Every year during Lent I travel to Tybee Island, Georgia, a very quiet beach town outside Savannah. Although I consider it a vacation, somehow it seems to always end up on the parish calendar as a retreat.
Truth is, it is a vacation. Truth is, it’s a retreat
My best friend will pick me up at the Savannah airport in her blue Miata convertible then we’ll drive into town for coffees, lunch, and provisions. Vacation.
Listening to great music, we’ll drive along the marsh and over bridge after bridge till we’re on a sleepy little island. We’ll unload the car and then walk to the beach for our first walk with colors of beige and blue and gray. Retreat.
What’s the difference? I’m not actually certain. I’ll use vacation days for this time apart but there will be lots of walking and quiet and pondering and reading and praying and creating and rest. There will be movies and laughter and conversation. And wonderful surprises.
Vacation. Retreat. God time.
Boarding soon. Or. Maybe not.
Sigh. For the third time in a year, a flight has been cancelled due to lack of crew. Now seated at Starbuck’s with my food voucher–purchased yogurt and water, now waiting to catch a flight to Columbia SC. My best option on a fogged in day.
Gave a blessing to a very kind gate agent, and came out of the closet as a priest (thankfully hadn’t been as cranky as the folks in front of me).
Not a vacation yet. Not a retreat for sure. But thankful that God is here.