Tag: leave
Save-the-Date: Next Trip to Narnia
Here’s what some of the previous retreat-goers said about the experience:
To learn more or sign up, join the Retreat list click HERE.
THE STORY…
Suppose you found a place…like Narnia…a magical parallel place…
This happened to me, and the only way it makes sense to tell you about it is to tell you that the land of Narnia comes to mind.
I spotted no White Witch, but I’m certain that Aslan was on the move!
I keep going back and it keeps getting better.
I’ve tried to sketch out something of what it’s like with my words. My strings of syllables are full of adjectives and I start to gush and make a fool of myself.
These words and my intensions fall short. Maybe a photo will help, I think. No, not really.
I try to tell people about it and say “come and join me”. Several of my closest friends knew to trust me and come “in faith” and it turns out that you sort of “catch something” while you’re there that draws you back again and again.
Yes, I can say, it’ll be restful, or I can say, it’ll be refreshing, or life-changing, or amazing…and of course I sound a little crazy because I’m making such a big deal about it.
But, I hope it doesn’t seem so absurd.
When you are really thirsty, water sounds wonderful.
Yet, it’s only when you taste it that you are satisfied.
Maybe you have some kind of deeper thirst. Then come!
~ABOUT THIN PLACES~
A “thin place” is where you see this dominion of the kingdom of God come into clearer focus.
And dominion doesn’t refer to a location per se, or sometimes at all.
There, the world as you know it grows strangely dimmer and smaller. You notice a threshold that separates heaven and earth too much. It seems much thinner.
This thin place can even be manifest in a person.
When you are near him or her, you sense something greater at work in a richer and more powerful unseen reality. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but you know it’s real. There is weight there.
The epitome of that is, of course, the Son of God. Jesus was the thinnest place of all when he walked among us.He is our model.
But a thin place is a location too, right?
Yes, sometimes a you sense a thin place in a location that has been somehow, or intentionally, consecrated and set apart for apprehending the deeper realities of existence. A house of worship. A garden. A home where love abides. A bookstore. A mountain perch. A bench at the beach. Everyone has probably felt a thin place, at some point.
(If you have, let me know where in the comments section)
The retreat center were I go at least 3-5 times a year is one such thin place. If you haven’t gone to a place like this, it’s nearly impossible to convince you that being there, just being, will improve your life.
I’m left “pitching the benefits” to you, like a giddy salesgirl, because conveying the actual experience is so obtuse and ethereal.
Postcards, paper ones or verbal ones, never really share a place properly.
I have a plan to return soon
Your story will unfold in new ways there.
I’ll be the guide. I’ll show you the grounds and acquaint you with the places for quiet reflection and rejuvenation, and provide you with some devotional reading and prayer material to guide your time, if you want the structure. I’ll get you started and you’ll have nothing else to do but enjoy yourself.
Are you thirsty?
We’ll meet for a (provided) hot lunch at 12:30, than after we will “gather the graces” we’ve been given, and leave for home when the time seems right. It could be the half day that changes your life. The cost is a tiny $15.
Let me know if you’re interested by signing up HERE, and I’ll prepare a spot for you and send details.
To be on the update list, click HERE.
Non Profit: RE-invented as “For Purpose”
When you tell someone that you work for a non profit, (or a ministry, or a charity…)
You often get one of three reactions:
1. A strange and muted pity.
Some times this is accompanied by slow nodding and maybe an awkward silence and change of subject, or some refer to some one they know who sort of does the same sort of thing (awkward empathy).
“Oh, yeah, my uncle was a pastor. He died unappreciated and penniless.”
2. A bemused reaction, “Oh, okay. How…nice.”
3. A flummoxed stare.
They think something went wrong.
Or, that you must a be a bleeding heart, or maybe you are just confused about what you really want to do.
“Oh, I thought you were…um… (smart and industrious)…but, you can’t get paid much, right?”
Sadly, I had to leave a non-profit graduate school as the Director of Communications because I needed to pay bills.
I worked with the nicest group of people I’ve ever worked with. We did exciting and transformative things that make the world a better place. In the end though, my family needed, literally, a roof over our heads (lots of leaking in the attic). I had no choice but to look for work to meet that pressing need.
Strangely, I’ve sensed in all the non-profits I’ve worked with, so far, that there is going idea was that you have to give up something to be there. The rules are different and you just have to suck it up and put big girl pants on, and such.
You have to be okay with being very poorly compensated.
Now, it isn’t for lack of will to do it. The funding (really-the lack of funding) just can’t support something otherwise. However, there is something more. A kind of unconscious (maybe?) communal ascension to thinking is cemented way that makes change, improvement, and sometimes even success difficult.
It’s a disabling mindset, really.
We can get stuck is a false conundrum that subtly discredits the fulfilling work being done because it it conversely attached to a conflicting paradigm that claims profit = success. By definition then, non-profit = non-success.
(Any pockets of moralizing that all the hard work is to be for treasures in heaven one day, hardly makes it easier.)
I wonder if there is a better way.
Adam Braun thinks so. He gets to a great point: We shouldn’t start labeling ourselves as failures. We shouldn’t be apologizing for doing awesome things in the world asa 501C status.
(Have you ever done the old……”Oh, yeah, we’re a non profit.” …as eyes shift downward in shame…?).
The truth is…
Being centered on a purpose rather than existing for a profit is the most important sort of work on the planet.
The good news is that certain business models can be infused to make the whole system more successful. That’s how Adam set up “Pencils for Promise” (click on Adam’s photo to get to his website…but, wait…just a minute more).
I love what how he describes for-purpose organizations as a places…
“where idealism meets acumen.”
How great to see this important shift happening. I have GREAT hope in Millenials!
I look forward to infusing both purpose and profit into what I’m doing. Who says they have to be in silos!?
For me, it started with a passion project: the book I created with Doug Jackson in August (2013). Some proceeds are earmarked for 2 -for purpose- groups that care for dogs and cats.
The most exciting thing I’m involved with now is the new resource that keeps the underdogs (but not canines) in mind and offers a high Return of Investment (ROI).
The knowledge gained translates quickly into success (be that revenue, exposure, or impact).
The non profit (for PURPOSE) organizations are the ones with such heart. I want them to succeed.
If you are interested, click HERE.
Read what others are saying about it.
Have YOU ever worked for a ministry or other kind of non profit?
What was the mindset like?
Don’t miss the next post, friends.
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Faith = a Basket of Eggs: In Tribute to David A. Dorsey
So, a dear man died one week ago. Dave, to his students (because he preferred this), and Dr David Dorsey, PhD officially. On Tuesday the chapel was packed for his funeral as hundreds resolutely braved sub zero wind chill to pay respects, support his family, share memories and express their sadness at the loss. For us who remain in this world and knew him the hole of his absence hurts. It actually feels painful.
If I tried to tell you all the things that I loved about my former Old Testament Professor, or the countless benefits to me, or the simple and genuine ways he loved on me and others, I would be typing for days. Suffice it to say just about everyone on Tuesday was in tears and everyone felt the weight of the loss as we remembered his light in this world.
In the next few weeks I hope to share some of the insights I gleaned from this amazing scholar and human being.
For now, I’ll share with you something Dave taught us about faith. Granted, I won’t do it justice; and if you read this and heard differently from him, please add your own amend in the comments section.
So, here goes…
He said the faith of the patriarchs of Israel might not be the kind of faith we suppose it is. Hebrews 11 gives us a “Hall of Fame” of the faithful. We may think that these people trusted and relied on God. They did. But we get the pedigree of it all wrong. The practice of faith is much richer than we might suppose, especially at first glance reading the list of the faithful.
Instead, it’s something like this:
Faith is not about being hopeful about what lies beyond the bend in the future. It not really about a “blind” ascension to trust either. Those are good and important in their ways, but when we speak of the life of faith in terms of the Old Testament faithful, like Abraham leaving everything he knew for the wilderness for instance, we are really talking about a concept much like “putting all your eggs in one basket.”
That’s how Dave put it. The word picture stuck and it stuck good.
With the Life of Faith…
You are deeming God good, trustworthy, and loving and then you put it all on the line.
(So, it’s rarer than you think!)
You stop hedging your bets. You stop saving a little security for yourself. You stop holding something back that gives you a sense of control. You bet the whole thing. You leave nothing back. You. go. in. wholly.
Sometimes, I find eggs in my pockets, or around the house, or in places that I didn’t know they were, like a weird easter egg hunt. Not chicken eggs, of course, but the eggs of my worries. I may have thought I handed the basket over, and perhaps I really did, but life can make you lay a few eggs. Sometimes people throw them at you too.
Faith, Hope, Love. Those are what remain, yes?
Faith = a Basket of Eggs.
It’s a shocking level of vulnerability: the life of faith.
You can tell when you do it too. You get a mixture of feelings. Great relief that your job is over, your poor skills are not needed any longer, and someone more capable is now responsible and in charge. Whew! Then, you may get a twinge of terror at the power you gave up, but probably never really had anyway. You become all at once very hopeful and very dependent. It’s precarious.
There’s a rare beauty to it.
Sometimes we give up our baskets and sometimes they sort of get pried out of our hands.
Dave was gravely ill for over 3 decades. His was a life of faith. It had to be. And he handed over eggs.
It was a wrestle match, he would tell you. He didn’t always feel faithful. He made mistakes. His candor was humbling. But, through his honesty he became faithful all the more.
There’s something about growing to trust God for each breath, and believing that God revealed himself as a thoroughly good and gracious and generous Creator and Sustainer in the passages of the Old Testament that transformed this brilliant man into a true saint. Not sappy, but real. All at once very strong and stable and yet achingly weak.
Dave was not self-righteous but gracious. Not arrogant in any discernible manner, but loving and open to others. Concerned with others and their lives and largely uncomplaining. Free with his humor and goodwill.
Hear this: You don’t get the privilege to meet people like this very often. You don’t get to be a person like this often. It’s takes an amazing about of formation, re-formation, and transformation. It doesn’t happen by accident or by genetics.
A life of faith means that you hold nothing back. See the difference?
It’s not using power to feel better. It’s giving it over to be fully won over.
In a life of faith you love whole-heartedly. Not because it’s safe. It never is. But, because it is good. A life of faith means that you have a sharp, ongoing sense of your own weaknesses and dependence, and that goes overflowing into compassion for yourself and others.
A few days after Dave’s death I was praying in the car out loud as I do sometimes. (I take more comfort in doing this now. People talk on the phone hands-free all the time in their cars and look like they are talking to nobody. Now, I just look like I’m having an important conversation. In fact, I am, especially when I shut up.)
So, I was in the car and I was warring as I too often do with things in the distance. Shadows, possibilities, next steps. I was planning, wondering, and worrying–like I was holding a bunch of eggs and walking on a lake of ice.
And then I said, “No, this just won’t work. I see I’m holding too tightly. I think I have to go all in. I have to have faith. I have to put all my eggs in one basket. Your basket.”
And a song sung by Ella Fitzgerald came to mind. I’ve embedded the audio so you can hear it after you finish.
Then I simply burst into tears, because that’s what a godly and good legacy looks like. Literally, one leaves words to live by. Dave’s words of life and hope and faith were ringing true in my mind in everyday life, even after he’s gone. And I thought, “That’s an amazing man and I was given an amazing gift to know him.” I kept having to wipe away tears for awhile.
Spirit, you know, is “breath of life”. (The Hebrew and Greek words for breath carry this meaning.) God is Spirit. When you see goodness, when you see sacrificial love, when you see wrongs being made right, you see God. You see the Spirit of the unseen God. Those describers are just part of what and who is impossible to confine or describe fully.
God isn’t just Life Force, but God is that too. And I don’t think Dave lost his own spirit or the Spirit. I think God became greater. The Spirit got so great that it filled him, and his body of water and carbon gave out, finally. It birthed something new and better and unseen and lasting.
And this Spirit and the part of Dave that is Dave (his truest self–his soul) joined up in union with the Great Spirit, somewhere and everywhere, the One, True, Living God who defies reason, explanation, and the limits of us, and even of the universe.
But, Dave didn’t completely leave us. But, my does the sting smart, right now! From my experience I know it dulls in time; but the pain is, at first, ultimate.
Yet, the fragrance of his spirit remains. And it is sweet.
It’s around us when we remember him. The Spirit remains, and Dave’s flavor fused with that true Spirit carries on with us. We miss the more familiar everyday interaction with him so dearly, and always will, until the same happens to us and we are joined somehow together again.
To those who grieve him: his family and friends, I join you in your deep and powerful sorrow. I join you in your joy–that is bitter and sweet–that realizes the gift he was–having known him, been enriched by him, and been intimately connected to him. Your loss is not small.
May you feel the comfort, presence, shalom, and holy goodness of the Spirit of God.
Amen.
-Lisa
P.S.
Here is a brief local obituary posting of David A. Dorsey.
With these links you can enjoy two of his most well-known books:
(egg photo is a Creative Commons image.)
Something about a Labyrinth and Surprises
This time the weather was the coldest I’ve ever experienced in Wernersville. Until now, my times of retreat at the Spiritual Retreat Center were during Spring or Summer.
Stripped of leaves, color, and warm weather, the place seems monochromatic outdoors, but is still restful and precious to me. There are many prayer room options, a beautiful chapel, plus rooms for things like creating art, music, reading, or for meeting with others. Each place seems to wait for your arrival. Anyone can go there for the day without notice. I love that about it. That’s true hospitality. You are always received and welcome. You don’t need to be Catholic either. God is there in a special way and it’s a sacred place created solely for the purpose of divine communion and renewal. To me, that sounds just like Heaven.
Unless you get run over by a jet-powered lawn mower, but I’ll get to that in a minute.
The Center has recently added a prayer labyrinth (shown above). Many people aren’t familiar with labyrinths–their purpose or their gifts. They create the opportunity for reflection and spiritual awareness. Some (Evangelical) Christians bristle at the copious statues, candles, prayer mazes, and other unfamiliarities about a Catholic environment. I suppose I’m post-Evangelical: the richness of the Christian history and the solidifying sense of the sacred draws me toward the transcendent in a place like this. Every time in an unexpected way.
That’s what happens when you go there. You find God. You find God at the center. The center of you…in your core where he’s always been, because he’s everywhere-present and boundless in love. He’s been whispering things of love to you and smiling but you thought it was just bad pizza leftovers or something you made up to make yourself feel better.
Life is like a puzzle. A labyrinth is a puzzle. It’s a tool too. You can study a labyrinth before you walk the path through it, but while you are walking through studying it can make it far more confusing. Usually, you stop being stupid and cease trying to decipher the pattern precisely and just follow it like a child might do. This way, a labyrinth can be a lovely stilling and spiritual experience, not because of its own woo woo mystical powers (it doesn’t have that), but because it invites a traveller to concentrate and focus–to place her steps carefully. Most importantly, it forces one to slow down.
We don’t realize how fast our thoughts buzz until we get these sorts of opportunities to be careful. If you walk a labyrinth things mentally wind down and simplify to, “Stay on the path. Follow this narrow way. Pay attention.” Some enjoy walking very slowly and praying as their heart grows hushed.
Searching for the puzzle
I saw a photo of this newly constructed prayer walk inside the Center and I started to search for it outside. It was actually in plain sight but I hadn’t been looking for it, so I didn’t see it. (In case you haven’t figured it out by now, this true story doubles as an allegory.)
When I spotted it, a man driving a zero turn radius lawn mower was zipping and roaring around it, back and forth; expertly, but fast enough for me to wonder about his judgement. Crisp leaves shot into the air and the wind whipped them into little showers of bullets.
“That won’t work,” I said. “What am I suppose do? Have a peaceful prayer time as Zippy here shoots me with leaves and the mower engine drives me to distraction?” I crossed past the paved puzzle a small stretch to a gazebo with park benches set in a circle.
It was still noisy there, but the mower sounded duller. I would wait him out. I tried to settle my mind. Maybe I could do some warm-up praying. No. My thoughts swam. “Who’s Zippy now?” I thought.
Instead of waiting, I went on a short walk in the wood nearby over a little ridge. The path looked to have been crudely bulldozed recently and massive tree parts and 4 inch thick vines were crammed in piles. It was other-worldly–so many thickets covering whole sections like umbrellas, even though most of their foliage was missing. Surreal yellow leaves on the ground seemed day-glow bright. I felt like a zombie putting one foot in front of the other as I made my way around the wet earth and wild terrain. The humming mower served as a beacon to orient me. It was comforting and ironic.
Then a church bell snapped me back. It chimed 11, and I recalled how church bells were auditory calls to prayer and attention. It felt like a call to go home…to something. I immediately wanted to get my bag from the gazebo and look at the church more carefully in a peaceful and maybe prayerful environment. I managed a shortcut straight up a bank after a brief bout with prickly plants. I got my things and trekked toward the church. When I got there, guess who was on the grounds too? Zippy, or some other diligent lawn guardian, was tooling around the church grounds. The noise was worse now because it was bouncing off the stone structure and echoing off the parking lot asphalt.
I decided to double back and sit on a bench near a garden path that featured the Stations of the Cross. (If you’re wondering about the Stations of the Cross, visit again soon, because I’ll be detailing that in a future post.) I munched on some snacks, journaled a few things, prayed some (kinda-sorta), and enjoyed a few sunbeams that momentarily bested the clouds. It felt nice to be there, but, then I started to feel really cold. My nose had a ice cube quality and the sun had ditched me.
I headed toward the large main building. An ancient woman was being rolled toward the main entrance in a wheelchair. Rather than getting in their way, I decided to walk through the covered colonnade and flank out to the door on the right. I passed the prayer garden on my left. It was filled with statues, fountains, and newly manicured hedges and remembered how pretty it had been in full bloom that Spring. It was much warmer then too. I was getting colder by the second. But, then I got to the door–relief.
Except that it was locked. The metal handle sent a shiver to my backbone straight through my arm. But, “No matter,” I said to myself. I’ll just continue around the building and try the next door just around the corner. There are probably no fewer than 25 exit doors to the place. I’ve exited a number of them and try to find a new one to some surprise new part of the grounds whenever possible. It’s all part of the fun.
No. Locked too. Things were getting interesting.
It turns out that there’s just one way into the place. There are plenty of ways to exit outdoors, but the main entrance is referenced on each locked door. I came to this realization by the 5th door. I’m not sure if the cold was my dulling my mind or if I was too distracted laughing to myself. I had just realized I was literally following a footpath around the structure. It wasn’t just a path but a puzzle. I could have turned back and saved myself a lengthy walk, but I thought, “Oh! Okay God, this is the labyrinth you wanted me to take.”
Then out loud I said, “Stop being so funny.” At that exact moment, a black helicopter hummed overhead and I briefly thought the things were going to end in waterboarding or an unpleasant government website experience and arbitrary fees. Maybe, I was on the psycho path. I pushed my icy hands into my coat pockets, stopped trying to open locked doors, and made my way counter-clockwise to the main entrance–the long way around. This was probably the intended journey in the first place so I might learn something. I was starting to pay attention. Finally.
No, it wasn’t the labyrinth I set out to do. It wasn’t the one I picked to walk or the one studied as I walked by with Zippy swinging his mower wildly nearby, but eventually it would get me inside if I kept going around and circled the place.
As I got most of the way around the complex I could smell lunch cooking from the kitchen. “The kitchen help probably don’t have to go through the main entrance,” I thought. (It was my first useful notion all day.)
Sure enough: I spotted an inconspicuous point of entry, sheltered with an overhang and a coffee can full of sand and cigarette butts sitting outside the door. Maybe it would be open. It was. As I pull the door a blast of warmness greeted me and behind it the smell of comfort food. I was back. I had almost gone full circle, but I had an insiders’ access point to put things to rights.
Just before I left the place for home I took my friend–who had carpooled with me there that morning–to see the new prayer puzzle up close. I walked through slowly but it wasn’t prayerfully. The symbolism had already done its job. I was just canvasing the design and saying my goodbyes. I got to the center of the circle and I knew I was ready to leave for home.
I did a little spin with my arms out because I think if it was a movie that’s what would have happened right at the point, and then I stepped straight through the center to get back out.
The surprise is that you don’t get to ever really pick your own labyrinth. It is picked for you. You can decide how to walk it and how meaningful it will be. You can be frustrated by it and worry about the turns or you can slow down, put one foot after the other, and get to the center. Then you’ll be home.
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