This is half of a story. The other half is about heartbreak and this is not the place for that tale. This is a story about hope.
While I was on my sabbatical, I prayed frequently for clarity and direction. I would eventually learn that you better make darn sure that’s what you really want before you pray for something like that, but I was in the naive bubble of rest and renewal.
As some of you might know, I spent the last weekend of my sabbatical on a silent retreat at the Abbey of Gethsemani in Kentucky. It was amazing; a weekend that nourished and focused my soul. It was an introvert’s paradise that allowed me to read, write, hike, go to prayer services with monks, and not have to talk to anybody.
Often I would find myself staring at an evergreen tree outside the window of my room. Throughout the weekend, that tree would sway in the breeze. It was so quiet and peaceful and I would become transfixed by the gentle motion. For the first few days, I would not even think about it. I just rooted myself in my chair and watched the invisible push and pull the branches.