A beautiful place, silence, and time

 Last week I got to do something I’ve always dreamed about doing; I went on a personal writer’s retreat. A beautiful place, silence, and lots of time. For six days.

Having a beautiful place available made it all possible. Called simply, “The Writer’s Cabin,” it’s a new addition to Camp Tilikum outside of Newberg, Oregon. The cabin sits among the trees on the edge of a meadow and overlooks the lake. This was the inspiration of Quaker writer Richard Foster whose initial grant got the project started. The pandemic slowed construction down (as it did everything else), and it’s been hard to get it going again, but it’s finally finished.

The past few years Hal and I would drive out to Tilikum every few months to see how the cabin was coming along. We could even go inside, but it seemed all we ever saw were boards and tools and dust. But we had faith, so much so that I sent in my application a year ago. (I was probably the first.)

But it really is finished, and last week I was its first “Writer in Residence.” I got a pendant with those words on it which I proudly wore whenever I went outside.

I brought a specific writing project with me, a book of poems based on the life of Jesus. I already had a collection of these from the four Gospels; they all needed crafting, honing, polishing, and, in some cases, drastic editing. And I set myself to write new poems on areas of Jesus life not yet covered. It’s an ambitious project. Time to work on it, and on nothing else, was just what I needed.

I learned some things about myself during the week. While not exactly new information, the week reinforced things I’ve been observing for some time now.

I learned that I can’t do now what I could as a younger person. I had envisioned myself sitting in quiet bliss, writing for hours at a time, taking advantage of the wonderful opportunity I’d been given. I used to be able to do that in the middle of non-retreat circumstances (minus the “bliss”). A college student working into the night to finish a term paper—I could do it. As a young adult, I wrote a series of Bible school textbooks while the kids were in school, and back then, it was on a typewriter.

Not anymore. Not only age, but other physical challenges make impossible that kind of concentration for long periods of time. I found I needed to take breaks after only an hour of work. Fortunately, the retreat center offers miles of trails around the lake and into the forest, as well as a deck to sit on and watch the water. But I had to talk myself out of the guilt of taking those breaks. Can you believe it? I guess I’m still in the process of coming to peace with my changing body and mental energies. The week at the cabin actually helped me in this process. (Hal had told me previously, “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Nancy.” He knows me.)

I rediscovered that I need to move my body. This is something I “rediscover” every week. If I sit too long at the computer, I get up stiff and aching like an old person. Strange. Again, I had to remind myself of the need for rhythms of movement and rest. Even just standing up from time to time to stretch my neck helped tremendously. And of course those short walks in the forest rejuvenated me (literally “made me young again”).

I rediscovered that I need people. I had envisioned the joy of solitude. And it was joyful. But only up to a certain point. Those daily phone calls with Hal became a point of encouragement and grounding. I still crave solitude. But I also need meaningful interaction with people, maybe more so now than in other stages of life. It’s another case for finding the rhythms of solitude and companionship. I need both.

As ever, I discovered I need to fight the negative voices, even on a retreat. I can never retreat from myself. Everywhere I go—there I am. My negative inner voices tell me I don’t deserve this retreat, I’m not really a good writer, this project is too big for me, etc., etc., etc. I’ve discovered these voices are fairly typical; other writers and creative people hear their own versions. And I’ve learned when to rebuke them, how to be patient with myself, and even when I need to listen to any truth in them. I don’t fight with the voices all the time; in fact, more often than not, I’m free to just get on with whatever I’m working on. But I didn’t think it fair that they should come along on my special retreat.

In all, the time was refreshing and productive, and I intend to make use of this gift again. I heard God reaffirm my vocation as a writer. I gained some guidance for the path ahead with this current project. (I have a lot of work to do.)

I began my practice of writing from Scripture several years ago, mainly as a devotional exercise and a way to pray and write through the Word. When I sit down with the Bible in my lap, I begin by praying Psalm 119:18—“Open my eyes that I may see wonderful things in your word.” During my retreat, I received the second part of that prayer. God answered me from Revelation 1:11, “Write what you see.”

One side note about the retreat I want to mention, concerning the silence of being by a lake, among the trees. It’s that God has a sense of humor. I noticed these strange sounds the first evening. Animal sounds, somewhat like a wild goose, or so I told myself. As the evening darkened, the sounds grew louder, coming from all sides of the lake. So for several days I was on the lookout for geese flying north for the warm months. But not a single goose did I see. And the sound wasn’t exactly gooselike. It was somewhere between a goose and a pig. Between a honk and a grunt.

And then it struck me. Bull frogs! That’s what it was! I wondered if it was mating season and they were singing love songs. Actually, it was hilarious. At its loudest, I was in the middle of this vast choral performance. Then it would stop and be absolutely silent (beautiful!) for a couple minutes. Soon, across the lake, one lone soloist threw out his voice. Silence again. But soon another voice from my side of the lake answered. And little by little others would join in, tentatively at first, but quickly growing to a full triumphant chorus of frog music. They kept it up all night long and into the next morning. I missed the absolute silence, but what could I do but laugh?

When I needed silence, I just walked up the hill and into the trees.

Personal retreats of all kinds, not just writer’s retreats, are so valuable.  I think we never outgrow (“out-age”) our need to come apart from our familiar routines and scenery to reflect, to pray, or to do something purely for fun.  A retreat provides time to reaffirm our identity as children of God, to remind ourselves of our deepest values, and to hear once again God naming our particular call to service.

At some point in the aging process, it becomes harder to physically retreat to some beautiful place in the mountains or by the ocean. When such time comes for me, I hope my kids occasionally take me on day-trips to the beach. More than that, I hope I will have found that interior place of retreat where I can rest in the presence of the Creator of all mountains and oceans. In the presence of the Creator of bull frogs.