3. An Invitation

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

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.

In all your ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct your paths. Proverbs 3:5-6

To read in sequence: 1. Respite Retreat (link below) 2. Turret Room (link below), and then this blog post.

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.

He Arrives

As I reach the bottom of the stairs and come to the entryway, I hear a commotion. A cold gust of winter air intrudes from the outside, and then the front door slams shut again. I hear an enthusiastic holler, “You made it my girl!” 

Covered in snow and countless winter layers a tall man stands before me. But the moment I look into his eyes I know my brother has arrived, “You’re here!!”

He laughs out loud. “Of course I am. I was just a few hours behind you. I would hug you, but then you would be cold and damp again, and I suspect you have finally warmed up and dried out.”

“My Son!” Pop exclaims, emerging from the café’. “About time!”

Before I know what is happening, Pop wraps my brother in a long, strong embrace, snow and all. Their affection elicits a smile, and, somehow, their intimacy creates a haven my soul can rest within, nurturing an even greater experience of security and love than I already had.

Pop steps back and turns to me. “I’m going to get this gal some dinner. Son, why don’t you dry off and join us.”

My brother sets down his pack and grins, “I will be there soon.”

Chili and Cornbread

Pop beckons to me, “Come with me, daughter, chili’s hot. A few of the other guests are already eating, and your brother will join us shortly.”

Walking past the fireplace, Pop leads me to the far side of the café. There are tables along a wall of windows, and the heavy falling snow is visible in the darkness. Pop pulls a chair out for me, and I hesitate. His care of me is comforting and at the same time unnerving. Sliding into the chair, I notice there is already a large white soup tureen on the table and a basket with cornbread, butter, and a salad at each place setting. 

“Thank you, Pop. This looks fabulous. Hot meals are not always possible on the trail.” Pop lifts the lid of the tureen and steam rises; my stomach growls and rumbles at the savory aroma. He ladles chili into my bowl and instructs, “Help yourself to cornbread.”

Pop serves himself and then leans toward me. His gaze is direct when he speaks, “Daughter, what do you want to ask me? No question is off limits. What do you want to ask, or what do you need to say? I am listening, and I want to hear your heart.”

My throat tightens, I swallow hard and struggle to focus, desperately working to suppress the wave of emotion that rises. Despite the angst and turmoil within me, I recognize the significance of Pop’s invitation. Intentionally, I direct my attention to the task at hand and reach for a piece of cornbread, placing it on the small plate. Methodically, I spread a layer of butter on the bread and then dip my spoon into my bowl and take a bite. I murmur, “Mmmmm... so good.” 

Pop’s open-hearted attention towards me is visible, and his posture is both tender and steadfast. He doesn’t seem to need me to be anything other than I am. Oddly, I sense complete freedom to be sad, angry, or confused... truly honest about how hard the journey has been. The thought occurs to me that I could have a temper tantrum right in the middle of the cafe’ like a two-year-old or weep until the well runs dry, and Pop would remain present with kindness and love. 

He continues, “This last season has cost you, and I know the pain has been great. Spring will come, but at this time, winter remains.” Pop gestures to the snow falling furiously beyond the glass.

The low hum of conversation in the café offers a backdrop to Pop’s invitation. A glass oil lamp, tinted faint purple with age, marks the center of the table. I watch the flame, reflecting in the glass of the globe and on the windowpane. I shift in my seat. Conflicting emotions and thoughts compete for center stage, but I am not ready to engage the feelings yet. My mind clamors for understanding and clarity where there is darkness. But perhaps even more so, I long for meaning and insight, I want to know that the suffering matters, that God will truly bring healing to wounds, springs to the desert, beauty out of ashes, and redemption where shame and guilt linger.

I look at Pop. I know that he truly sees me, and that my suffering matters to him. I’m not sure that my questions are all that important as I experience his presence and care of me. But I also realize there have been and will be times when his presence is not as tangible as it is now. 

I hear activity behind us and turn to see Jesus walk into the café. He stops to offer a hello or a hug to each guest in the café, making his way towards our table. Jesus puts his hand on my shoulder, and I feel the pressure and warmth. As he sits down, Pop dips the ladle into the tureen and fills my brother’s bowl. As he hands him the basket with cornbread he says, “It’s so good to have you here. I just invited this dear one to share anything she needs to or ask any question. No topic or question is forbidden.”

My brother grins, “She has asked some good ones on the trail. This one swims fearlessly toward the deep waters. I think I would need floaties if I didn’t already walk on water!” 

Pop laughs out loud with a big hearty laugh, and the look on my brother’s face reveals that he knows he is funny. I can’t help but laugh too. The anxiety rising within me melts in a moment.

The challenges of this season have been complex and painful. And even as we laugh, my eyes begin to fill with tears as I feel the bittersweet tension of love and pain. I experience the joy of deep intimacy, but somehow the pain from my own wounds and the wounds of the ones I love feel even more tangible here. The ache surfaces from deep places within me. And now the God of the deep, the vast, the eternal, the essential, calls to the deep within me.( Ps 42)

And God, this Triune God, so familiar and so beyond me. Here I see their profound freedom to love with full authority and without demand, duplicity, or manipulation, and since I already know some of their story, at great sacrifice. Their story, God’s story... holds my story.

I’m not even sure I can describe the freedom to be fully authentic here.

The laughter slows, but the tears remain. Pop and my brother watch me as both grief and joy dance across my countenance. They know how hard it has been, and I know they know. After a grueling day on the trail in the cold and the sleet, there were some nights my brother just held me as I cried, tears born of exhaustion, fear, and the endless ache of suffering and assault. Or a slight gust of wind would touch my cheek, and I would know Ruah prayed for me with groans deeper than words.

Pop quietly asks, “What hurts, my girl?”

My pondering is abruptly interrupted by Pop’s question. What an unusual question? I hesitate. I pause. I am not sure I can answer the question, so I turn my attention inward. Slowly, ever so slowly, I begin to form words as my thoughts tumble in the waves of emotion like seashells at the oceans edge. “I know you have been present to the hardship. I know you have seen my pain, the struggles of those I love, and my desire and effort to love well. I know I have fallen short.” I swallow hard, wishing I could claim a better performance. I continue, “But I know I have persevered in love. Pop, will they be okay? Will I be okay?”

Pop reaches across the table and covers my hand with his own. “Perfection is not required or needed. Salvation is offered—we want your heart. Keep turning towards us, that is the essence of relationship and trust. We ask you to be courageous, because we are with you, we are here. You are not alone... you were never designed to manage this journey on your own.”

Pop continues, “And remember what Peter said in one of his letters to the church, and he should know. ‘After you have suffered a little while, God (that’s us) will complete, confirm, strengthen and establish you.’ Pause and notice, dear one. Can you sense the inner work we are doing even in the middle of the hardship and the troubles?”

“Lord, I just want to do it right, to do it all right. And I know I haven’t.” The words catch in my throat and I look down, unable to meet Pop’s gaze. After a few moments, I gain my composure and continue, “There were times the storm was so intense and the wind so strong that I curled up against the rock face along the path and tried to make myself as small as possible to protect against the assault. Sometimes I got caught in my longing for relief, and I just wanted it all to end. And then sometimes I pushed ahead of my brother, driven and striving, just trying to get somewhere, anywhere... anywhere but the place that I was on the trail.” I sneak a glance at my brother quickly, but I see no accusation in his eyes.

I feel a mix of regret, anger, and shame. And the weariness remains, even here, in this place. “Why has this winter been so profoundly harsh, Lord? At times I felt abandoned, even though I knew you were present... and there was so much pain.”

My eyes are fixed on the flame of the lamp before me. I can’t bear to look at Pop or my brother. I feel guilty for the questions, and I even know some of the answers. But the questions echo in my heart anyway. I just don’t want to hurt this much, and I don’t want my loved ones to hurt this much.

My brother speaks softly, “Dear one, look at me.” I lift my eyes and see tears dripping down his cheeks, and Pop’s eyes glisten. “Our heart feels your pain, and we saw you curled up against the mountainside. I was nearby, praying for your faith. And when you moved ahead of me, trying to outrun the pain, I was still with you. What you don’t see clearly is how much you did rely on me, trust me, and look to me.”

“Do you remember the walking stick I gave you? I carved “faith” into the wood. I saw it leaning against the counter when I first arrived today. All these winter months you held tightly to your faith in us. Every time you leaned on me, took another step, and engaged the journey with us, however reluctantly or imperfectly, your faith was strengthened. Your earthly father’s life verses in Solomon’s proverbs have been a guiding principle for your journey since you were young, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct your paths.”

"You practiced trust. You practiced persevering, enduring, loving, discerning, and persevering some more... something happened in the harshness and the hiddenness of the winter trail. Where you felt like you failed, we watched you grow, being strengthened and refined by the fire of affliction. Your pain will not be wasted, we promise.”

“Now dear one, relax for a little while. Breathe. And soak in our love and care.”

There are a few moments of silence, and I notice a lightness and ease within me that had not been there when Pop first asked his question. There are still unknowns and uncertainty, there are still feelings and grief, but the freedom to name my pain and my questions allows me to know I am seen. I take a few bites of chili and realize that I am still quite hungry. Internal work takes energy too, I suppose. 

Anxious for a conversation more lighthearted than my internal ponderings, I ask my brother a question that has been niggling at me for a while. What in the world caused him to create flamingoes? So bright and pink, habitually balancing on one leg, and with a quirky large bill? Laughing out loud my brother reminds us, “Well, they are quite interesting, wouldn’t you say?” 

“Well, consider the firefly and the turtle.” Pop states emphatically, reminding us that they also made a bug that flies and lights up on summer evenings and turtles that meander as slow as molasses and bring their escape house along with them, the true introvert. “Somedays I feel a little turtle-like.” I quip, realizing how often I plod along at a turtle’s pace or have tucked myself inside my introverted shell. Pop and my brother chuckle, knowing my nature and habits even better than I do.

We continue a meandering conversation that explores many of God’s created wonders… giraffes, lions, scorpions, cheetahs, redwood trees, waterfalls, squirrels and skunks, lightning, and so much more. Wonders that bring awe, joy, respect, a good dose of confusion, and often just giggles.

To read in sequence read 1. Respite Retreat, then 2. Turret Room,

and then 3. Invitation, this blog post.