This was to have been a life-changing poustinia (retreat) day.  The one I’d been building up to for awhile.  The one in which I would confront the uneasiness in my heart.  I was entering another chapter in my life and piercing questions were disturbing my peace:  What about my early conviction that I was called to be a saint?  What about the seeming lack of focus and intensity in my prayer life now?  What about certain weaknesses and sins that still plagued me after all these years?  Time to stop avoiding the questions.  In this poustinia I would stand before God and ask for the truth, no matter where it led.

It was supposedly the height of summer, but we’d hardly seen the sun and we certainly hadn’t experienced real warmth yet.  So, when I awoke to a bit of both, I decided I just had to sit out in the garden.  I was a little distracted, I admit, as I rolled my sleeves up and down as the sun regularly hid behind the bank of clouds…and as I periodically gave up and retreated to the poustinia – only to be lured out again by the sun’s promises to reform.

The other garden denizens were distracting, too, especially the little bunny who had taken up residence in our garden.  Sometimes I wondered if he was someone’s pet, as he was so different from the muscular hares that bounded through the neighbouring field.  He was round and cute (except when he helped himself in our vegetable garden), and he seemed a little lonely as he poked around all corners of our enormous yard before settling down close to me.

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While he snoozed in the shade of a tree near my chair, a mother robin was darting here and there, feeding her little one, and taking time out for a few bars of song.  Finally, she perched on a little branch just inches from the rabbit who had awakened and was surveying his kingdom. They seemed to commune for a little bit and then off flew the robin.

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And what a glorious kingdom, a feast for the senses: the rich green carpet of our lawn, the explosion of colours in our Mary Garden, the soft texture of the budding purple wildflowers beside me.  Occasionally a hint of perfume wafted from one of the flowers, along with a tang from freshly cut grass next door.

By this point, I’d spent half the day distracted by birds, bunnies and flowers, so I resolutely closed by eyes to focus on my life-changing questions.  Without the visual stimuli, sounds began to break through:  the gurgling splash of the brook that boarded our property, the chirping, trilling, squawking of all kinds of birds in the nearby woods,  the scampering and scolding of squirrels, the laughter of a child in the trailer park up the hill,  the constant cooing of the pigeons.  Even though I couldn’t see the source of any of these sounds, they filled the air with beauty and joy.

Joy!  This day was supposed to be my opportunity to enter my heart and confront my fears,  failures, and the need for repentance and conversion.  I had the space, the time for tears to flow, and instead, I was filled with joy and contentment.  What happened to the poustinia?  

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As I neared the end of my retreat having answered none of the big issues, I pondered what I had heard:  God is infinite, omnipotent, omniscient, so far beyond us.  And yet, He is also simplicity.  He is love.  He loves us as we are.  He fills the world with his beauty, delight, and creative energy.  We are the ones who are complicated. We have dreams, plans, ideals, expectations which may or may not be from God.  What is from God is a call to rest in our mutual love; to feast our eyes and ears on all the manifestations of His beauty and life; to keep our eyes off ourselves and firmly fixed on His mercy and goodness.  He leads us as surely as a shepherd leads his lambs, without need of our analyses, judgments, criticisms – just our trust and love.

So, I left this poustinia refreshed in spirit, but with no answers.  Or was the answer quite simply: God.