Retreat and Regroup

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As I blog this, I’m sitting about 20 feet from a sign that tells me that the limit on bass is 15 inches, catfish 14. Beneath it, a cluster of small lavender flowers flutter back and forth in the slight breeze that’s stirring wildflower, feathery undergrowth, and the faint mist that still dances on wind and current about a foot above the lake. It swirls, shifts, then vanishes almost as quickly as it drafted in over the water.

I’m in retreat.

After the last few weeks of trial and emotional quakes with Rachel, combined with a growing tension about some things at work, I decided I need a mini-vacation.

Well…not exactly a vacation. I’m here to write. I needed woods and wind, sun and quiet. My writing has stalled, as I’ve mentioned before, not because of a mental block…my stories are bursting to get out, but because of focus and time. I’ve let too much get in the way of what I know God wants me to do. Not the essentials, like caring for Rachel. But the non-essentials, those tasks and “wants” that will eat up time faster than anything. I needed a release, a time to restart. A time to focus.

So here I am, at the inn at Montgomery Bell State Park, a last-minute decision to remove myself from the pulls of everyday life for about 30 hours. I’m going to pray, do some Bible study, explore the park a bit, and write.

And if you wondered why I chose this spot…well, this is the view from my room:

I will probably blog my progress through the day, just to see how much I can get accomplished. I’ll enter those in the extended entry, if you’re interested…first, the shrine.

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Yep, a shrine, in the middle of a state park. A church, which is there to celebrate the birth of a denomination, the Cumberland Presbyterian Church, which was founded in 1810 on land now a part of the park. A result of the Great Awakening revival of 1800, the CP church was founded by Rev. Samuel McAdow and his brethren. They wanted to break away from the Presbyterian church’s doctrine of predestination and the stringent requirements of that church on the education of clergy, especially given the limitations of the frontier. They went on to ordain many remarkable young men who felt the call to preach.

The church is a beautiful sandstone and stained glass chapel, and there’s a re-creation of McAdow’s frontier cabin, which was two rooms separated by a breezeway. Furnished, these rooms echo of the lives that were once lived on this spot, amazing lives of purpose, faith, and hardship.

Interesting that I had decided to visit the church in the afternoon, but the chill of the morning convinced me to swap my activities for the day, and visit the chapel early and hike after lunch. When I got to the church, the morning sun had not yet dried the dew, which clung to the grass like a thick glycerin that actually splashed when you stepped off the path. When I got to the door of the church, there were two notes on it…reserved this afternoon for two different weddings, one at three and one at six. If I’d waited, I wouldn’t have been able to go in, feel the sweet quiet, see the same hymnals I remembered so well from my teen years.

There are two trailheads here, tempting paths, but I had another reason to be there…to remember my own time as a CP member and the nourishment that church had given me. Like the shrine, my memories are there to remind me of the value of all that has come before, of all that has made me who I am, and who we are as the body of Christ. And how that can help us go forward.

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2pm, returning from hiking the Wildcat Trail, obviously NOT named for the abundance of such creatures. The wildest things I saw were some enthusiastic chipmunks and the children at the playground at the other end of the trail. The WT is a barely discernable path from the Monty Bell inn to a picnic area about a mile and a half away. This time made even less discernable by the profusion of falling leaves from the trees over head.

The trail signs on the WT are bright blue, and I soon discovered a reassuring dependence on them when the path was uncertain. I did take one side trail that led only to a soggy shore of the lake, and in doing so, I reawakened my rather nasty fear about being lost.

I’ve been lost in the woods. Tremendously lost (a story for another blog). So when I hike, I really want to make sure I am confident of the trail.

Obviously, there’s a metaphor in there for our own path of faith and dependence on God and scripture…but that’s not where I’m going. I want to take it one step farther.

Y’see, I became so dependent on those random blue spots that I lost awareness of my surroundings. I wanted to see the spot, so I knew I was safe. But in doing so, I stopped paying attention to where I was, a fact that become immediately apparent, once when I tripped over a large root, then once when I stumbled and grabbed NOT the nearest tree but a substantial briar…

…giving a whole new meaning “unhappy camper.”

I get like that in life, too. In my experience, a lot of us do. We get so caught up in where we want to be that we forget where we are. We want to be …. “something” – a servant of God, a great mom, a stellar writer, a outstanding speaker, a great Christian – so much that we set our sights SOLELY on the goal instead of the journey.

Goals are great…but it is along the journey that we feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and reach out to a hurting friend. It’s on the path that we share faith in a way to those around us that they can see and understand. Just as Jesus taught in parables so people could absorb his meaning, it is when faith works on a daily basis that it reaches folks best.

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