5. Elijah

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

For You have been a shelter and a refuge for me, A strong tower against the enemy. Ps 61:3

To read in sequence go back to the first chapter 1. Respite Retreat (link below).

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.  

Burrowed beneath layers of blankets I am cozy and warm. But light is beginning to shine through the window in the Turret Room and directly through the door to my bed. I have not slept so deep and peacefully in a long time, particularly while on the trail. I truly rested through the night in this place.

The sun has not yet risen above the horizon, but the glow of increasing light reflecting off freshly fallen snow illuminates my room. I climb out from beneath the covers and put on my old comfy sweater that I carry with me everywhere. 

When we said goodnight, Pop told me that a carafe of coffee would be placed outside my door early in the morning. I wonder if he meant this early. I make my way to the door of my room, unlock it, and peek into the dark hallway. There is indeed a small table by the doorway with a tray, complete with carafe, an empty mug, a small pitcher of cream, a few packets of sweet, and a basket with two muffins. With delight and gratitude, I bring it into my room. 

Early morning hot cup of coffee...

Closing the door with my foot, I cross the room and place the tray on my desk. As I fill the mug with coffee, I watch steam rise like wispy smoke signals. Pouring a bit of cream and adding a little sweet, I stir. The aroma awakens my senses and expectation enlivens my heart. Anticipating all that the day could bring in this place, I grasp hold of courage and surrender to hope.

My satchel, with Bible and journal, hangs from my desk chair. So with a mug of coffee in one hand, I grasp my satchel and the basket of muffins with the other and make my way to the turret, my own personal tower. I sense Ruah’s presence, and the words of the Psalm rise within me, “You have been a refuge for me, a strong tower against the enemy.” 

The view outside the large windows draws my attention. Setting my coffee and basket on the table, I settle in a cushioned chair with a blanket. A sliver of brilliant light emerges in the distance beyond the mountains, and the sun’s ascent is declared. I soak in the beauty before me. Fresh snow has blanketed the ground and walkway to the inn, and the main trail is barely visible through the trees. The scene before me shifts from moment to moment as the light grows greater. The sun rises, chasing away darkness and shadows.

In the quiet of the early morning, I reach for my mug. There is a weight to the silence, and the stillness envelopes and holds me. I can’t explain it. Mystery and clarity meet in this space and time. At this moment I am aware that much is unknown, hidden even. And yet, I know. I know that God is. I know that God is here. And I know that God is here with me.

Broad swathes of color emerge and expand on the horizon as the sun rises. Gold, amber, coral, crimson. I sit and watch the colors shift and merge, expand and diminish. The sun rises, climbing an invisible path. The minutes pass, one after another. And I sit. And I stay. And I listen. And I am here with God.

Disillusioned and worn out servant of God

Sipping my coffee, I pull my bible out of my satchel and open the well-worn book, carefully navigating the crinkled edges and the torn page in the book of James. Handwritten notes and dates mark various passages like well-worn paths mark the landscape. I gently turn pages until I arrive at the familiar Old Testament story. Once again, I read the account of the disillusioned and worn-out servant of God.

I can almost imagine him—I feel his weariness and discouragement. And although my story is dramatically different from this ancient figure, the emotions resonate. I close my eyes and turn my attention to the One who loves me, the One I serve, and I hear the question God asked the prophet of Israel arise within my heart. “What are you doing here?”

The question is familiar. I have read this story before, and I have taught this story more than a few times in past years. God pursues the heart of his prophet, Elijah, in 1 Kings 19. A long season of perseverance, drought, and isolation led to conflict, and conflict led to God’s display of power. There was a tumultuous and traumatic victory followed by great threat. And then depletion, depression, and disillusionment. And Elijah was afraid, so he ran into the wilderness.

And God came. God tended Elijah’s physical needs providing nourishment and rest, protecting and then equipping for the journey to the mountain of God. Elijah traveled 40 days to reach the mountain; he entered a cave and slept. And then the word of the Lord came to Elijah, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” And now I hear God’s question to me.

I feel the waves of emotion. I notice and name them to the God who is pursuing my heart. I do not edit, I do not deny, I just offer the reality of my heart’s experience. And it is received.

And I read the text. God tells Elijah to go out on the mountain for the Lord is present… and the Lord will pass by.

In my imagination I see the great, oppressive winds, rending the mountains, tearing them apart and shattering the rocks before the Lord. I shudder, because I have felt the wind of oppression: the power, the force, and the destruction. But the Lord is not in the wind. 

The scene shifts, and I feel the earth quake before the Lord, the ground beneath me moves and breaks apart. I sorrow at the fragmentation and disintegration, but the Lord is not in the earthquake. 

The scene before the Lord shifts again… and embers become flames, and flames a roaring fire, and a great burning destroys all that cannot withstand the heat, but the Lord is not in the fire. The chaos, the destruction, the combustible… incinerated, they dissipate and disappear.

And after the fire…the fire that destroys but also refines…a quiet, a gentleness, a stillness… the sound of sheer silence. And out of the silence, deep and full and strong, a voice emerges. “What are you doing here?”

And within my mind’s eye I see the image. I see a figure turned towards the light on the path, surrendered and still. And I see the shattered rocks, the crevice from the quake, and the gold that remains from the burning. I see the night and the day. I feel the stillness. And I know God holds the whole story—my story is held within his greater story. “Be still and know that I am God.”

To go back to the first chapter

1. Respite Retreat