retreat

i may never leave here.  i mean this exact spot where i am sitting.  on a flat bed swing under an acacia tree on a peninsula on the nile river.  and there is a breeze, i almost feel like i'm on a boat but with out the seasick feeling.  it's delicious. 

i'm on a retreat.
a process or place of withdrawal, affording peace and tranquility, a period of seclusion, a group activity for prayer or mediation.
all of the above.

this is the second february in a row that i've been given the gift of taking pause from life and learning from the wisdom of others, of listening, and remembering in a more focused way- the still small voice of Love.  last year i was in kenya.  now i'm in jinja.  last year i was with out my family, this year i'm with them. both times, february has been a needed time for regrouping, for stopping and asking God, who am i here and what am i doing and where are you in this?

i've never liked february as a month- too short- no good holidays sandwiched between two other months with out good holidays- and in the middle of winter when i was growing up- cold and dark.  but now, i'm beginning to love february.

this retreat is for our missions group's missionaries in uganda.  that was all i knew.  i figured it would be a lot of sharing about burn out and what's hard and what's easy and what surprises us and what we are learning about God.  honestly, i didn't feel like sharing.  i didn't feel like being an active participant.  i didn't want to have ice water and notebooks and name tags. but.  i was wrong.  we've been given a gift of just sitting still and listening.  the gift of hearing the stories of the two women who run this beautiful retreat centre (yes spelled that way- they are dutch).  they have shared their missionary stories of finding God themselves in Uganda as they worked with street youth. we heard their stories of working really hard to do good things and then getting really tired and recognizing that they needed exactly what the street kids needed- the unconditional, total accepting and forgiving love of God. just. because. they are.  just because they exist.  just because they were born - not because of what they did or didn't do. 

i love that they were talking to us, a group of missionaries, a group who knows this, and they were talking about it with the assumption that maybe we've also forgotten that. i wanted to jump up and hug them and shout 'thank you!!'  thank you for making it okay to forget the very thing i hope i'm showing to other people.  i am loved because i am- not for what i do. i don't need to do anything (or everything) to be valuable.  i'm actually not supposed to do everything- and it's kind of wrong of me to think i can.  they addressed 'burn out' from the back door.  not what it is and how to deal with it, but sneakily, why we get tired and worn down in the first place. genius.

i love that they made it okay to identify with and learn from the people they came to serve- the street youth- the orphans.  that we all have 'orphan issues'.  we all have fear issues and trust issues and lack issues and need issues- but none of us are orphans- we are all children of God.  our feeble attempts to 'prove ourselves' only serve to wear us out- it's not about what we do for God- it's what God has done and wants to do for us.  love.

one of the woman shared a story about getting the answer to a question that she'd been asking for years, from a 13 year street kid. the question was where is God in the african orphan situation? God promises to care for the orphaned- how?  the girl told her that one night she was chased out of her house by an angry step father- she ran to a tree to sleep- afraid, alone, unsure where her mother was.  she sat in that tree in the dark and remembered that God promised to care for her, so she asked God to show up.  He did.  the girl had a dream that a man was sitting in a chair calling her. she couldn't see his face but he held out his arms and they were the arms of Jesus, so she ran to him and he held her all night long- she felt safe and not alone and not afraid.  she was cared for- not rescued- not moved out and into a safe environment- not problem solved- but she felt loved. she felt cared for. she felt the everlasting arms and that night, it was enough. 

it was my dream when pregnant with jude.  when God showed up and i was held- i was given peace- promise was fulfilled.

it's often not what we want it to look like.  it's often not big and beautiful and sexy and 'fixed'.  it's often slow and painful and seems very broken and hopeless when God shows up.  but.  He shows up.

lately i've been tired in a deep way. i've been trying and giving but my spirit has been broken. i haven't been giving out of fullness, i haven't been giving out of overflow.  i have been scrapping the bottom of the barrel and feeling the hurt of that.  i have forgotten to rest in Him. i have forgotten that sometimes the absolute right thing to do is to say 'no'.  that sometimes my tired, succumbed 'yes' could be interfering in someone else's story- someone elses process- someone elese season.  my sacrificial 'yes', driven out of fatigue or fear, could be wrong. 

i am that little girl in the tree sometimes.  so are you. 
i have orphan-ish issues.  i am loved- unconditionally. so are you.
i need to remember the promise.  i need to daily ask God to show up.  maybe so do you.
i need to listen the still small voice.  i need to rest in it. so do you.

the wind is picking up. the air around me smells watery and lake like.  a heron is building a nest.  a small fisher boat just pulled up his net. dragonflies are everywhere.  life is full and we are here- where ever we are.  the brokenness will continue- but there is healing. there will be seasons and orphans and self-doubt and trying too hard until we realize the answer is before us.  we are so loved. so deeply and forever loved.