Good morning…
I like the word “spiritual” and I love seeking divine “direction,” but I had no idea what Spiritual Direction was until God opened the door and invited me into the Richmont training program this weekend at the Ignatius House Retreat Center. To privately integrate my daily learning, God nudged me awake each morning, “Hey, let’s walk.” When I returned from our walk to my room and hot coffee, my journal recorded our silent conversations.
1.30.16, 6:00 am: Dark. Really dark. I need to go slow. “God strengthen me. Walk with me. Keep my feet from slipping.” Step by step slowly, I ascend the mountain. Roots. Uneven wooden stairs. Shuffling forward into fear. The path is nearly invisible, it blends in dark to dark. As I get to the darkest part of the path, I think, “If something happened to me, no one would know I am out here.” Then truth dawns, “I am so grateful I have been on this Ignatius House path many times before.” These twists and turns feel familiar. On a deeper level, I have been in the dark many times before, trusting my feet to intuit the way when my eyes cannot see. Curling around I descend the narrow path to the bank of a rushing stream. Psalm 23 promises that God leads me beside still waters. I think, “Sometimes, God leads me beside dangerously rushing waters.” This thin path feels treacherous, especially in the dark. Stealing one word from this familiar-to-me scripture, “Lead,” becomes my prayer. With every single step it is crucial for God to lead. Nearing the end of our walk, my mind returns to a story shared by a man in my group yesterday. I think of the window he looked out of as a little boy – imagining there was someone on the other end of the clothesline to pass notes back and forth. I think I want to say to him, “Searching for what is next, who might you want on the other end of your clothesline and what would you write on your first note?” As I get to the end of our private walk, I hear an animal rustling to my left. I hear the movement but I do not look to see.
1.31.16, 6:00 am: I go on a walk, same path, same time, different day. I am struck by how much faint light hangs in the air. Today, I look less at my own two feet and more at the magnificent, expansive sky. The natural shift of the earth’s rotation may be bringing my eyes a bit more light. A natural inner shift inside of me also opens up more light. I now notice sources of light I did not see yesterday. The light of the retreat center silently nurtures. The lights attached to the stations of the cross beam out today, marking Jesus’ journey through deep darkness into inextinguishable light. I get to the darkest part of my path, where fear rose up yesterday, “No one knows I am here alone.” I remember my fear gave way to trust, “I am grateful my feet have been on this familiar path before.” I stand still in the darkest spot today and these words pop to mind, “Lean back. Look up. Let God.” Lifting my eyes from the fast, powerful current of the Chattahoochee River, I notice the silhouette of trees on the other side of the river, reaching to join the dark ground and the dawning sky. I am surprised at how much more light and contrasting colors fill my eyes with companionship right now. I walk along further to the most narrow, most treacherous part of the path. On the bank of the loud rushing stream I stop today. Tears flood me as I think, “This water is doing only what God has created it to do. What is so frightening about standing still beside this God-ordained power? Might I follow the stream’s example, doing “only what God has created me to do?” Might Spiritual Direction training be pulling me downstream to God’s ordained plan for me? As I walk today’s steps towards the end of the path, I realize that another little person looking out the window seeking a “note back and forth” companion was me as a kid, looking out the window above my Berea, Ohio bed, watching flakes snow and blow in the glow of the street light, counting cars as they passed by, noticing which car color I saw most each night. I think, “If I could hang a note on a clothesline, my first note to my true self would read, “Lean back. Look up. Let God lead.” As we end our walk, I hear the same animal movement to my left. This time I look up to see a white tailed deer.
I will turn the darkness into light before them
and make the rough places smooth.
These are the things I will do;
I will not forsake them, Isaiah 42:16b (NIV),
Sue
