Back from Retreat
I have just "returned" from a day of retreat...except that I didn't go anywhere. At least not from my house. I certainly went somewhere that I needed to go. Let me explain.
One of the perks of my previous job was being able to attend a Day of Silent Retreat twice a year at an area convent, preceding the two main seasons of church life: Advent and Lent. Now that I live in a new town and have a teaching job, I have not discovered a way to return to this luxury just yet. However, Sunday morning I woke up feeling awful - headache, weak, nauseous, dizzy - probably fighting a bug from my students. And by 7 that night I decided I should take today off from school; I didn't feel well enough to deal with my students and I had just read Chris' friend Greg's sermon from that morning where he encouraged his congregation to take time during Lent to be in silence daily. And I realized, I have an opportunity to have my own retreat at home, while recovering from being sick. It would take discipline...I couldn't turn on the TV or spend time on the internet, and I couldn't sleep the day away. But I knew it was necessary - in fact I needed this day more for my soul than for my health.
I knew exactly where I would start, but I was afraid to begin. For almost 4 months (close to the day actually), I have been putting off reading Kyle Lake's Understanding God's Will. I had meant to read it a year ago but had forgotten until we returned from Kyle's funeral. And so when we got back, I found it on the bookshelf, set it on my nightstand and looked at it almost daily, dreading the feelings it would bring when I opened the cover. I thought I knew what I was running from - the pain and grief of losing Kyle to death. But today shocked me at what I found.
Somewhere in the pages, I just started crying, and my tears were not just for the life lost that was too young. My tears were for the life I lost in God. I was so angry at God, anger I thought I had already left behind, anger I thought I had because of death. But instead I was angry because I thought if I followed His ways, if I was his disciple, I would be protected from certain heartbreaks. Sure, life would be tough, but in a "I wouldn't win the lottery" kind of way.
I thought certainly I would be protected from death at a young age; that my husband who gave his life to the ministry would be protected from death also; and that my friends, such as Kyle, who also were ministers would be protected. So I wept today. Realizing that I had hung my
hat on Christianity with a deal. A deal I thought I was granted because I believed. "See, I'll follow you, as long as you allow me certain rights above those around me who do not follow." I would say the words and thought I believed them, that Christianity doesn't bring
exemption. But obviously, I did not believe them.
And then I realized that I have not really spoken to God since Kyle's death. Not in my heart anyway.
Because now I have to find out why I believe in this God. Why do I put my trust in his promises, why would I strive to live his ways if there is no protection, no trade-off?
So I cried today for the life I left behind on October 31 with Kyle's death. First I cried tears of anger that I had to leave that life behind at all and then I cried tears of pain in having to find a new way, but what I know will be a better way.
I have not finished Kyle's book yet; but so far I have heard him loud and clear. This life is not about the end result: God's will. This life is about the journey. Kyle lived that belief to the fullest.
One reason we grieve so hard is that we know we needed his example. I will struggle with how to live in the now, living in the journey, allowing my relationship with God to be about the relationship and nothing more. And I will have times of failure. But I can't go back. I must be changed. Otherwise, Kyle taught me nothing. And more importantly, God taught me nothing.
One of the perks of my previous job was being able to attend a Day of Silent Retreat twice a year at an area convent, preceding the two main seasons of church life: Advent and Lent. Now that I live in a new town and have a teaching job, I have not discovered a way to return to this luxury just yet. However, Sunday morning I woke up feeling awful - headache, weak, nauseous, dizzy - probably fighting a bug from my students. And by 7 that night I decided I should take today off from school; I didn't feel well enough to deal with my students and I had just read Chris' friend Greg's sermon from that morning where he encouraged his congregation to take time during Lent to be in silence daily. And I realized, I have an opportunity to have my own retreat at home, while recovering from being sick. It would take discipline...I couldn't turn on the TV or spend time on the internet, and I couldn't sleep the day away. But I knew it was necessary - in fact I needed this day more for my soul than for my health.
I knew exactly where I would start, but I was afraid to begin. For almost 4 months (close to the day actually), I have been putting off reading Kyle Lake's Understanding God's Will. I had meant to read it a year ago but had forgotten until we returned from Kyle's funeral. And so when we got back, I found it on the bookshelf, set it on my nightstand and looked at it almost daily, dreading the feelings it would bring when I opened the cover. I thought I knew what I was running from - the pain and grief of losing Kyle to death. But today shocked me at what I found.
Somewhere in the pages, I just started crying, and my tears were not just for the life lost that was too young. My tears were for the life I lost in God. I was so angry at God, anger I thought I had already left behind, anger I thought I had because of death. But instead I was angry because I thought if I followed His ways, if I was his disciple, I would be protected from certain heartbreaks. Sure, life would be tough, but in a "I wouldn't win the lottery" kind of way.
I thought certainly I would be protected from death at a young age; that my husband who gave his life to the ministry would be protected from death also; and that my friends, such as Kyle, who also were ministers would be protected. So I wept today. Realizing that I had hung my
hat on Christianity with a deal. A deal I thought I was granted because I believed. "See, I'll follow you, as long as you allow me certain rights above those around me who do not follow." I would say the words and thought I believed them, that Christianity doesn't bring
exemption. But obviously, I did not believe them.
And then I realized that I have not really spoken to God since Kyle's death. Not in my heart anyway.
Because now I have to find out why I believe in this God. Why do I put my trust in his promises, why would I strive to live his ways if there is no protection, no trade-off?
So I cried today for the life I left behind on October 31 with Kyle's death. First I cried tears of anger that I had to leave that life behind at all and then I cried tears of pain in having to find a new way, but what I know will be a better way.
I have not finished Kyle's book yet; but so far I have heard him loud and clear. This life is not about the end result: God's will. This life is about the journey. Kyle lived that belief to the fullest.
One reason we grieve so hard is that we know we needed his example. I will struggle with how to live in the now, living in the journey, allowing my relationship with God to be about the relationship and nothing more. And I will have times of failure. But I can't go back. I must be changed. Otherwise, Kyle taught me nothing. And more importantly, God taught me nothing.
posted by gnat @ 6:48 PM
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