rest, softly.

The first time I took a personal retreat I was falling apart; the duct tape I had been using to uphold the pace of my life was no longer working- so at my husband’s urging, I headed to the woods. I packed a small library, all the comfort things, and determined,  “I’m going to rest SO hard!”

The hours went quickly; I sensed them passing the whole time as I read and walked and wrote and prayed; I did everything with an awareness of the clock ticking, a subtle urgency to get it all in so I could be put back together again, patched up in a way that would LAST as I returned to my busy life.

I learned a ton. I stared at the water. I cried and let God see all my sore spots. 

And I let him see my fear that it wouldn’t be enough. 

- So what if it isn’t? 

What if you have to go forward, still fragile? 

What if it’s time to hang up the super-suit and accept that you have limits? 

What if it’s time to set down the hustle and learn a new, gentle way? 

This year, when i took my (now) annual trip to the woods, I packed less. 

I still brought questions and sore spots and unfinished work,

but I asked Urgency to stay home this time.

I didn’t go to “stock up” on extra peace and grace, with the illusion I could come home stuffed and sail through December without needing more. 

I went so I could breathe, and look up. 

Rest, softly.

I learned a ton. I stared at the water. I cried and let God see all my sore spots. 

And I let his presence, for a moment, be enough. 

- Thanks, Father.

- Anytime.