Glimpses of a Retreat

Snatches of a story of resistance and rest

Sep 17, 2023

I’m Debbie, and ‘a host of soul spaces’ is an invitation to pause and savour our days with ponderings, prompting questions and practices.

This post is from the Between the Mystical and the Mess section of my Substack, here I share stories from my own wandering path.

Hello friends,

Last month I took a two-night retreat at The Bield near Perth. I was amazed at the resistance that I felt to taking that time away, and wanted to explore the journey arc of my weekend here with you. I’ve included snippets and quotes from prayers, books, poems, scripture and liturgies that visited me during that weekend too. So here is the story of my retreat in snatches and glimpses.

The kids safely ensconced with grandparents, I crawl out of town behind a trundling tractor. Who knew a solo weekend in luscious Perthshire countryside could feel so complicated? It was hard to leave the children, to break the magnetic pull we share. It was hard to spend the money, to set aside the time and now this journey is painfully slow. I turn around in the road, in search of another way through. Once I’m moving, I find tears in my eyes: frustration? Exhaustion? Uncertainty? Fear? I felt the invitation to this time away with God, away from my usual distractions: people, phone, words. But without all that I fill my life with, will I find I’m empty?

“Give me a candle of the Spirit, O God,

As I go down into the deeps of my being.”1

The towering trees are in full conversation, forming a wind break as I lie on my blanket in the sun. I don’t journal, I read a little, I try to be present to the sun warming my face. My watch taunts that 10 minutes have passed since I last checked. Will this whole weekend pass in tiny stumbling increments?

“Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.”2

I pass the gate into the woods and walk, marching at first then slowing to a meander. Noticing leaves, bark, movement, sunshine, I breathe in, feel their nourishment, capture them with my camera. No deep thoughts, just the wind in the trees and an occasional bramble.

I’m here because the voices and influences in my life have become so loud that I’ve lost my sense of myself and myself in you. I’m here because I need to remember who I am and who I am in you. I’m here because you invited me.

“It is that perilous and priceless journey inward to that place at the center of ourselves where God dwells.”3

I sit on the swing in the sun. In the freedom of the movement I gradually find the words to name some festering hurt. There is time.

As the day begins to dim I lie on my back in the pool, watching the clouds through the roof window and find myself stretching my arms up, then pushing them out in semi-circles down to my side. It feels nice so I do it for a length, then another.

While I dry, I lie beside the pool. I turn my head, picturing God on the lounger next to me. She turns towards me as she says ‘see, this is nice isn’t it?’. My laughter ripples across the water.

“As we allow ourselves to be known in solitude, we discover that we are known by love.

Beyond the pain of self-discovery there is a love that does not condemn us but calls us to itself.

This love receives us as we are.”4

Yes, I would like honey with my porridge, and yes I’ll take the sugar and cinnamon too, fresh berries? Yes, why not!

I follow my curiosity and delight to the art room, which brims with playful possibility. My hunt for a scalpel is successful and I carefully create a tree from scraps of magazines. When I’m done I know the tree is me: she’s rooted & established in love, she’s vibrant, she doesn’t need to fear the seasons changing.

And I’m an olive tree,

Growing green in God’s house.

I trusted in the generous mercy

Of God then and now.5

I sat on the grass by the meadow labyrinth; on my blanket under the trees; on a bench by the field; by the cosmos in the Walled Garden. I named small truths in my journal, in spiritual accompaniment and in unhurried prayer. As I stilled, peace snuck up on me. As I swam, crafted, walked, listened to the trees, I found that wordless space where deep seeds gradually unfurled. I noticed weeds in need of pulling and quiet blooms to appreciate and tend. I explored this garden of my soul, I followed my curiosity, I prayed in stomps through the woods and in gratitude for hearty food.

And I found myself rooted once again.