The Upper Room

288 miles

33 dollars

7 friends

4 talks

1 day

It's not often that I feel compelled and interested in going on a retreat for myself. I usually go back and forth of whether or not it's worth it when I can withdraw and pray on my own. In fact, I need that time to pray on my own without anyone else guiding me on a retreat with talks and workshops and (heaven forbid) group bonding exercises.

A couple of weeks ago I had the opportunity to go to the Wholehearted Catholic Women's Gathering at St. Thomas More in Spokane. It wasn't something that I would have found or chosen to attend on my own, but a few friends from all over Washington had made plans to go, so I decided to meet them there. If anything, I would have a fun reunion with some women who I love!

I wish I could encapsulate my entire experience into one or two words, but to do so would be an injustice as so many words come to mind: encouraging, inspiring, energizing, Spirit-driven. It was just what I needed in a period that has become overwhelming and at times unnecessarily busy. It had been some time since I had felt that kind of jolt, where I finished the day feeling completely exhausted but also rejuvenated.

There are so many things that I could share about the Wholehearted retreat, but the one that stays in my mind even a couple of weeks later is something that shares a theme that has repeated itself since then. Those who were there will probably remember the generations prayer where we were asked to stand with our generation while the others represented prayed for us. Usually, I would dismiss such things as "emotional manipulation," implemented just to make us cry, but keynote speaker Mary Bielski did it right. She asked the women who are ages 60 and up to stand up and she prayed over these women who fought for us before we were even born, who continue that fight today and who she exhorted to remember that "God is not done with them; their stories aren't over yet." Then she had the women in their 40s and 50s stand, and she thanked them for their perseverance as they struggle with raising children who sometimes want nothing to do with the faith; women who are balancing lives with jobs and diapers, soccer practice and getting dinner on the table. Her prayer intensified as she said we all fight with them, that they are loved, and they are seen. And last, Mary asked those of us in our 30s and under crowd to stand. We were by far the smallest group there, but as I looked around I saw my sisters: Young mothers balancing babies on their hips, women in their first jobs trying to navigate this crazy world, women who are dating, trying to find their "St. Josephs," students unsure about what will come next. Mary looked at us and said, "Hope. So much hope."

After a moment of "I'm not crying, you're crying," I realized something: I was hearing the truth. It had been so easy to feel like a discouraged weirdo in a backwards world, surrounded by women who reject who God has made them to be, women who put unnecessary pressure on themselves, women who think that being nurturing and gentle make us weak. Young women. Women my age. Women who turn away from God and towards worldly expectations believing they will find happiness in the name of "empowerment" - and yet they still wind up being used. In that moment, I realized that there are things I encounter every day that are not of God; despair is not of God either. When I hear these lies about what young women are "supposed to be," it's not God speaking.

Just a couple of days ago, I went to a friend's house to discuss our upcoming pilgrimage to the Holy Land with a couple of other women. All of these women are grandmothers, and as we sat and talked, it was as if age was not an issue. In fact, as we laughed over glasses of wine and plates of cheese and crackers, in them I saw those women from the retreat who I looked at with admiration. The same women who fought for us and raised us and who continue to fight and intercede for us. In them I also see my own mother. I always tell people that the most important thing my mom ever taught me was the ability to cook. I hesitate to share recipes she has given me because they're so special (and she doesn't share them either!) But really, the most important thing that my mother has given me is the gift of faith and the truth that comes with it. I remember how she would write prayers on the backs of envelopes and then tell me to pray them every night. She prayed daily rosaries and insisted on Mass every week. She made sacrifices to put me into a Catholic school, and even now I see that she is willing to give me everything to strengthen my relationship with God. I am so grateful because in giving me that, she has given me everything I need.

I said at the beginning of this year that my "word for the year" was Community. Whether I stand with 400 women in prayer or sit with 3 of them to share tips on how to make a pilgrimage, I realized once again how important it is for me to have a community of strong women of all ages. I often savor how lucky I am to have women my own age who share my beliefs, hobbies, and goals. But I don't always realize how lucky I am to have women who are both younger and older than me to grow with. It's something we all need: the light that guides us forward and the light that comes after us so that we can always remember to never despair but to always hope.