“You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded in Your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed.” (Psalm 139:16 NLT)
Yesterday I escaped my ordinary life, at least for a little while. As I committed to this year of ‘rest’ – I also made a plan to pull away once a quarter for prayer and reflection. Yesterday was my first real withdrawal, a short drive into Houston to the Ruah Center for five hours of silence. The convent itself is quite a surprise; a collection of brick buildings nestled in the south side. The unexpected sweeping green space behind an antique wrought-iron fence welcomes weary travelers. Great resting lions greet at the entrance, reminding me that even the strongest souls must lay down from time to time.
The day was lazy and full at the same time. I began with a personal prayer appointment, a few minutes with a trained spiritual director to identify the focus for my time at Ruah. With that firmly in hand, I silently wandered the grounds, prayerfully passing from room to room. My time at Ruah went too quickly. Five hours was not nearly enough and next time I will stay the night. Or maybe two.
I spent most of the afternoon outside because it was a stunning day for early February. The sky shone bright blue and the sunshine was almost hot on bare arms, but the breeze was cool enough to keep one guessing. The prayer labyrinth caught my attention, it was wholly abandoned by the other retreatents. I read the pamphlet and entered; shoes and backpack weighing me down.
Honestly, it wasn’t my favorite. I found it frustrating. Meticulous. Monotonous, yet still requiring attention. My backpack (containing bible and notebook and a few art supplies) grew heavy; I considered casting it aside along an outer ring but couldn’t bring myself to abandon something so valuable. Somewhere along the way I got tired and thought about just walking over the bricks and exiting the entire ordeal, but my commitment to procedure kept me on the path. Sometime long before arriving at the center, I began to envision it as a place of sweet rest. I wanted to throw myself down on the grass and sleep in the sun – something I haven’t done since I was in high school, at least.
The pull for pause drew me in as a moth to the flame. I realize, in hindsight, how if I hadn’t hurried so hard, my need wouldn’t have been as great. What’s more, there was no one else in the labyrinth. I could have stopped in my tracks and settled down at any turn. I could have taken a break anywhere along the path, but instead I pushed through the tedious twists and turns to the middle space and collapsed on the welcoming carpet of green grass. I laid there, like a cat in the sun for long minutes. I thought of Jesus and His call to “come away and get some rest” as the sun warmed my skin and the drowsy nature of early afternoon tugged at my senses. I wondered, if I wasn’t halfway through my living labyrinth, at forty, and if I hadn’t hurried the whole of it.
After I had rested, I was reinvigorated to get up and move again. This time, though, I was slower, I was more intentional in the experience. I had been this way before, only backwards. It turns out the second half went much faster than the first, not because of pace, but because of perspective. My attitude had improved after my rest in the grass. My vantage point had shifted. I spent much of the return walk looking up, enjoying the beauty of the grounds and the conversation with my Savior, only glancing down occasionally to ensure I didn’t miss a turn.
This is life: so much easier when we look up. When we allow the Lord to direct our steps. And it seems, the second half rushes by much faster than the first.
“Look to the Lord and His strength; seek His face always.”
(1 Chronicles 1:11 NIV)
Lord, our journey gets long and tiring. May we be obedient to Your instruction to rest along the way. Let us continually look to You amidst it. We realize the days that as our days gather, they go faster. We want to enjoy Your nearness and live in a way that brings You glory. Amen.