1. Respite Retreat

Respite Retreat: imaginative prayers of respite on the journey with God.

“In this world you will have trouble,

but take heart I have overcome the world.” John 16:33

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened,

and I will give you rest.” Matthew 11:28

How do we pray the trials, troubles, and seasons of suffering? How can we pray the longing for restoration on this human journey through a broken world?

For years I have engaged with the Triune God of the Scriptures, through studying and reflecting on the Scriptures and offering my verbal and written prayers. In these writings imaginative prayer speaks of Biblical truths in a creative, allegorical way. Each day we engage our journey through life and reflecting on the image of a trail or journey can be meaningful: consider Elijah, Moses and Israel, Abraham or an allegory like Pilgrim's Progress or Hinds Feet on High Places.

(Psalm 139, Psalm 142:3, Psalm 119:105, Psalm 23, Prov 5:21, Matthew 11:28-30)

Settle into a quiet space and turn your attention to God and to your heart. Take a moment to ask God to meet you in this imaginative prayer.

The Journey Through Winter

The calendar tells me that spring is coming, but there are no visible signs of change. I am garbed in layers of protection, trapper hat, heavy coat, scarf, gloves, thermal waterproof boots, and wool underclothes, to enable me to endure brutal weather. Yet my body aches, my nose tingles from the biting cold, and my fingers and feet are numb—I barely feel them anymore. I have been plodding the snowy trail for months and limping these last few days.

Turning to face the trail behind me, I see an endless line of solitary footprints marking the white expanse. An inner desperation, vigilance, and tightness in my chest are my constant companions for each step of this costly journey, as I navigate snowdrifts, ice, storms, and bitter cold. Despite the colorless beauty, I no longer want to be here. The days are short, and setting up camp each afternoon is more about survival than rest. If only I could climb into a dark cave and let a frozen sleep enfold me to escape this hardship.

The Endless Trail

I yearn for relief. But I sense the Spirit, Ruah, pressing me forward as if forbearance matters and a destination is near; so I keep moving, one foot then the next. I persevere. I pray. And I persevere a little more. I lean heavily on my walking stick, a gift from my brother as we journeyed through autumn leaves along a trail long past.

Although there is nothing marked on the map, I notice a sign up ahead along the trail, but I can't quite read it yet. A gust of wind brushes my cheek, and I know Ruah is present. I cannot see her, but she reminds me that she is with me. I know my brother is close. He pointed me in this direction, but I haven’t seen him for days. I long to hear his voice and feel his hand on my shoulder through my countless layers.

There is an allure to the winter journey, but I did not foresee the relentless adversity: the harsh landscape, the obstacles, the depletion. I long for a reprieve from the endurance required in this season.

The Sign

Despite the cold, falling snow melts on my cheeks, warmer than the air from steady exertion. With each step my boots sink into deep snow. Glancing up, I see it more clearly now, the unremarkable, weather-worn, wooden sign. It reads "Respite Retreat," marking a path branching off the main trail and leading into the woods. With low expectations, I follow it.

A short trek through the trees, and the space opens up. A stalwart stone structure rises from the snow-covered landscape—a small castle of sorts, complete with turret pointing to the sky. Windows of golden light intrude upon the monochromatic scene, and, unexpectedly, I feel a slight surge of energy and a spark of hope. With a deep breath and renewed determination, I resolutely trudge up the shoveled path, which is disappearing quickly beneath another layer of snow. A placard hangs by the wooden door—“Welcome to Respite Retreat.”

A Warm Welcome

Reaching for the handle, I pull open the door. Warmth rushes out, and snow blows in. Quickly, I step inside and forcefully push the heavy door shut again.

I pause and look around. There is no one at the wooden counter, but I see a few folks in a small dining area off to the right—a café of sorts. With my snowy glove, I tap the old-fashioned metal bell, set down my pack, and lean my walking stick against the counter. Unwinding my scarf, I inhale deeply and notice the scents: a wood fire, the musty scent of an old building, and a hint of something sweet, perhaps from the café. Resilience still feels tenuous and threadbare, but Ruah moves and the spark of hope flickers.

A voice from the café calls, “Coming! Just a minute.”

I am too worn out to be impatient, so I just rest against the counter and wait. My gaze finds the large stone fireplace by the edge of the café. A worn leather couch and overstuffed chairs are strategically positioned around it, scratched up with use and mottled with the passage of time, an invitation to pause. I take note that I will settle myself in one of those chairs if there is room for me in this place.

Snow on my coat starts to melt, dripping on the carpet, and my body begins to thaw from the aching cold. A white-haired man, more timeless than old, strides toward the counter. There is a warmth about him, but also something more, he displays a posture of strength and authority. Strangely, he seems familiar to me.

“Welcome to Respite Retreat. I am so glad you are here, especially since the storm is beginning again. It has been a long winter, hasn’t it?! I have a room available on the third floor – the Turret Room.”

Exhaling, relief floods my body, and I realize I was holding my breath, anxiously awaiting the answer to my unspoken question. Can I stay? My voice escapes me for a moment, so I nod, and then manage to quietly respond, “Yes, thank you.”

“Well, this room has your name on it. I have been watching and waiting for you.” I glance at him, wondering what he means and how he knew I was coming, but I am too fatigued to pursue it.

He hands me an old metal key with a wooden tag labeled, “Turret Room—just for you,” and continues, “The staircase to the left of the counter leads to your room, and it will be ready for you in a short while. Would you like to sit by the fire and dry out?”

I glance down at my coat and notice rivulets of melting snow sliding down its surface. “I am so sorry, sir. I am dripping on your carpet.”

“The rug can handle a little dripping, but you need to warm up and dry out. Please call me Pop; everyone does. I just put a fresh pot of coffee on, and it will be ready soon. Would you like a mug of something hot?”

I can feel myself begin to relax. “Coffee sounds wonderful, thank you, sir... Pop.”

Pop comes out from behind the counter and picks up my backpack. “Oh my, this is wet from the melting snow just like you. We should set it by the fire. Follow me.”

He leads me to the fireplace and sets my bag down on the hearth, but not too close. The colors of the flames draw my attention, the crackling of the burning wood murmurs, and warmth surrounds me like an embrace. A gust of air touches my cheek, or so it seems. There is no breeze in the inn, but Ruah makes her presence known.

“Have a seat, dear one.” Pop says, and he looks at me. As the seconds slip by, I feel uncertain and awkward under his gaze, fragile even. He breaks the silence after just a few moments and gently offers, “I would say, a large mug of strong coffee, a little cream, and a smidge of sweet. Right?!”

With a tired laugh, I respond, “That sounds perfect! How did you know?”

“Pop knows what his guests need—you are family here.” His eyes sparkle, and he heads for a door off the café that I suspect leads to a kitchen.

A bittersweet feeling stirs as I realize that Pop reminds me of my dad. Tears fill my eyes, and the ache settles in my chest like it knows the way. We lost my dad abruptly just a couple of weeks ago. After all the storms and challenges of this season, and there have been so many, I just didn’t anticipate that one.

There is a coat stand nearby, so I hang my coat to dry. I wrestle to pull off wet muddy hiking boots and then place them in front of the fireplace. Noticing the hole in my sock and my toes peeking out, I curl up on the big leather chair and tuck my feet beneath me. There is a quiet hum from the activity in the café, but it is rather comforting after the solitude of the trail.

I fix my gaze on the flames, and my thoughts turn inward. Whether a campfire on the trail or a fireplace at an inn, the effect is the same. I settle and slow, and I watch the flames burn.

“Daughter.” I hear a comforting voice, but the term of affection doesn’t register.

“Daughter. I have your coffee for you, my dear.”

I turn towards the voice—it is Pop. And again, he seems unusually familiar to me. I see the big pottery mug he holds out for me. Steam rises, and I smell the earthy aroma of coffee. I see the caramel color of coffee mixed with a little cream. Tears well at his thoughtful care of me, and I lift my gaze to Pop’s kind eyes. I see a knowing in his expression that I don’t really understand, but the safety and security I feel are tangible.

Without really thinking, I ask, “Why did you call me daughter?” I am curious. The intimate address was not offensive but rather comforting to me. Pop’s presence is balm to my battered and depleted body and soul.

“Well, that is a significant question.... would you like to visit for a bit?”

I can’t shake the sense that I know Pop from somewhere, and perhaps even more so, that he knows me. Somehow I sense I belong here, I feel a visceral sense of home. I look towards the window where the snow is falling furiously. Taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling, the tightness within me unwinds a little more. “Well, judging by the scene outside, it looks like I am going to be here for a while.”

He smiles, “Yes, that seems to be the case.” He pulls a chair over from a café table nearby and sits down.

Pop leans toward me. “You feel like you know me, don’t you?” Hesitantly, I nod.

“I have known you for a very long time, my girl. You were created in my heart long before you were conceived or born into this world.

I was there the first day your mom and dad held you, the first day you took a step, the first day you said a word, and I was there when you first turned toward me. You have been talking with me from before you can remember.

I am Abba in your prayers and in your journals. I am God the Father in the Biblical story: Yahweh, Adonai, Jehovah Rapha, I am that I am, and the Father of the prodigal son and his older brother.

Jesus, My Son, is your Brother, your Savior, and King. He walks the trail with you, and even when you cannot see him, he is nearby. And Ruah, my Spirit, is with you always, sometimes hidden and sometimes felt like the wind, both gentle and strong.

We know that the journey this winter has been excruciatingly painful and difficult. You know I am with you, but you don’t often see me as you do now.” Pop pauses, waiting for me to absorb the words he has spoken. I don’t know how to respond, but his words feel uncannily true and accurate, soothing and believable.

Pop grins at me. “I know, not exactly what you expected from the innkeeper.”

“So my dear, I called you daughter because you ARE my daughter. And right now, you really need your Abba.” Pop’s gaze is warm and attentive, not invasive or threatening. I sense him giving me space to take it all in.

“You are deeply loved. The Respite Retreat is for you and those like you. It will be found by those invited here in difficult and stormy winter seasons. I have been waiting for you. Your Brother pointed you in this direction, and you were drawn here by Ruah—she knew you needed rest.”

I drop my gaze to my wrinkly hands, still red from the cold. I had put my damp gloves on the hearth to dry out in the heat from the fire. I lift the hot mug, and the bittersweet liquid warms me from the inside out. Abba’s words comfort my aching heart, and this protected space comforts my weary body.

“You know me, Abba. The coffee is perfect, a little cream and a smidge of sweet.”

How do you pray the trials, the troubles, the seasons of suffering, on this human journey through a broken world? For years I have engaged with God the Father, my Abba, through studying and reflecting on the Scriptures and offering my verbal and written prayers. But prayers of imagination can speak Biblical truths in a new way. Consider these writings in the spirit of Pilgrim's Progress or Hind's Feet on High Places.

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