Mother's Day Retreat 1

Images flying through my head
The words I heard
The images I saw
The food I tasted
I laughed and I cried
Without noticing the difference

I looked at two priests
Conversing in the gazebo
Just before sunset
Both I loved
And hadn't seen
in more than a year.
"Who's feeding you?"
I asked the one standing,
letting him know, in my subtle way,
"You're too thin"
The one on the bench
Obviously had a good cook.

They were both part of my formation
into the woman I am now.
One was there when I told my truth
my important truth
the very first time.
The other lived the life I wanted
Told the story the way I would tell it
Got to have the good life
After deep suffering. 

When the student is ready
The teacher arrives.

This was one of those weekends
when I think
"I'll probably die tomorrow."
When you finally find
your own sweet spot
and, even though hard,
it's all good...
That's when I think,
"I'm finished.  He's gonna take me now.
I got to make that last big play.
So my story must be over now."

Nearly 50 women
Miracles dripping off the trees like dew
I held nothing back.
I declared to them,
"Tell your truth.
God is here. All around.
In the women,
In the priests
In the trees that shelter us
And the birds that sing to us.
Tell your truth
To find His truth
And His Truth will set you free." 

I was a spiritual director,
and found the greatest gift
of my work
was my vulnerability.
From uncontrollable crying
before holiness
in women much braver than me
to flinging my arms wide
on a merry-go-round
To dragging myself to the top
of a hill at dawn,
wrapped in a blanket
because I'd given all my cloaks away.

I witnessed miracle after miracle
As we kind of tripped our way
through the retreat.
Entering into darkness,
the darkness of the cross...
discovering the holiness there...
the love within it...and climbing out
perhaps as the women
traveling with us,
held us in their arms
as women do...

it was just mind-blowing
to see the good that could happen
when you have yourself permission
to be in communion with others.

We are not the women we were before
We climbed the hill
Of Gethsemene
with our sisiers
and carried our dead down
to the grave
where we washed our sins
in tears and gentleness
and buried them
and waited
not knowing what to expect
we trusted and remained still
and waited

The dawn arrived
And seemed to hurt our eyes
We'd been so long in the darkness
It took time
To see the miracle
Before us.

But we did see it.
In others...and inside us.

Then, almost cruelly,
and too suddenly
we had to leave

Go back into the world
and into the darkness...
but we were armed now:
We knew a bit more
How to do it.
We saw our beauty
We carried our light,
and in our hearts
We carried the love
We learned from our sisters (and brothers)
We gave them strength
And they gave us strength
Because He was there
in every moment
whispering in our ears,
"I loved you...first."

Love, Cindy