Retreat!

RETREAT!!!  Finally, it was time for a break, and I was late for it.  My head throbbed as I crushed the accelerator to the floor and sped off to my writer’s retreat getaway buried deep in the beautiful, rolling hills of Amish country.   

One glance at the dashboard clock told me that I was not going to make it to the kick-off dinner at the quaint Amish restaurant just miles from our hideaway. Instead of looking forward to a haven filled with creativity and inspiration, I was focused on a much-needed break from a hard stretch of weeks caring for my adult autistic son. I had all of the telltale signs of burnout.

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For the past few months, we have maneuvered through doctor visits, emergency meetings with my adult autistic son’s day program, schedule changes, personnel changes, meltdowns, and lest I fail to mention, one very exciting visit to the ER. 

April was Autism Awareness month, and OH, DID WE SPREAD SOME AWARENESS in the emergency room that April night!  Remind me to tell you about our rogue pirate sailing his gurney ship into radiology sometime. Now, THAT is a story for another day!

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The navigation flashed the message that I had missed my exit while flowing in the steady current of Friday rush hour traffic. As I watched my navi recomputing the route, I realized that it must’ve been flashing for a while. I was furious.  

Driving at 5 pm in Columbus, Ohio, is not a choice time for a good cry. However, it was the perfect time for one of those ‘Jesus, take the wheel’ moments. Gripping the wheel hard, my "super spiritual" prayer sounded a lot like:

“Lord, I don’t feel FUN. I don’t feel creative. I’m frustrated. I’m so tired. NOW, I’m angry and I only have just over an hour to find the FUN ME again.  Help, help, help!” 

 It sure wasn’t pretty, but it was…earnest.

I stopped to scarf down a fish sandwich and a black coffee after the emotional navigation incident. I was glad that I did, because by the time I arrived for dinner, the girls were halfway through their savory selections. I greeted them pleasantly enough, careful not to get too close.  (I was confident that my breath had all the waftings of a hot dumpster.)

Slumping into my chair, I ordered yet another cup of coffee and a Crème brûlée. The weary waitress slid the ramekin dessert in front of me.  It was adorned with the freshest fruit and a perky, edible flower. Gifted at emotional eating, I deemed it ALMOST too pretty to cut into.  I was staring at the browned sugar crust when one of the girls asked me how I was doing.

“Tired, Boss,” I said, licking a purple petal from my lip. “But I needed this,” my finger weakly motioned toward all of them in the circle.

As each one of them nodded in solidarity, I glimpsed my way around the table and smirked. It was clear that we ALL felt like a cheap piñata after a child’s birthday party.  Somehow, there was a weird comfort in knowing they had shown up to the table feeling like they had the candy knocked out of them, too. 

As our time together passed, we were able to sit amongst one another in our fuzzy slippers and laptop screens. We caught up, talking about both our projects and life struggles, joking and laughing all along the way.  I soon realized that we were quite the mixed bag of warriors, all in desperate need of respite (and late-night nibbles in the kitchen).

It was a wonderful retreat, and only 36 hours later, my soul felt refreshed.  There was just something about taking off that makeup, getting comfortable, and dropping guard with a group of Christian sisters. Those ladies didn’t have to be caregivers or experience autism to understand “hanging on by a thread,” just as I didn’t need to walk in their shoes to encourage them, laugh with them, or just sit beside them for a while. We didn’t have to thoroughly understand each other’s situation to benefit from time together.

Those thoughts snuggled up with me as I slipped under my campy covers for two nights.  I had let the sweetness and the joy of simple community escape me for far too long, and I needed it far more than I thought. I drifted off to sleep each night, thanking God for a much different kind of healing balm than expected in that Holmes County farmhouse.

Before I had set my automated map for home, one of the girls shared 5 very unexpected words with me:

“You are always so fun.” 

THOSE WORDS, my friend, may have been one of the most miraculous answers to this car praying heart, yet.

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