One Step at a Time
letting go of control and trusting the path beneath your feet.
I arrived at the Hermitage to volunteer that afternoon precisely at two o’clock. The monks and the staff were just returning to work after their lunch break, and I was scheduled to meet Mike, the head of the maintenance department, outside of his shop.
I walked through the chapel and out the back doors into the meditation garden, where I was met with the familiar sounds of the fountain bubbling, the wind chimes ringing in the breeze, and the hummingbirds darting back and forth between the fountain and the flowers. It was good to be behind the monastic walls again. Big Sur, the Hermitage, and that garden felt like an oasis for my soul. Although it had been over a year since the atmospheric rivers in 2023 washed out Highway 1, forcing us to evacuate our cabin in the woods, the Hermitage still felt like a home I needed to retreat back to whenever I could.
I was the first to arrive outside the door of the maintenance shop. One by one, the crew showed up for the team meeting where Mike would give everyone their work assignments. Tom came around the corner first, then John, followed by a new guy I didn’t know, and then Mike. Standing there catching up on life with the guys, I was quickly reminded of the nuances of living there. In the spirit of Benedictine hospitality, and by necessity of needing staff and volunteers to work the grounds of the property, I was most welcomed by the monks. As a woman, however, my presence behind the monastic walls was an anomaly to all, tolerable to most, and contentious with some. Instinctively, we all kept our voices low, trying our best to preserve the silence for the monks and to avoid drawing any unwanted attention.
I was assigned to weeding the landscaping around cell #15. It was a well appointed assignment as I would be working alone and hidden behind the fence that surrounded it. Mike escorted me along the path around the back side of the property to the cell gate. There were garden tools, trash bins, and gardening gloves waiting for me inside. Mike explained that the cell had not been habited for some time, but they wanted to make it available for visiting priests and prospective monks to come stay. Looking around, it was obvious that someone had once invested a lot of time and effort into turning the landscape into a place for silence, solitude, and contemplation. Left unattended for several years, it had become sun scorched and sorely overgrown. I had two hours to pull as many weeds as I could to restore it to its intended order.
I have never had a yard of my own to landscape before, but growing up in the country I pulled my fair share of weeds out of my mother’s garden. People I know today who garden or work in the yard say it is meditative and grounding for the nervous system. I would say I found that to be true as well. As I pulled and piled up weeds and hacked my way through the brush that had been choking the earth for years, I cleared space in my mind for the questions I had written in my journal that morning to breathe a little.
November 13, 2024
Where do I belong, God? I can’t go home. I can’t stay here. I can’t go back to where I used to be. Every place I’ve tried to belong has only frustrated me. Why would I choose to continually put myself in places that demand me to be something I’m not in order to belong? Am I called to be a mirror? The truth teller? The antithesis to the disorder that I see?
I have been bending myself to try to fit in. Smiling through tears. Silence when I want to scream. Forcing myself to be “useful” and to believe that if I’m not the failure is on me. Maybe it is them who have failed! Maybe it is the system we’ve created that doesn’t actually work.
What if I stopped expecting them to be any different? What if their brokenness is not my fault or my responsibility? What if I have been OK all along and this frustration has been about me learning that their acceptance has nothing to do with my identity?
Jesus, in my lifetime you have called me to many places, and I have suffered and died with you. Now I am learning to trust that you are leading me to where the wild landscape of my soul can come back to life. But, where God? How will I know which way to go?
After two hours, I had filled two large trash bins to overflowing and started another pile outside the gate. I was surprised to find the weeds and the brush came up easily. We were at the end of the dry season. The soil didn’t have the strength to cling to the roots of the weeds anymore.
At first glance, the work that needed to be done seemed overwhelming. With my lack of experience in landscaping, there was no real strategy that came to mind other than to start right where I was standing. First, I cleared the entrance by the gate. Then, the path to the front door of the cell. Once those areas were clear, I cut in by the bench and started clearing the brush heading towards the Big Leaf Maple tree. I repositioned the bench to where it served a better view of the horizon, and I put the flower pots that had fallen to the ground during the winter storms back on their ledges.
Then, I turned my attention back around, and started moving forward again. Lo and behold, a path began to emerge beneath my feet. One stone paver after another revealed itself firmly planted in the ground. I followed the path to the tree, and just as the sun was about to slip beneath the horizon, I realized my time was up. I stood upright, stretched my aching back, and surveyed how far I had come. I was amazed to see that under all that brush was a path that would take me exactly where I wanted to go. All I had to do was set my intention and begin.
There was still a lot of ground to cover on the other side of the Big Leaf Maple tree, and what was beyond that horizon I could not see. Yet, looking back I was proud of how far I had come. Although I didn’t know exactly how I would get there, the beauty that surrounded me was enough for me to trust the next step would lead me to where I belong.
