Retreat: Where I Learn to Be Patient

"Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of - throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself."

- C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

When we hand God the agenda for a retreat without any stipulations or expectations, we are at our most vulnerable. I didn't realize this, of course. I floated into April unaware and oblivious of what might happen.

I'm at a transitional point. I must begin a new life. Building a new structure often means tearing down old constructions first. I know this, but I was still surprised.

By degrees, I was led through these five principles:

1. To live fully now, I must release the past. My hands and heart must be emptied before they can receive the gift of a new life.

2. To release my past, I must remember it. Vividly.

3. When I remember it, I must also recognize its value.

4. As I recognize its value, I will recognize my loss, because something valuable is no longer present.

5. I must release what I once had with love and tenderness and say "goodbye" in a meaningful way. Ultimately, facing loss is essential to beginning a new life.

These steps can be very emotional and therefore labor-intensive. They take time.

Over the past month, I went through sorrow and wind and rain, and I came out on the other side where the sun was shining and morning breezes lifted the sweat from my soul. It was worth the effort. It was essential work.

It was my next step.

But I could not see my need until I was still and quiet. Nor could I see it all at once. I could only grasp it in pieces. Like a construction project, there were stages, each distinct -- all adding up to a complete project. Mostly, I needed patience while God did the work.

Impatience would have ended things too soon.

Do you feel impatient when a new work is starting in your life? Do you have trouble waiting for change? Do you think grief is part of new beginnings?