I wish I was able to write more about the truth of last weekend. There's a fine line here about what can be said and not said, as there is a fine line in the confessional, I think. I suspect that have those lines well defined for them. I however, do not own that book.
We experienced every kind of weather God has to offer over the 72 hour retreat. Give the place was occupied with 43 estrogen-filled bodies, that should not be surprising. I think that there is a lot of the feminine in God...as there is a lot of the masculine, but being female, I identify with the woman in God.
For weeks I have been praying about love and what is really means. How to love well, how to love as Paul writes in Corinthians 13. And that kind of love is the most perfect kind of love, because it never dies. It moves around, it expands, it walks on holy ground, it doesn't hold on, but it always stays. It is reliable. It is trustworthy. It stands firm.
I say that because I am on a continual journey of learning how to love. I had things happen long ago that gave me very different rules. I am unlearning them. That is good, but also sometimes very hard. God seems to take me one step at a time, reaching into my heart and telling me, "Today there will be something new. Be open to it. Pay attention. Be ready and accept."
Last night I had an interesting prayer time. Something new happened. Resting in God's love, He spoke to me through me, that is, He used my mouth and sang poetry to me. I know it sounds odd, but I can't think of another way to write it. But it was a kind of love letter. It felt different. It felt new.
It may have happened because my heart expanded on the retreat. I hit the ground running, literally with a new friend, who asked me to pray behind her as she walked through every room, bathroom, meeting room, walkway, gazebo with blessed salt and holy water. I read prayers from the Liturgy of Hours as I tried to keep up, it was amazing I didn't trip! Some rooms made me feel different, though, and I prayed from my heart. She splashed holy water as people got in our path. Some liked it, others thought we were just curious creatures. I even surprised myself with how much I was glad that we were praying over all the spaces we would use for the weekend.
Then I learned more about the women I was 'teaming up' with. They did their jobs, they dragged others into their work as they were needed. I don't think a single person was idle for more that a few minutes. Ever. If I ever tried to sit down, someone was there, with a job for me to do.
And we had a tabernacle with us. What joy it was in my heart to open the door to my cabin and see the chapel only a few yards away and knowing that He was there...and He was here...and it was all so good!
I stood in the doorway of my cabin-mates room and watched them laugh. I saw them as a family, working together, playing in the midst of a great mission: to bring their version of God love to as many women as possible. They played and talked about past retreats and families and concerns and successes and things that just didn't matter much, except that in all the sharing there was great love exchanged.
And I watched. I was hungry for it. I wanted to join in, but I didn't know how.
I was exhausted by the end of the day, but when the retreatants arrived, I found myself blessed with new energy. I was invigorated by the hope that love would come to them in new and wonderous ways over the weekend. Here were women, willing to risk, give away 72 hours to God in a new a different way. And the apprehension showed on their faces, just as it showed on mine last year, 13 years ago too.
It is always a risk to love. It wounds, but it heals, too.
The weekend progressed. God decided to mess with me when I was handed a revised schedule that say I would speak late Friday night. I was told by the spiritual director that I would be told at some point if I would speak that night. Discussion ensued in the cabin. Not a good idea. Not fair. I am a morning person. I am worthless after 6 p.m. The spiritual director told me that wasn't true, I gave my talk at night once before and did fine...sigh. So the day took on different meaning for me.
God wants me to stop being in charge. I do not like this lesson.
So in the middle of something intense and dark, and I have already decided "it's not going to happen" a still small voice whispers in my ear: "Go get dressed. You are talking." Argh! My prayer partner and I go off into the woods back to the cabin. The weather is so very beautiful...and the stars sing to me. I start to panic. I was told later by a cabin mate who reminded me that I was 'losing it' at one point. She told me I said "What could I possibly say to these women that would matter at all?" (Did I really go there? It's not about me, it's all about Him. I guess of forgot that in my tired state)
I am dressed and walking down the dirt path when the still small voice returns. She looks at me and says, the activity is not over. You will speak in the morning. Go change cloths. No one should see you in those clothes. Argh! I bend to His will. And I just know He is messing with me!
The next morning I do my talk. A hour later than planned...after several misfires. I start slow. I know it is too long. What to do Lord? You take it. You make it into what they need. I'm letting go.
As I read, I heard gasps and weeping and laughter and sighs. Is it working Lord? Oh I hope so. I still cry at the part about my mother. Inside I think, when will you let it go, Cindy? They laugh, they cry. But do they get it? I glance at the lead table. I can feel we are behind schedule. I speed up. I begin to read like I am reading in a debate. There is applause. I don't really care for that. My music comes on: Celine Dion. All the people who have held me up come to mind. I am a blessed woman.
I find out much later that "it worked." Or rather, God worked it out. Women took risks and put there thoughts out there. I was pleased that God used me in such a way, even if it was weeks of very hard "examen." I was better for it, and it seemed to produce fruit. A perfect, happy ending.
As the leaders of the retreat walked me back to my room, one said "oh look, it's snowing." And it came to back to me, about the nun and the little boy: "Look Sister, it's snowing." It was a sign. An affirmation. Go the distance. Do what you promised. It will work,He tells me. I promise it will work.
But my personal retreat was not over. The energetic woman I followed behind while blessings cabins and such and I had a few conversations about my discernment for what I needed to do next. So at the end of the retreat, we shared what gift we received from the retreat. I was near the end of the group. As my time got closer, I realized my gift.
I had been given the gift of women. Great women. Strong women. Loving women. I remember each of their faces. All beautiful. All just like me, doing the best they can...and doing their best to get along, even as exhaustion tried to take us over. They were God's gift to me: for me to love, and for them to love me.
So she, the one with whom I shared my thoughts, comes to me after that part of the retreat and says, "Did you understand what you said? Your gift? You have what you have been praying for, Cindy. You have sisters now. Sisters. These are the ones you've been looking for. These are the ones you need."
And I realized that was true. I went from standing in the doorway watching, to dancing with them. To laughing and crying with them. To hugs and kisses...and truths and fantasies...and hopes and dreams. I have sisters.
I went on the retreat to help others. And I did. Only I didn't go away empty handed. We have to give our love away. That is the only way it can grow.
Love,
Cindy
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