faith

I wasn’t blogging last week because I was here.

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Sometimes life gets so full of noise that you can’t hear yourself, God, or anyone else. So last weekend, I did something I’d wanted to try for several years: a weekend retreat at a monastery.

I didn’t exactly plan on a silent retreat, and while the atmosphere wasn’t strictly silent for the four days I was there, talking/noise was definitely at a minimum, especially compared to what I’m used to here in the hectic, hyper-connected Silicon Valley.

At first the silence was challenging and awkward, especially when I realized the nuns and guests weren’t supposed to talk during mealtimes. There was a lot of chewing and silverware clinking. And the refrigerator droning.

But over that first hill of awkwardness, silence can be…amazing.

First all the yucky stuff from inside comes up; all the excess noise and stuffed-away thoughts. But then, like the calm that comes after a long, hard hike, better things begin to well up. Things like a quiet knowledge of the closeness of God. A sense of what’s right to do next in your life. And creativity. Lots of creativity.

You start to notice, really see, what’s around you—like the way morning dew condenses on pine needles and turns them silver.

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Or the way a clump of sun-rushed leaves looks like a bloom of butterflies.

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For the first time in a REALLY long time, I even stepped away from my camera shutter button and tried sketching some flowers by hand from the monastery garden. Unlike Ellie in my novel, I don’t have a natural talent for drawing, and I lack the patience to really practice and learn, but when you sketch a flower, you’re really forced to look at it and notice its details. You have to stop and sit with it, and teach your pencil to mimic its wild curves and shadows. In the absence of Photoshop, you notice the imperfections of real things in nature. But you also marvel at their complexity and wonder.

Monastery Sketch-Briar Rose

Silence doesn’t happen by accident, and it can be a costly challenge to flee from noise and face the first wave of unpleasant thoughts. But…beyond that…

…silence can be truly breathtaking.

I am writing this post while wearing a tiara. (It’s quite fun; you should try it sometime. I think maybe it helps me to write better.)

It came from a women’s retreat, where I was privileged to address a group of lovely women last Saturday. We gathered to discover what “Once Upon A Time” (one of my favorite phrases in the world) means for women trying to live as Christians in an often confusing world.

I don’t love large crowds of strangers, and assumed I would feel awkward at this retreat. Although these glittery tiaras were temptingly arrayed on the tables when we walked in, I self-consciously left them there until I saw the other women putting them on with gusto. Green, blue, pink, purple crowns sparkled in gray hair, red hair, black hair, sparse hair. Women who had fussed with their straightening irons or their ponytail holders before coming, now laughed and let the plastic combs do their worst. It was time for me to learn to go with it. I was glad I did. Because for a few hours, we all got to be little girls playing princess.

Playing princess: something I have practice at

Some of the things said at the retreat were quite serious. We talked about destructive messages about outward beauty and the constant temptation to be self-centered. The longing to be beautiful consumes many women, who turn to eating disorders, plastic surgery, or a constant negative self-image as a result. Some women appear very beautiful outwardly, even while they climb over others to put themselves first. It broke my heart to see the nodding and tears in the audience as we discussed these personal and painful issues.

Image courtesy of stock.xchng and zielnet

Beauty is often portrayed as something to be bought; a hopeless ideal that no woman without an airbrush can ever really achieve. The recent Dove beauty commercial takes strides toward achieving a more realistic standard, but its focus is still on the outside. Real beauty, that doesn’t depend on age, ethnicity, acne, freckles, height, weight, or whatever, comes from the inside. It’s the beauty of quiet strength, of a servant heart. It’s the difference between cheap, glitzy rhinestones and hard-as-nails diamonds.

Image courtesy of stock.xchng and jc_2086

But at this retreat, we did not neglect to be silly as well. With games like purse scavenger hunts (even I was surprised at what came out of my purse) and toilet-paper dressmaking, this group of strangers was soon laughing like a gathering of sisters. One of the sweetest sights I’ve ever seen was a woman in her seventies, dolled up in tissue paper and masking tape. Instead of turning up her nose at the situation or soldiering through it disapprovingly, she pulled out a pair of sunglasses and slipped them on with sass to complete the look. Because winning a dress-up contest is a serious achievement, to be embraced with glamor and pizzazz.

I guess last Saturday was one of those events where I went expecting to give, but unexpectedly received. I learned from the teaching and the singing. But more significantly, I was dazzled by the beauty of the women God has made. As they carried crock-pots and stacked chairs, cracked jokes and sang snatches of Disney songs, sorted the junk that came out of each other’s purses and twirled girlishly around in plastic tiaras, their spirit–their faith–our new-forged friendship–took my breath away.

What have you learned about beauty lately? About friendship?