This blog was birthed out of a January retreat I took a year ago at the Camaldolese Hermitage in Big Sur, CA. When I returned to St. Louis I wanted to share/explore contemplative spaciousness. Early on a friend warned me, ‘blogging is tough because at some point you feel the pressure to write even though there isn’t anything to say.’ Well, the the prior season of this blog I’ve said nothing. I’ve continued to sit, in quiet, each morning, allowing the Spirit to dance within. I continue to relish the quiet and stillness and darkness of 3:30AM, especially on a clear morning when the stars twinkle.
I find myself on retreat again, in January, one year after the Big Sur experience. This time I’m sitting in a hotel room in downtown Denver. I had planned on going to a retreat center in the desert of Tucson but a dear friend died and I needed to do his memorial service, so when I went to change my tickets on Southwest it was a bit expensive to go to the desert, so I decided to try an Urban Retreat in Denver, a place I’ve never been.
My instinct at these major reflection times is to catalogue the failures: I didn’t blog enough, I weigh too much, my back and neck are killing me, I should have paid more attention to the mission committee at the church I serve, etc. I think about the things I’ve said to people, the tasks I’ve ignored, and worry about the future. But as I settle in a bit, the Committee (those voices in your head that harangue you constantly) is starting to quite. And I realize how goodness and grace have delicately intermingled with pain and frustration and exhaustion – like oils and waters sloshing around within and around me. I can’t know what tomorrow will bring, but what I’ve learned from the stillness is that for today, there is enough – enough stillness, enough pain, enough hope, enough love, enough breath – there is always ENOUGH.