A few months ago, a friend of mine organized a “day of
retreat” for a couple of colleagues and friends. She’d had a trying couple of
months, personally and professionally, and she decided she needed a day of
stillness. She graciously (and, perhaps, prophetically) invited us to come and
be still with her. The day we spent at Longwood Gardens
was a time of beautiful rest and refreshment in God.
I’d had a difficult few months myself; Ellie’s chronic
migraines, fruitless fertility treatment cycles, and repeated fund development
dead-ends had left me exhausted. My soul was numb, and everything was just
blurring together. I just didn’t know it. I hadn’t taken a proper Sabbath in
far too long, and I’d begun to succumb to that falsehood that so many of us
depressive-types cling to – that life is just uniformly disappointing.
What I needed was a fresh view of things, a recalibration of
my spiritual and emotional barometer. What I needed was God’s gift of Sabbath.
After arriving at Longwood and agreeing on a lunch time, our motley little crew
of retreaters dispersed to the four corners of the gardens to watch and wait
upon the Lord.
With a notebook, a pen, and an open heart, I found a bench
and sat. And listened. And watched. And as I simply let my mind wander I jotted
down some thoughts. Here are some of the things that came to me…
“A cool breeze, but
not too cool for comfort”
“I’m tucked into an
alcove – snug as a bug in a rug.”
“The sensation of
facing the bright sun, and colors slowly begin to wash out, even with my
sunglasses on…”
As I sat on a sunward-facing bench beneath a portico by the conservatory, I tried to still my frantic spirit. As the sun shone on my face, I noticed that the contrast of colors began to fade. I gave myself to the experience, to see where it would go…
Staring straight ahead, the colors began to merge – green
and blue lost their distinction, oranges and yellows grew cooler, and I felt my
heartbeat slowing. Yes, I thought, I’m beginning to calm. I was beginning to
listen.
“The music of the
carillon, marking the time”
“The repetitious calls
of the birds – are they talking to each other?”
“‘It feels so good to
get out in the sun. I feel like a human being again!’ – woman pushing a
stroller”
From the warmth of my bench, I heard this little observational gem from a
passerby. And I could feel it myself. The Spirit was once more coaxing me back toward
humanity. Thank God. During the prior months of infrequent Sabbath, as my
desire and will for meaningful rest and reorientation towards God faded, I’d
become something less than an image-bearer of God. When friends saw me, they
saw someone weary and heavy burdened. I needed to become human again, and the
stillness and sunshine we helping.
“The trickle of water
– melting? Possibly snow or rain draining from higher ground as the sun warms
the earth.”
“The distant sound of
traffic – life moving on beyond this oasis.”
“The permeating
acidity in my mouth from too many cups of coffee”
As I sat contemplating my inner life and spiritual numbness, I became aware
of another sensation. I’d had a cup of coffee on the way out (ok, four cups),
and I could taste a bitterness in my mouth I’d not noticed before. It took me
setting aside the time to just sit and pay attention to my “inner world.” Why
do I drink so much coffee anyway? Is the bitterness unpleasant? What other “bitter”
things are in me right now? (Do I even dare ask that question?!)
“The smooth, warm
grain of the wood as I sit on this bench. It’s well crafted – sturdy, heavy,
solid, well maintained.”
“The smell of damp
wood and flowers”
“Lovely, subtle smell
– what is that? Green, dense, can’t quite comprehend it.”
It was so nice to be outside, surrounded by green, living things. I was
amazed at how something so subtle, so easy to overlook, as the simple smell of
growing things could be so comforting – intoxicating, even. Are there other
things I’m not noticing?
It was such a slow, lovely day, and there’s too much else I
could write about it. But I won’t. I want you to go, be still, take a Sabbath,
and just let the lovely subtlety of God’s creation reveal itself to you, and in
the process, reveal yourself to you also.
But lest you think it was all navel-gazing, serious
introspection, here are some photos of my friends and I with a dragon sculpture we found. Hilarity ensues!
