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This past weekend, 20 women from St. John’s made their way to Rehoboth Beach for a retreat. There we rested in the hospitality of Memorial House, a ministry of the Episcopal Church in Delaware. We had space for rest, renewal, and connection in a beautiful setting. Our theme was “Wilderness Blessings,” and we wove together poems, stories of biblical wilderness, and our own experience of wilderness in our conversations. There was space in our days to rest, walk on the beach, or talk together over coffee.
When we find ourselves in the wilderness, be it the wilderness of illness, grief, or in the midst of a“what now?!” period, it is often a time of challenge and growth. In scripture, wilderness is a place of transformation and revelation. There people like Hagar, Moses, Jacob, and Jesus experience disorientation and reorientation.
Wilderness experiences make us pay attention and tend to the most important things.
Below, you’ll find one of the poems we returned to over the weekend multiple times. I recognize what a privilege it is to have the resources and time to take two nights away for a retreat. It’s one not all of us can take.
Perhaps you might pause now for a micro-retreat—a moment of pause and respite. Grab a cup of coffee, sip some water, take a breath or two before you read what follows. Or maybe you can step outside to listen to it on a walk or your drive to work.
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“Many of the poems in this book were written as responses to hearing the stories of people who lived through troubles. The poem titles have spaces between each letter as a way of indicating the importance of silence, listening, grief and the things beyond words.”
-from Sorry For Your Troubles by Pádraig Ó Tuama, (xiii)
T h e F a c t s o f L i f e Pádraig Ó Tuama
That you were born
and you will die.
That you will sometimes love enough
and sometimes not.
That you will lie
if only to yourself.
That you will get tired.
That you will learn most from the situations
you did not choose.
That there will be some things that move you
more than you can say.
That you will live
that you must be loved.
That you will avoid questions most urgently in need of
your attention.
That you began as the fusion of a sperm and an egg
of two people who once were strangers
and may well still be.
That life isn’t fair.
That life is sometimes good
and sometimes even better than good.
That life is often not so good.
That life is real
and if you can survive it, well,
survive it well
with love
and art
and meaning given
where meaning’s scarce.
That you will learn to live with regret.
That you will learn to live with respect.
That the structures that constrict you
may not be permanently constricting.
That you will probably be okay.
That you must accept change
before you die
but you will die anyway.
So you might as well live
and you might as well love.
You might as well love.
You might as well love.
Sarah Akes-Cardwell
Associate for Parish Life & Family Ministry
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