Cara’s Cabin

I’m on retreat. In my twenties, I always found that a funny word—retreat—and didn’t really understand what it meant. Now I get it!  Sometimes I want to run away—to retreat from my life.  This time, I’m retreating from the everyday demands of my time—studying incessantly, driving children around for hours at a time, caring for dying residents at my pastoral care internship (CPE), cooking, technology, the cats wanting constant attention, and all those other little things that seem to eat up endless amounts of time. As I type this list, I realize that my life is really pretty good and that anyone in their right mind would love to have a life like mine—full of love and friendship, happy kids and joyful animals, the chance to be in school. I think what I’m really retreating from is death. Ironic, huh, because it is something we can not escape from—we are in a constant state of dying the moment we are born. So what is it that I am REALLY retreating from? Maybe I’m really fleeing from something else.

Maybe I’m retreating from the emotional energy it requires to nurture others. I’m a nurturer—I like taking care of people. As a matter of fact Dreamer is staring at me right now because she wants to go out for a walk and I want to take care of her. I feel guilty because I am not walking her. Guilt. Such a strange emotion. I think it has become such a part of my fabric that I wouldn’t know what it felt like if it bit me in the nose. Guilt—this is another huge topic for another time.

I take care of others so I need to retreat to relearn how to take care of myself. Focus on my needs and relearn how to take care of them. I’m at a friend’s cabin. This is not a fancy retreat that I paid for. Except for the groceries I bought, this is a free retreat in a little cabin in the woods on a lake. Cara lets me use it when it is available—she is incredibly generous with sharing her cabin. The cabin is small but the perfect size and it feels like I’m sitting in someone’s cozy, well-decorated living room. Cara has put care into arranging the furniture and the soothing colors and the comfy pillows. I feel cared for by the cabin—if that is possible—when I’m here. Some invisible person (not so invisible because it is really Cara behind all this) has taken great strides to make sure I’m comfortable and well cared for. I am reminded of the hospitality that is emphasized in scripture—the angels of God visiting Abraham and his care of the stranger, and Martha welcoming Jesus (John’s gospel) and waiting on him (Luke’s gospel). Hospitality is a lost art in our culture.

Don’t get me wrong; no one is here waiting on me. It’s just me and Dreamer. I cook my meals, take long walks, sit and look at the lake, knit, read books, and generally learn how to listen to myself calling myself in each moment—Julie, this is what you feel like doing right now. No demands other than that still small voice of the Holy Spirit screaming hard to be heard over the demands of my time that rattle around in my head. When there is no one else around, I begin to listen to myself again. To really listen to what the Holy Spirit is calling me to do. Now, the real trick is—how do I do that once I get home again?   I am comforted knowing that I am learning and I can retreat again and again as many times as I need until I’ve figured it out. Thanks be to God!