Women's Retreat

To those of you who prayed (about a month ago! Ha!) that the Women’s Retreat would be restful—thank you! It was sweet rest for my heart, even if I did sacrifice sleep to talk with friends.

The theme of this year’s retreat was “Thrive”. Most days I feel like I’m surviving, but not necessarily thriving. Like Thoreau, I long to “live deep and suck all the marrow out of life”(Walden). I want to thrive, but what does that even look like?

In our fast-paced culture, thriving is often interpreted as “having it all”—money, looks, friends, vacation time, smart kids—whatever defines success in your section of the country. But numerous studies show that having more stuff and living larger and faster doesn’t necessarily equate to more happiness. Instead, we stress ourselves out and have to see therapists. Or drink coffee.

And does personal happiness give good measure of a life is well-lived? This definition fits my selfish tendencies just fine, but as a Christian, I know that there is a higher goal: Christ Himself. To know Him, his person-hood, his agenda, his love for people and the Father—this is great end and delight for which we were made.

And Jesus was pretty blunt: to follow him, we have to lay down our lives. Since He set aside His own personal comfort to rescue me, I’m foolish if I think I can follow him without doing the same.

Ok, but didn’t Jesus come to give us “abundant life”—the life that is truly life? (John 10:10) Obviously, he doesn’t define “the good life" the way we do in America. 

As we sat under the low-beamed ceiling and paper daisies strung for the occasion, wise women in our church began to flesh out a relational side of this whole elusive “thriving” thing for us. Here are some of my take-aways: 

A thriving life is one built solidly on relationship.
   With God
   With myself
   With others

Relationships are built upon time, trust, personal security, and the repeated, courageous decision to unwall my heart. 

These elements create communion, which begets community. And community is--despite the pain of past wounds--the natural state of man, the soil in which we thrive. 

Security in my relationship with God will greatly affect my ability to feel secure in friendships with other women. 


Practially, personally, (and hopefully less Hallmark-y), these tell me, "Okay Cherise, pursuing friendships is meaningful. Don't give up. It's worth it, even if friendships hurt sometimes."

Because I have wounds. Rubbed raw by insecurities, re-opened by perceived slights, the wounds are deeper and fresher than they should be. And it takes grace and courage--tenacious, faith-propped courage--to make that coffee date, that phone call.

And relational pain is part of the package called living. Jesus said some straightforward things about that too: "In this world you will have trouble, but take heart; I have overcome the world."

I came away from the retreat feeling like a fresh wind had blown through my musty thought patterns, loosening their hold and giving me renewed hope in friendships. I am loved. And I needed the reminder. 

24 Hours: Unplugged

Did you miss me? Probably not...I only went "unplugged" for 24 hours, so it only really affected the three people who tried to text me.

My English professor has been lecturing about Postmodernism, and she issued a challenge for extra credit: get rid of the "white noise" of gadgets, texting, and other modern distractions for twenty four hours. Afterward, she wanted us to write a summary of our experience.

Today, I took the challenge. And here is what I wrote:

[warning; this is a slightly longer post than usual. :) ]

I was excited when you issued the challenge to unplug ourselves for twenty-four hours. I reserved the right to call someone on my phone and to work on the computer for school, but I decided that “unplugged” would mean no Facebook, no YouTube, no TV or movies, no texting, no email, no blogging, and no radio. I warned my friends: Don’t text me on Tuesday; I’m going unplugged.

The day started off well, but I had to remind myself that I was not allowed to check my IPhone for the weather forecast. I guess I can just walk outside to see if I’ll need a sweater. It felt a little strange to eat breakfast without checking my email and blog statistics, but as I ate and looked out the window, I remembered again how much I love the tangy sweetness of strawberries. I also left for school on time, which has been rare in the last few weeks.

Between classes, my phone seemed to wink at me from my backpack’s side pocket. My husband and I usually text each other throughout the day, and I had to fight back the urge to send him a message several times. With my hands and attention strangely unoccupied, I began to notice details about my classmates that I’d never seen before. I felt conversational, but most of them were texting and I couldn’t catch their eyes. It made me wonder whether I put off the same vibe of inapproachability when I am fixated on my own phone’s screen.

I went to the library, and there I spent one of the most productive hours of the past month. I chose a table that had no computer so that I would have no chance to “accidentally” check my blog or email. In one hour, I wrote two letters, copied two recipes onto index cards, studied for my next class, and completed an entire Bible study. 

My mind felt calm, sharp, and focused. Usually, I am the queen of multi-tasking. I can cook dinner, do laundry, study for a test and text a friend simultaneously without breaking a sweat. But after Tuesday, I wonder if my mind was designed for single-purposed attention.

I biked home and arrived feeling hungry, thirsty, and restless. I would usually check Facebook at this time of day.  

I feel disconnected from the real world.

A split second after the thought crossed my mind I realized just how ludicrous it was. Here I was, enjoying face-to-face interactions with my husband and the solid realness of my home around me, and I was calling facebook the “real world.” And missing it. When did I make that shift?  At what point did a virtual interface with a blue and white color scheme become more real than the pile of dirty laundry in my closet or the people sitting next to me in class?

Maybe this hurry-scurry lifestyle of production, day-planners and social media has contributed to the postmodernist’s skepticism toward anything claiming to be true or authentic. If they themselves are so enslaved to the busy treadmill, so spread thin that they are unable to give themselves in a genuine way to any one thing, why would they expect something different from society at large?

After a day of being unplugged, I have mixed feelings. 

On the one hand, I enjoyed the calm that settled over my mind in the absence of “white noise”. I felt more productive, more aware, and more relational than usual, and I can see that a constant stream of media and gadget use would almost certainly insulate me from a genuine experience of real life. 

But on the other hand, I felt downright rude to ignore texts from my friends. Unless your phone is lost, or you’re dead, our instant-feedback society has come to expect near instantaneous responses when you text someone. The access we have to any person at any time has become normal—our new reality. To experience the collective reality of our interactive culture, one must forego some depth of interaction with the objective reality, and vice versa.

Since I cannot be a hermit, total absence of white noise is impossible. But in order to avoid the hopelessness and isolation of an in-genuine existence, I am determined to periodically step back, turn off my phone, and taste the strawberries.