need for grace--I am at this present moment.

Today was a retreat day. In some ways, the day could not have been worse timing; I have so much to do that did not get done in the last few weeks of my so-called "winter break"--Moriah has been perpetually sick since her last surgery a week before Christmas. It was so, so tempting to pack a backpack full of dissertation- and syllabus-work. And also, the thoughts of things I need to DO for others--Eddie and his mom, the friend who lost her mom to cancer this week, my grandfather, my kids, my husband.

But today I had set aside for retreating. These days are like anchors for me, and years of spiritual practice during, and in anticipation of, days like this one have taught me that they are important to keep. So I packed a backpack with 4 journals covering the years since Moriah's birth, my Book of Common Prayer, some other spiritual readings, and some hiking boots. I spent the morning hiking around a beautiful reservoir, and spent eight hours thereafter in silence in an empty Catholic church, in reading over meals taken in restaurants by myself (something I love very much to do, to eat alone), and in journaling at a cafe.

It was a beautiful, memorable day, made all the more lovely by this translation from Paul's letter to the folks in Ephesus: "May your roots go down deep into the soil of God's marvelous love."

And after hiking over huge trees felled by this year's storms, I had a new appreciation today for deep, thirsty roots and a new imagination for what it could mean to live into liturgy-time, where our lives look beyond our biological calendars of decline and decay, and into hopeful possibilities for our spiritual growth and renewal. I prayed for many of you today, my heart full with our mutual sufferings and frustrations and heartbreaks. May our roots go down deep, especially on windy days when we are very prone to falling.