1. If you forgot to bring it, you don’t need it.
2. If you need to check in at home, do that, but turn off your cell phone and give your family an emergency number to contact you at.
3. Dress comfortably, and it doesn’t matter what season it is, bring an extra sweater.
4. Safety First for Travel – flashlight, nightlight, doorstop, non-skid socks or slip-on shoes/slippers.
5. Bring a camera and a journal.
This weekend, I’m going on a the-day retreat. I’m looking forward to being energized and rejuvenated, and I’ve been thinking of my recent retreats and how to use my time this Lent to keep that energy flowing.
Tell us about the last experience you had that left you feeling fresh, energized, and rejuvenated. What was it that had such a positive effect on you?
This is my first original piece of artwork from my retreat with Bro. Mickey McGrath.
I had the pleasure of meeting Bro. Mickey at a summer retreat last year. It was one of those wonderful cross-sections of everything you want a retreat to be: fun, contemplative, spiritual, artistic, creative while bringing you closer to yourself and to G-d.
These are three of his many works: the first is a card; the second was posted on his website.
This third one is in honour of today’s Solemnity of Mary:
I hope you enjoy his work as much as I do.
….in the best sense of the word: Former church, current library:
This is the Cohoes Public Library in the city of Cohoes, upstate NY
You are never too old to set another goal or to dream a new dream.
– C. S. Lewis
Prior to two years ago, I hadn’t known much about Jesus, either the man or the Son of G-d. As a child, we never learned about his Jewish heritage, and anyone who had ever reminded us that He was Jewish did so in a condescending, but ‘he’s better now’ way.
Growing up, most of our friends were Christian, but our neighborhoods and schools were mixed, so being either was not terribly strange for us. I understood that Christmas was Jesus’ birthday, although I really did not understand Easter at all. It seemed strange to me, but all in all it wasn’t that big a deal.
I’ve always believed in G-d. Despite that most Jews don’t, I’ve always believed in an afterlife. I have this love-hate relationship with a Shirley Temple movie that takes place on a boat with a boy and it’s supposed to be heaven, both pre-birth and after-death, I don’t know. I feel the same way about Dead Again and DOA.
I follow the traditions of my family’s holidays, and carried that over to my married and family life. While we didn’t have a Seder, we did observe Passover, and consumed no bread for eight days. My kids would bring bag lunches to school during the holiday. We still use my parents’ menorahs at Chanukah.
When I wandered into the church two years ago in March, no one, especially me would have expected that twenty-five months later, I would be baptized Catholic. It hadn’t occurred to me. Not even for a moment.
Afterwards, the hardest question I have been asked sounds so simple: “Why did you decide to become Catholic?” Or alternatively, “why did you decide to join the Catholic Church?”
Unfortunately, for simple questions there is no simple answer.
The most truthful answer is that I didn’t choose anything, but there is no thirty-second sound bite to follow that introduction to the answer of my conversion or as I like to describe it, my transition.
In the middle of an unexpected crisis, I took the words of the Count of Monte Cristo (wait and hope) and a sign in Schenectady (Job) and together they were a sign that I needed a place to think. Not an hour before, I thought I would stop in and hide myself in a pew, but thought that idea was slightly crazy. Now, with Job leading the way, I drove back towards home and went in.
There were two main reasons that I allowed myself to go. One, no one would ask me why I was there, and two, no one would ask me to leave. Somehow, deep down, I knew both of those things.
That evening, a friend, G in Philadelphia posted a choir rendition of Psalm 23 and T in Nebraska sent me an uplifting, supportive message. Two weeks later, T suggested that I stay for Mass, telling me that Easter Masses were really beautiful. I couldn’t be there for Easter Day (family plans), but I began on the Tuesday during Holy Week in 2012.
I have gone to daily Mass ever since.
Sometime after that, I was still continuing to wander in when the spirit moved me (whether this was the Holy Spirit or just some paranormal poke, I didn’t know at the time, but strongly believed in the latter more than the former.)
So far, every time I had been there randomly, the odd verse or Scripture that I read or more frighteningly the chosen Gospel or reading for that day spoke to me in very real ways. Not the typical, you will overcome what is ailing you, but very specific, the person you’ve avoided for the last three days will call you after dark.
Obviously, that’s not really a scripture, but it was specific like that.
The first time, I was upset; I was crying, and I sat down, picked up the missalette, opened it to a random page, and read, “Cry to me in distress and I will hear you.”
I looked around, thinking Candid Camera, but it was pretty much on the mark and it never disappointed.
The incense would remind me of something long forgotten. The tree in my line of sight reminded me so strongly of Wales that I would tear up. When someone would shake my hand, it was electric. I’d ask a question, ask for a sign, and the bells would chime, and I would know the answer.
When my priest returned from his pilgrimage to Rome, the way he talked about Rome was the way I felt about Wales. He told a story of a red steamer trunk that first week, and that has stayed with me, and motivates me as I try to declutter my life, mostly my mind, and hopefully the rest will follow.
One day, I was sitting there, just thinking quietly. I don’t even remember what I was thinking about, if there was something specific or if I was asking for guidance, or just strength, but there was a moment of uncertainty, a hesitation. I still don’t know if it was mine or someone – something – else’s.
As unbelievable as it sounds, I turned my head and there was this bright light. Not the shape of a man, not the shape of an angel, but a glowing, shimmery white light, broader across the top, tapering at the bottom. No cross, no halo, just light.
I didn’t hear any words, and I didn’t speak.
I just stared into the light.
Just before it faded, I knew.
I just knew.
Everything.
I didn’t need an explanation. I didn’t need to hear the words, “Follow me.” I didn’t need a history book or witnesses to miracles.
I just believed.
I understood; well, as much as anyone can.
I finally grasped what Easter meant.
I had no doubt who Jesus was; that he was Son of Man and Son of G-d. There was no more, ‘hows or whys.’
I didn’t even think about joining the Church; I was happy just knowing, just having the remarkable experience of Jesus metaphorically taking my hand and leading me out of darkness.
My visits to Mass became more meaningful after that. I don’t know when I knew that I was truly missing something during the Eucharist, but once I began with my first Communion at Easter, I knew that a piece of me was returned.
On Sunday, I woke up not knowing what I would do for the day. My family would be home again later in the afternoon or early evening, but I still had most of the day to myself.
As I wrote in my journal, what better place to start the journey this week but at the train station.
In the last five years, I’ve been luckily been able to travel in three of those years: Wales in 2009, Denver in 2011, and Williamsburg, Virginia in 2013. By far, the trek with the least amount of travel stress was in 2013 when I took Amtrak. I would love to do that again. I loved the traveling by train.
I spent about two hours there, amid the noise of hellos and goodbyes, the Red Caps rushing about helping passengers, people asking for the bathrooms, a man working on his laptop, even a Tardis hat. I had a bag for my books and things, so I didn’t look out of place.
I took out my Kindle and read the first part of James Martin’s Together on Retreat. His first prayer was the calling of the first disciples. Jesus’ very simple, but powerful “Follow me” said out loud what I felt when he called me two years ago. I think that sometime this week, I might be ready to write about that in more detail.
After the train station, I followed the signs to a place where you could look across the river to the Albany skyline. I was surprised at how close I was to the water. To be honest, this looked like the place in the movies where you find the dead body or where the thugs take you to shoot you in the head and let you fall into the water, never to be seen again.
Despite this, there was a playground nearby with laughing children, painted murals on the highway support pylons, which after Doctor Who’s most recent episode, Flatlines, made me very, very, very nervous. I took pictures of the boats, of the water, of the bridge above me and the tall buildings across the way.
It wasn’t the Sea of Galilee that Fr. Martin was writing about, but it was still a beautiful place to meditate on a few things.
I haven’t sorted out what I’m doing with the rest of my week. I had only formally planned Monday and Saturday.
Monday, at my church was their annual Anointment Mass, and with my current health issues, I was really looking forward to going to this healing mass. It was beautiful, and very moving. There was music, which I loved singing with; most of the songs I’d had a little knowledge of, and the Fathers came to where we were sitting to anoint us and give us the Eucharist. It was very welcoming and intimate, and I got a lot out of it. They also served a lunch, and I sat with people I’d just met. It was lovely.
Out of the blue I’ve decided to drive out to the St. Kateri Tekakwitha shrine tomorrow. We’ll see what I find there.
Hopefully, all will be well, as was quoted from Julian of Norwich during the homily.
When my writer’s conference up and left to parts unaffordable, I tried to set up my own writer’s retreats; a solid week to concentrate on me as the writer with minimal upheaval to my family and my pocketbook. I would be home in the morning to send the kids to school, and then after Mass, I’d spend the day out, writing, visiting places I didn’t typically get to visit, taking photographs and making plans.
And, of course, writing.
It was good for my depression, and good for my soul, and fortunately, it didn’t upset the household balance too much.
Oftentimes, it reminded me of my solo trip to Wales that was a godsend and a challenge and spiritual and so many other things that five years later, I still write about the wonder of it all; about the aloneness but the comfort in that aloneness; that sense I had of self, and the want to do it all again.
Yes, even the driving on the wrong side of the road, which is less a string of expletives and more a warm musing of my adventures.
The Spring Enrichment offered by our Diocese fed my soul in a similar way, although I’m not sure I would call that a retreat per se. Some parts of it were certainly that positive aloneness, time to meditate, but other portions were too exhilarating; too mind racing to be mistaken for a private retreat. It was less solitary, but it also led me out of my comfort zone in several other ways: asking questions, introducing myself to speakers and strangers alike, getting involved in conversations, offering my opinions. I was comfortable enough to be me for a little while.
This past summer, I had the opportunity to attend a spiritual retreat. I hadn’t ever gone on one before; everything there was new to me. This was a weekend of prayer and artistry, no artistic talent needed. A retreat director, artist Brother Mickey McGrath guided us through his five sessions giving our creativity an outlet through prayer and bringing us closer to G-d, whether or not we were drawing religious symbols or objects from nature, like flowers and leaves. Except for our private rooms, we shared classes, prayer and group meals.
For this retreat, I’d need drawing paper and colored pencils and as I mentioned I’d have my own room. It was very exciting, and it was a little intimidating, and very much out of my comfort zone, but for the most part, I was looking forward to it.
All of it.
The packing, the unpacking, the communal bathroom down the hall, meeting strangers, all here for our own reasons seeking our own spiritual fortunes; the quiet, the nature, the prayer, the wonder of something new and old at the same time, all taking place in G-d’s presence.
Typically, I’m not much for being alone, but this was different. For starters, I loved my room. A bed, a chair, a desk. It sounds spartan, but it was homey. There was a ceiling fan and a big window next to the bed. I almost didn’t want to leave the room. The wifi didn’t reach the room and cell service was spotty, but that was a good thing. It gave me the quiet space to meditate, to think, to write.
It was two and a half days of good food, good company, and good meditating time. I was surprised by my drawings. I enjoyed doing the mandalas. I also think I did pretty well; my drawings came out better than I expected since I’m not much of an artist. I drew my favorite flower – the daffodil. I drew the triquetra that’s been so important to me lately.
Once I got home, I started drawing small circular badges to use on my website. It made me feel like I’ve accomplished something artistically. I wasn’t overly critical of myself as I usually had a tendency to be.
I prayed. We had prayer services every day, and Mass on Saturday night plus I sat in the courtyard with my journal and prayed the rosary. It was the first time I felt connected to the rosary in a meaningful way, and it started me praying with it a little more regularly once the retreat was over.
This is my introduction to this week’s retreat. I’m doing something a little bit unlike what I’ve done before on my other ‘retreats’.
I’ve done the writing retreat and now I’ve done the spiritual retreat. Last year, I was fortunate enough to travel to Williamsburg, a gift from my best friend, which was a kind of retreat in itself.
However, beginning tomorrow (maybe even parts of today), I’m doing both, maybe more. If I can plan it out and prepare my family, I should be able to recharge my batteries on so many levels before the holidays surprise us like they do every year.
For regular readers here, I have had the new weekly format in place for two weeks now, and it seems that people like it. I do. I’m very comfortable with it, and since my family is always taking my computer, I’ve even made sure that I can post the first couple of days each week from my Kindle, my very favorite piece of technology that I own.
This week it’s hard to say if my posts will be feast or famine.
I do have plans, reflections I want to write, places I want to pray, thoughts and scripture that I want to meditate on, continuing my creative recovery through The Artist’s Way book, ending next Saturday with a full day creative retreat at a nearby Dominican Retreat Center.
I’m also using Fr. James Martin’s book, Together on Retreat as the basis for the spiritual guide for me. Having just finished his recent book, Jesus: A Pilgrimage, I love his tone, his style of writing and his insights which more often than not match my own. Where we diverge, he offers questions for my own meditations. I’m looking forward to sharing my week with you.
There are so many things flying around in my head that I’m hoping to and trying to set them up in their own homes, rooms if you will, and organize them into manageable chunks.
As anxious as I am for this weekend and succeeding at my retreat, I’m also very excited.
My primary theme is to center myself spiritually through prayer and writing. Writing is my lifeblood. It is the second point of my triquetra.
My secondary theme is taking care of myself.
Focusing on me, pulling my creativity along, seeking past my comfort zone, and finding me because I’m still lost, but also combining all the positives as coping and managing tools, mechanisms for living with my depression and anxiety and letting me be me, and then be able to introduce myself to the people around me.
Griffins and Ginger Snaps 