Here I am in Australia again, at a retreat centre in a place I’ve visited before. Funny that. This country is huge, but I choose a few quiet days in a little ‘burb by the sea that I’d landed in previously. I only noticed when I walked down to the shops and recognised the café, and the bookstore and . . . yep, I’ve been here before.
I had written to a few retreat centres to see about accommodation. All of them wrote back with either renovations happening or a full house or whatever, but with the recommendation that I check with this place in Manly. From them I received a gracious and welcoming reply along with directions as to which train to take from the airport. Done. Decided. No further discussion required.
As it was a sunny day, I chose to walk the short distance from the train station, only making one wrong turn. I was shown my room and told that other retreatants were here on a silent retreat from Wednesday until Tuesday. That’s okay. I didn’t come for chitchat, but for rest. Often telling people about what I do is nearly as exhausting as doing it, so I was pleased with the situation. Meals would be free of interviews, the only sound the clinking of cutlery on plates and a slurp now and then.
I’ve nearly chuckled a few times. If my friends could see me now! It’s not like I’ve committed to the silence as the others have. I’m only here for a few days. I’ve spoken briefly with the administrator and have walked down to the café where words were exchanged. I have appreciated the space though, the permission to be without conversation with those around me so as to be in conversation with myself and my God.
One lady looks like my friend, Frances. If she spoke to me, I may not like her. It may put me off my affinity to her because of her likeness to my friend. Frances, in Kentucky, will crack up when I tell her an old nun in Manly reminded me of her!
As I look at the faces and wonder about the lives of these old sisters, I can’t help but realize, they might be wondering about me too. Maybe not, but I’m 20+ years younger than any of them and have dark curly hair. They haven’t heard my accent, but my clothes must say something about me. The fact that I’m in shortsleeves when they are wearing layers needs no words. I’m not from around these here parts.
Today I slept a good bit and claimed a bench out in the sun. Tomorrow I’ll walk down to the café again and stroll along the esplanade. There’s a geocache down there just waiting to be found! The day after that my friend Tiffany and her girls will come and get me. Will my time alone affect my time with them, my time of quiet affect our conversations? Probably, but I expect it’ll be in good ways. I’ll embrace the girls with all their potential and promise and will listen to them better for having had time in this quiet ‘burb by the sea.
I had written to a few retreat centres to see about accommodation. All of them wrote back with either renovations happening or a full house or whatever, but with the recommendation that I check with this place in Manly. From them I received a gracious and welcoming reply along with directions as to which train to take from the airport. Done. Decided. No further discussion required.
As it was a sunny day, I chose to walk the short distance from the train station, only making one wrong turn. I was shown my room and told that other retreatants were here on a silent retreat from Wednesday until Tuesday. That’s okay. I didn’t come for chitchat, but for rest. Often telling people about what I do is nearly as exhausting as doing it, so I was pleased with the situation. Meals would be free of interviews, the only sound the clinking of cutlery on plates and a slurp now and then.
I’ve nearly chuckled a few times. If my friends could see me now! It’s not like I’ve committed to the silence as the others have. I’m only here for a few days. I’ve spoken briefly with the administrator and have walked down to the café where words were exchanged. I have appreciated the space though, the permission to be without conversation with those around me so as to be in conversation with myself and my God.
One lady looks like my friend, Frances. If she spoke to me, I may not like her. It may put me off my affinity to her because of her likeness to my friend. Frances, in Kentucky, will crack up when I tell her an old nun in Manly reminded me of her!
As I look at the faces and wonder about the lives of these old sisters, I can’t help but realize, they might be wondering about me too. Maybe not, but I’m 20+ years younger than any of them and have dark curly hair. They haven’t heard my accent, but my clothes must say something about me. The fact that I’m in shortsleeves when they are wearing layers needs no words. I’m not from around these here parts.
Today I slept a good bit and claimed a bench out in the sun. Tomorrow I’ll walk down to the café again and stroll along the esplanade. There’s a geocache down there just waiting to be found! The day after that my friend Tiffany and her girls will come and get me. Will my time alone affect my time with them, my time of quiet affect our conversations? Probably, but I expect it’ll be in good ways. I’ll embrace the girls with all their potential and promise and will listen to them better for having had time in this quiet ‘burb by the sea.
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