“I’ll never stop looking for a sign
Give me a sign
Give me a signI’ll never stop looking for a sign
Give me a sign
Give me a signI’ll never stop looking for a sign
Give me a sign
Give me a sign.”
Every year for the past several, I come to this retreat and hope for a reset, and every year it feels hollow or incomplete. This year is not radically different, but a shift has undeniably happened as well. A shift in me but also a shift in the things that have trapped me in this cycle of hope and frustration—a shift that leaves me feeling surprisingly liberated.
I feel free from false expectation, but also free from bitter disappointment; free from self-doubt, but also free from self-assertion; free to see things as they are, but also free look past them; free to imagine the next chapter of my life, but also free to gently and patiently take my time.
The levees broke and washed away my confusion and angst. And now, the calm after the deluge. And soon, the bow across the sky.
This area used to be a retreat center for people with cancer, their care partners, and those who have lost a loved one to cancer. This function changed when the land was acquired by next door neighbors, and yet, here I am, another griever walking the same grove visited by many feeling similarly to me. I didn’t know that when we marked our calendars to come here. God works in mysterious ways.
There’s a “wind phone” in the woods here. “Wind phones” originated in Japan, where disconnected telephones are placed in secluded spots for people to connect with or honor their dead. The idea is that the wind will carry the unspoken words and memories beyond the veil.
I couldn’t say a word. I guess I’m still not ready. But I did leave a note in the guestbook left in the booth. And even then, I could only muster up four words.