A Little Background
I was in high school the first time Marilyn asked if I was going on the women's retreat. This year being the 12th or 13th, it may have even been the first retreat. I said no. I was just a teenager, and a very young one, at that.
The first one I finally went to was six years ago. We went to my favorite campground in the mountains. I was important, because I knew my way around up there. I had grown up going to those grounds, and it had wonderfully not changed a bit. So when people wanted to go hither and yon, they asked and I guided.
Another year, another retreat. There are two, possibly three years tangled up in my memory at this point. One morning on the first of these retreats, I woke up early to a breathtaking blanket of snow. Wendy, one of those I knew by name but didn't know, was also outside. Ours were the first footprints in that wonderland, and in that early morning snow cathedral, we became friends. A year or two later, the small group I was in included Suzanne, my second retreat friend.
The last year at The Campground, we moved to the slightly less rustic section. There were, however, wildlife sightlings, particularly of the racoon sort. The retreat itself, though, was led by a woman who I found to be very frustrating. Her personality grated on my nerves, and the content left something to be desired. At this retreat, in spite of actually being with friends my age and in a similar place in life, I felt marginalized.
So when the next retreat came up, I wasn't going to go. Except for one thing. It was now 2005, and Grandpa had been gone for several months. While Grandpa was alive, Grandma didn't have the freedom to do things like this, because he relied on her heavily. Sure, she could have made arrangements for a local relative to stay at the house and reach things for Grandpa, but she never did. So I thought it would be nice for her to get to go.
I went with Grandma. This was the retreat of one hundred disappointments and frustrations. While many of these disappointments and frustrations rose from my own expectations, it was still very difficult. I mean, when people agree ahead of time to help you with your slightly senile and high maintenance grandmother, and none of them particularly come through, leaving you with 100% responsibility for said grandmother, there is disappointment. When you are having a personal discussion with your friend about an intensely difficult situation, and someone who doesn't know you at all pushes her way into the conversation and gives you answers to all your problems, this is frustrating.
Grandma had a wonderful time on that retreat, and people from the retreat to this day still say hi to her at church. She has no idea who they are, but she's very friendly and loves that people say hi to her. But I outright refused to go to the 2006 retreat.
In fact, I was fairly determined not to go again- ever- up until Wednesday of last week. A few weeks ago, Marilyn asked again if I was going, and I told her no. A few weeks before that, Suzanne asked if I was going, and I told her I didn't plan to. She knows me, though, so we joked a bit that if I did go, it would most likely be decided at the eleventh hour, for that is my way. But I never intended to go.
This year's "theme" was beauty for ashes. I remember hearing it mentioned in church and thinking, Heh. How disturbingly appropriate. But I'm not going. So I put it out of my mind. Until I received that email, that is.
When I saw the email, I laughed. It was a laugh of irony, for every year we have this dance. Diann or Suzanne, frequently both, ask me if I'm going. I say no. They ask again. I say no again. Two weeks ago I received a postcard from Diann saying We've noticed you are not signed up for the retreat. There's still space! Then came the email.
Would you like to go on the retreat? It will be at no cost to you. Let me know ASAP.
When my best avoidance argument has been cost, this threw me. I still had my other argument intact, though. Why would I want to spend a weekend being marginalized by a crowd of people who don't want to know me? The last two retreats I went to left me feeling this way. Why on earth would I voluntarily put myself there again?
Then came the Week of the Father, and suddenly a weekend of being marginalized and invisible didn't sound so bad.
The first one I finally went to was six years ago. We went to my favorite campground in the mountains. I was important, because I knew my way around up there. I had grown up going to those grounds, and it had wonderfully not changed a bit. So when people wanted to go hither and yon, they asked and I guided.
Another year, another retreat. There are two, possibly three years tangled up in my memory at this point. One morning on the first of these retreats, I woke up early to a breathtaking blanket of snow. Wendy, one of those I knew by name but didn't know, was also outside. Ours were the first footprints in that wonderland, and in that early morning snow cathedral, we became friends. A year or two later, the small group I was in included Suzanne, my second retreat friend.
The last year at The Campground, we moved to the slightly less rustic section. There were, however, wildlife sightlings, particularly of the racoon sort. The retreat itself, though, was led by a woman who I found to be very frustrating. Her personality grated on my nerves, and the content left something to be desired. At this retreat, in spite of actually being with friends my age and in a similar place in life, I felt marginalized.
So when the next retreat came up, I wasn't going to go. Except for one thing. It was now 2005, and Grandpa had been gone for several months. While Grandpa was alive, Grandma didn't have the freedom to do things like this, because he relied on her heavily. Sure, she could have made arrangements for a local relative to stay at the house and reach things for Grandpa, but she never did. So I thought it would be nice for her to get to go.
I went with Grandma. This was the retreat of one hundred disappointments and frustrations. While many of these disappointments and frustrations rose from my own expectations, it was still very difficult. I mean, when people agree ahead of time to help you with your slightly senile and high maintenance grandmother, and none of them particularly come through, leaving you with 100% responsibility for said grandmother, there is disappointment. When you are having a personal discussion with your friend about an intensely difficult situation, and someone who doesn't know you at all pushes her way into the conversation and gives you answers to all your problems, this is frustrating.
Grandma had a wonderful time on that retreat, and people from the retreat to this day still say hi to her at church. She has no idea who they are, but she's very friendly and loves that people say hi to her. But I outright refused to go to the 2006 retreat.
In fact, I was fairly determined not to go again- ever- up until Wednesday of last week. A few weeks ago, Marilyn asked again if I was going, and I told her no. A few weeks before that, Suzanne asked if I was going, and I told her I didn't plan to. She knows me, though, so we joked a bit that if I did go, it would most likely be decided at the eleventh hour, for that is my way. But I never intended to go.
This year's "theme" was beauty for ashes. I remember hearing it mentioned in church and thinking, Heh. How disturbingly appropriate. But I'm not going. So I put it out of my mind. Until I received that email, that is.
When I saw the email, I laughed. It was a laugh of irony, for every year we have this dance. Diann or Suzanne, frequently both, ask me if I'm going. I say no. They ask again. I say no again. Two weeks ago I received a postcard from Diann saying We've noticed you are not signed up for the retreat. There's still space! Then came the email.
Would you like to go on the retreat? It will be at no cost to you. Let me know ASAP.
When my best avoidance argument has been cost, this threw me. I still had my other argument intact, though. Why would I want to spend a weekend being marginalized by a crowd of people who don't want to know me? The last two retreats I went to left me feeling this way. Why on earth would I voluntarily put myself there again?
Then came the Week of the Father, and suddenly a weekend of being marginalized and invisible didn't sound so bad.
posted by The Other Gatekeeper at
2:21 PM
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