a surrender - 51

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter seven, "freely have you received, freely give") 

We were amazed by the response to our presentation. Though some hard questions were asked, what we heard from them was almost completely positive. There was a surprising feeling of energy from the community, and the sense that we all wanted to work together to figure out a way through the difficulties. Our personal visits with a number of people in the following days confirmed that impression. We were thrilled.

“I will give you rest,” the wind had whispered in the pines. After working so hard, for months without a pause to catch our breath, and searching and struggling for two years until we were about to give up, the answer had been on a cluttered desk, in a newsletter about a retreat house for poor people. And a memory of a farm once visited. It felt like a miraculous gift.

The next morning I woke up even earlier and couldn’t sleep any more. But this time it felt like I was a kid on Christmas morning. I didn’t want to miss anything.

Three months later, we were married. A beautiful, grassy clearing in the woods was offered for the ceremony, and a simple cabin for our honeymoon. The cake was amazing, decorated with wild Sweet William blossoms, a gift made by a woman who lived on the farm. Heather’s aunt offered to arrange the flowers. Her uncle, the pastor, performed the marriage and her aunt, the music director at their church, arranged and performed the songs we had chosen, along with other musician friends. A friend gave me a beautiful Guatemalan shirt to wear. And Heather made her lovely white wedding dress. Many other people at the farm volunteered to help set up and decorate, and clean up afterwards, and also offered hospitality to many of our friends and family from out of town. And to us as well. An older couple had shared their home with us when we moved to the farm, and continued to do so through the first few months of our marriage.

During the wedding, under a towering oak, tinged with the new green of spring, Heather and I read to everyone from the psalms:

This poor man cried, 
and the Lord heard him, 
and saved him 
out of all his troubles. 
O taste and see 
that the Lord is good; 
happy are those 
who take refuge in God. 

The sparrow 
has found a home,
and the swallow 
a nest for herself, 
where she may lay 
her young.
O magnify the Lord 
with me,
let us exalt God’s name 
together.
I sought the Lord, 
and he answered me, 
and delivered me 
from all my fears.

Look to God, 
and be radiant; 
so your faces will never 
be ashamed.  

Continued...

a surrender - 50

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter seven)

 

freely have you received,

freely give

 

I woke up very early on the morning we were meeting with the farm community. Hours before dawn. This was the day that we would ask them if we could start a retreat house here and invite poor people. Their answer would determine if this was finally the place where Heather and I could live and work together. And maybe start a family. After years of looking and trying, it felt like we were running out of time. If we couldn’t live here either, it seemed maybe we should stop trying, maybe we weren’t meant to have a life together. It hurt to think about that. But more than once in the previous months, people from the farm had cautioned us not to get our hopes up. The timing didn’t seem right. There just wasn’t the space right now. These thoughts and feelings crowded around me in the cold darkness.  

I got out of bed and wrapped a coat around my shoulders. Sat on the floor and closed my eyes. And tried not to think about the news of the night before, that a tornado had hit the town where my parents live (and that I got only out-of-service signals when I tried to call). I tried not to think about what Heather and I would do if our idea was rejected that morning. I tried to focus on the psalm that had pressed itself into my mind the day before. “This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him, and saved him out of all his troubles.” I tried to feel God’s presence, reassurance, support. It was so dark out. I felt so helpless.

I don’t know how long I sat there. I think the sound of the whispering crept into my consciousness before I looked out the window and saw it. The wind in the pines. It was bright enough by then to see the movement, the gentle swaying. I watched the trees dancing and remembered the church courtyard.

Then I rose in the peace of that moment and ate and walked with Heather through the snow to find out what God had for us.

Continued...

a surrender - 49

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter six, "there are no heroes in the kingdom of God")

I had come to be a hero, and in less than a year I had been reduced to nothing. It felt like utter failure. But I don’t think it actually was, any more than that dark moment in the monastery garden had been a failure. The power of God comes through surrender, the surrender of the broken. And at that moment I was much closer to surrender again than when I had arrived at that house. It was true that I had miserably little to give. But God had much to give. I was starting to realize that if I was really going to help anyone, it wouldn’t be by my heroic efforts. It would be by telling and showing them the truth. So they could be helped in the same way I was being helped. It would be by pointing them to the power of God, like Jesus did. There’s nothing heroic about that. There are no heroes in the kingdom of God.

A month later, Heather and I were preparing to leave. After a long correspondence, we were going to the retreat house I had read about. Then there was a knock at the front door, and someone asked for me. And there was Richard and Cassie on the porch again. They were smiling. They had jobs now, and a place to live. They had heard we were leaving and wanted to stop by and say thank you. I was happy for them. I didn’t know if they would really make it this time, but I hoped they would. It didn’t feel to me like there was much to thank me for. But I was grateful to them for coming to tell me their good news.

Heather and I liked the retreat house. After more than two years together, we thought we might finally have found a place where we could live and start a family. One night we danced round and round under the bright moon, we were so hopeful. But after two weeks there, the couple that ran the place sat us down. They told us, in astonishingly harsh and accusing terms, all the things we had done wrong. And there would be no chance for us to try to understand and improve. We had to go. We were so shocked that both of us started crying right there, while they were still talking.

The next day, I remembered another community we had visited, like the one where Heather and I met, only it was way out in the country, on a farm. I suddenly thought that would be a good place to start a retreat house.

 

Continued...

a surrender - 48

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter six, "there are no heroes in the kingdom of God")

Soon after, I took a few weeks away. Some friends at the community where Heather and I met had asked if I’d be willing to teach some computer skills to the man I used to care for. It seemed like a good time to take a break, so I was glad to do it.

When I came back, I happened to see a newsletter on a cluttered desk. It was about a retreat house for poor people. A married couple had worked in a house like ours for many years, then moved out to the country and started a retreat house. They invited people from shelters and other ministries to come for weekend spiritual retreats. For free. They even paid their transportation costs. It sounded very interesting to me, so I contacted them. They were looking for volunteers, and suggested we get more familiar with the spiritual approach of 12-step programs (like Al-Anon), and keep in touch with them.

That made me feel hopeful. But then I also happened to hear that Richard was in jail. And the woman that Heather had taken to the motel was homeless again, and was showing up at our house sometimes, loudly demanding things. James had been asked to stop camping out in the back yard. His frequent drinking and drug use was attracting other users. It felt overwhelming.

Then, about a week later, Richard showed up after dark and asked for me. He said he was depressed again, needing to talk to someone. He showed me his left wrist. It was mostly healed, but there were jagged gouges in the flesh, and metal staples that had been used to close the wound. I sat with him for a few minutes, heard that this had been his thirteenth suicide attempt, and suddenly felt that I was in way over my head. I listened to him a bit more. I mentioned my Al-Anon experience and asked him if he’d considered a group like that. Then I helped him call a local pastor he knew (who wasn’t home) and the local suicide-prevention crisis line. That call didn’t seem to go very well. After talking a while he grew frustrated and hung up, storming off. I couldn’t stop him.

I prayed for him that night. I wished I had done better. I wished I had more to offer him. But I felt like I had nothing left. Whatever I had to give had always been too little, and now even that was gone.

Continued...