Water reflecting,dancing, flying

Water seems to dominate

our world up in the great north.

We sit on the beach looking at

all this liquid space. Often our retreats begin on the beach.

Sometimes the lake roars;

sometimes it reflects light.

Sometimes we paddle on it;

rarely we swim in it.

Or we go to the inland lakes to paddle or hike. This is Daniels Lake in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness. Light there reflects off the water onto tree trunks and rocks, which the native peoples called "dancing spirits."

At WindCradle, from the deck, the living room or the dining room we see the light of the lake dancing, reflecting.

And sometimes it seems that some

of the light gets caught on a bird's

wings as with this Indigo Bunting.

All this light, reflected, dancing, winged...speaks to me of God.

Spring in the Northland

Spring comes late here. But we sure appreciate it. Living in Cape Town with its Mediterranean climate, spring was nothing, since winter was nothing. Minnesotans joke that our weather builds character, and that may be true. Or as one friend put it, "No one moves to Minnesota for the climate!" But....this week I went to see some members of Spirit of the Wilderness Church up on Seagull lake, and of course we had to go paddling! (My kind of pastoral visit!) The water was still very cold, but calm, and a loon broke the surface of the water right next to us, water drops on her head. Lovely.

Since this is a fly-way, there are also lots of migrating birds passing through. The other day I was bowled over by the bright orange of an oriole, the bright scarlet of a rose breasted gros beak, the intense yellow of a goldfinch, and then along came an indigo bunting. Such exuberant color after months of muted tones.The world is also alive with water, snowmelt feeding streams, rushing down ravines that will be dry in a month or two. And the waterfalls are stunning, roaring, spraying, making rainbows here and there. And those baby green leaves on the trees; plants poking out of the ground.

As we hike, it's hard to tell what is poking through--what this little funnel of green or this tiny leaf will be. Some will be the spring ephemerals which only last very briefly; some are the beginnings of ferns that will become waist high.

I'm thinking about the new life in each of us, and how it's hard to know early on exactly what that life will look like later. I'm hoping for lush green growth as I cooperate with the great spirit.

WindCradle and how she got her name.

WindCradle is the name of the retreat center I'm starting on Lake Superior's north shore.

The rocky beach is almost always empty and wild. Sometimes the lake is so glassy smooth, you can't see the horizon. Other times, huge waves crash so far in, Lake Superior looks like an ocean in a big storm.

If you were standing on the beach looking out, there are points of land on either side, and they look to me like enormous arms that hold and rock. Windy and yet cradled.

That paradox--wind tearing at your hair and clothes and large arms cradling, holding safe--they speak to me of God and of the way we learn. In my years as a teacher, I could see that students needed the balance of challenge and support. Too much challenge, not enough support and it's too stressful to really learn. Too much support and not enough challenge and it's BORING.

As a retreat leader, canoe guide, writer, priest (as well as teacher) I am for that balance of support and challenge. And my hope is that WindCradle will be a place that allows people to find comfort as they grow, grow as they find comfort.