Beginning to retreat

I am doing a writing retreat with my friend Kathleen at La Casa resort in BC’s Okanagan. My brother Tom has this cottage and offered it for writing, so I accepted. Kathleen and I came late yesterday evening via a twisting, turning, rather suicidal road we thought might never end! But we survived and arrived to the delightful spot. When I awoke around 8:30 this morning, Kathleen had been up since six and had already written 1300 words about our adventure. I asked her for an excerpt to share with you:

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The sun places its hands on the window frame and leans around the corner peeking through the glass, between the slats of the blinds to see if I am there. Seconds later he leans in close and touches my cheek. “Are you awake?”

“So tired,” I say.

“Go back to sleep, I’ll come back later,” he says, and slips silently away.

It is too late, his touch has stirred me and my mind begins to wander over trails once traveled. He has retreated to a respectful distance but I am awake. He comes no nearer, fearing to tempt me to leave my sleep, but I know he is out there, waiting, and I cannot go back. I have begun to walk down the path of a new day. Words, like manna begin to fall from my fingers, onto the keys, spilling out, filling the page. There will be just so much, enough for the day, no more.

I remember picking wild strawberries with my mom and sisters as a child. The precious little jewels plinking so quietly into the yogurt container. Pinking my fingers and sometimes my lips. We dare not sample too many of the tiny sweet morsels or there will be no jars lining the pantry shelves this winter. The berries are so tiny and rare, there are few who will bother to gather them, but we are joyfully greedy, thankful for both.

Like gathering those berries, this trip was hard won. A series of small but rare and precious events. The Lord says, “I will give you what you need for the day, no more, no less.” Some times it is hard to be satisfied with that. Months ago I decided, once again, to take him seriously and do what he told me to do many years ago. No more buts. Just do what I can. Write when ever, where ever.

Waiting for Zephan at basketball camp, writing for three hours a day for five days, I realize I am a happy person when I do this. I like who I am. That is rare. (The word of the day shall be “rare”, I declare. Yesterday it was prefaced with ‘religiously”. I shall religiously write on this rare occasion.) Usually I do not like who I am. Usually I am not gathering strawberries early in the morning.

When Colleen wrote and told me she had access to this cottage and would I join her for a writing retreat I could not believe it. As God promised, after I agreed to do the job, he would provide the desert and the manna. Our rations consisted of microwave popcorn, a bag of raw quinoa, a bottle of club soda, a box of chocolate, two oranges and two grapefruit. I’m hungry but am I hungry enough to travel that road again so soon? In the valley below the field is full of wild strawberries ready to be picked. The sun is shining, it’s a new day. Yes, I am ready. Let the plinking and pinking begin!

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We have since gone shopping. Our pantry is now amply stocked for the next 4.5 days and we have warm blankets for our beds. Let the writing proceed!