I am a rag doll washed up on the shore of a distant island
"Could it be that you have been brought here, to this place, as a kind of retreat?" It's the latest question my Counselor asked of me.
But this retreat has a shameful feeling to me somehow.
In the past, I have been the giving one. I have been the listening one, and I have been the caring one. Only now, as my joints repair themselves from the trauma of this past year and a half of the Rheumatoid Arthritis Storm, my emotions are still being tossed in the pain and fatigue of this FibroState. There is no stamina for the old ways of coping with that pain, let alone stamina to listen and to give and to show my caring. The old me is covered in shame at that thought.
And yet the waves wash over me as I slump and flump, rag-dolling my way onto the island.
Washed clean of the old
Quieted by the stillness of the slowing waters.
So I hear my soul responding:
If it's Jesus bringing me to this Retreat
Then there is nowhere else I would rather be.
I have been reading the book by the author whose website I've linked-up with this past month, Bonnie Gray, TheFaithBarista. Her book "Finding Spiritual Whitespace", is steeped in a Soul-Resting-Journey for those who feel faint-of-heart. But ironically, the traveling she offers is anything BUT faint-of-heart, requiring a new kind of strength: being carried in the arms of Jesus to the island of HIS retreating, where He brings HIS REST.