The Frio splashes on tires, and Charity rolls down the window so we can bathe in the sound of it. Right away I feel a shift in my spirit and a nauseous-not-nauseous sense in the pit of my stomach–anticipation as I melt into this thin place that’s thick with the presence of God. The sacred embraces us, and bushes flame all around.
I’ve retreated here to Laity Lodge in the hill country of Texas for a long weekend with members of The High Calling.
The bubbling and tumbling of the main fountain greets us, and the water seems louder this time even in the small places, like where it trickles from Anna’s fountain and down the rocks by the library.
And then there’s the rain that comes in a mist, in droplets, and in sheets that blow across the river.
The weather’s not conducive to building cairns with Gordon, so he invites us down to the library to talk about the wellspring of creativity that flows through our unconscious minds and how to tap into that dam even when writing under deadline. The room is chilly, and some share blankets stretched across their laps as we chat.
Gordon invites us to sit in silence for a stretch of time, and I don’t know where to look if I’m facing the group. I know if I close my eyes, there’s a good chance I’ll fall asleep. So I turn my back on everyone to stare out the window at the river and the burning bushes that line it.
We talk about the importance of paying attention to things around us, and Gordon tells of an impression he saw in the stone floor that reminded him of an ear pressed in tight… listening?
He tells us to pretend we’re children, to explore the room like a child, to see what catches our attention. I’m drawn first to the bookcase and touch shelves and spines and leaf through pages. I open cupboards and drawers. Some spaces are completely empty. Some hold kitchen items of hospitality. Someone has found some little white balls and spends most of the time spinning them. Others are intrigued with stacks of drink coasters and their designs. Another strokes the wood table and later describes it as closest to its mother.
Thanks to Amy Breitmann for this photo
I’m uninterested in any of this and find myself again in front of the window that’s now coated with condensation from… the breath of life that flows inside this room? As I watch the river, I notice a mist rise and fall from it’s surface, and I’m mesmerized by it. I know scientifically the water’s probably warmer than the air, that I’m seeing it evaporate only because the air is colder.
But I’m arrested by the impression that the river is breathing. I lean in closer and seem to see the surface rise and fall.
It’s alive.
The river is alive.
It flows with tears that have been shed here, beats with hearts that have fluttered here.
It breathes life to this canyon, in this place where the breath of life itself hovers and breathes life into chaotic lives.
And in this cold, thin place, we’re all wrapped up in the warmth of it.
Standing here on holy ground, I press my ear against the veil and listen. I melt into the the breath of this presence, embraced by the sacred beside the burning bushes that flame all around.
Still breathing,
Sandy
With Laura…
Good gracious, this is good! I wish I’d stayed for the rest of the workshop, by that darned cold was telling my subconscious to get my body to bed. It was an amazing weekend, yes? Your words — here, and on Friday night are some of the best ever.
Oh, thank you, friend. You needed the rest. I still can’t stop thinking about turning our backs on burning bushes. I’ve been hunting YouTube for your mom with no luck. But just so you know, I’d sail in a sunfish to Bermuda with you any day. 🙂
You do see so much, Sandy, and then help us see. Thank you. It’s impossible not to take a deep breathe after reading this.
You encourage me so, Ann. Grateful for you.
yes, this breath
the fall of tears
the warm blanket of His embrace
we were here
Oh, Karin. That’s lovely. Yes, we were here in the fall of tears–and the autumn of laughter. 🙂
Love it. So thoughtful. That impression of a breathing river that was gifted to you by your unconscious found a nice home when your conscious mind worked it over into this form.
Lovely to be with you at LL once again.
g
It was good to spend some extended time with you, G. I’m still bummed that I didn’t actually see the ear. You need to show it to me next year. 🙂
Thanks again for giving of yourself this weekend.
This is just lovely, Sandy. I find I’m holding my breath as I read. Longing for that breathing river…
I know. I miss it already, too. It’s waiting for us to return. In the meantime, it flows in us.
I love all the watery words, and that photo of you (with what looks like a full-body halo), and its interplay with the background photo of the same river in a warmer season.
Oooo… a full-body halo. Cool. 🙂
So blessed to have been able to hear you talk about this with Gordon and then read this. What a blessing this living water was to us. Almost as good as THE living water:-) And to be able to read the stories and relive it again and again through words as beautiful as these – well, it’s a gift. Thanks friend!
What a delight to meet and spend some time with you, Jen! Yes, this water IS almost as good as THE water. I love going back to everyone’s stories during the year. It keeps it all alive until the next time.
And I’m so glad you and the other Jen had each other to lean on the other day. 🙂
Hi Sandra,
This is beautiful. So full of peace, and tranquility. What a blessed spot. Some day I would like to visit there.
In the meantime I feel the peace of His Presence wherever I am – He is here.
Many blessings,
Janis
I am following you from Playdates and would love if you would link to Sunday Stillness.
Hi Janis,
So glad to see you here.
That’s one of the things we talked about over the weekend. That wherever our feet land is holy ground.
And thanks for the invitation to Sunday Stillness. I’ll try to get into the habit of linking. 🙂 Blessings to you, friend.
Miss Sandra – it’s so very purty here, both in word and image.
Blessings.
Oh, Miss Darlene. I so want to take your picture by the river…
Love it.
Love you.
Sandy,
I always enjoy your photos and your words…it was such a gift to be at the retreat and to hug you in person…Yes 🙂
P.S. I am not the photographer, and I love your photos, is it okay if I use them if I link back to you with photo credit? If not, that is fine…just asking 🙂 I’m impressed you already wrote a post or two about the retreat 🙂
Absolutely you can use them, my friend.
And so, so grateful to connect face-to-face. Yay God!
So lovely, Sandy. Maybe next year, with my new knees, I can see that breathing river with my own eyes, and delight in the sweet fellowship of all who gather in that place.
Oh, be still my heart! You think? Possibly possible?
Your imagery here is amazing . . . I, too, believe in those thin places thick with God’s presence. You described it perfectly and sacredly.
Blessings, Sandy, and have a Happy Thanksgiving!
Breathing here, in and out, long and deep. Yes, I’d agree with Gordon on this one – you let your unconscious loose with this one, Sandy. Gorgeous. Truly. (And if Patricia Hunter says she’s coming next year, then I’ll make even more of an effort to get there, too.) Sounds like this did end up being more of a writing retreat than was advertised – wish I’d known that. Still would have opted out this particular year, though. Too many good things.
I told myself I would retreat this year even if it was only with God, away to a thin place thick with Presence. But I did not. You took me to this river and I smelled those ions, breathed with the river with you. Thank you for sharing this sacred time and place with us. Sometimes you have go away in your mind…and be thankful for the capacity to do so…
Your words make the beautiful pictures even more lovely. What an inspiring pair, these pictures and your words. I’m visiting from #TellHisStory, and I’m glad to be here. Happy Thanksgiving.
Dear Sandra
Just this week I was thinking about how ants see the world around them. We know they are an intelligent, highly organized and hard working species. But I wanted to know how they perceive the BIG world around them who takes so little notice of them except as pests! Words, dear Sandra, that do not give life, cannot be inspired by the Living Word for where He breathes His whispered love, everything vibrates with new life!
Blessings XX
Mia
PS I would have loved to have been there with you. I have just read Keli’s post about this amazing weekend.