To tell you a little more about the retreat center, which I explored during the many breaks: It was comprised of several buildings with somewhat separate lodging for the men and the women (except for the married couples), which were adjoined by the aforementioned porch to another longer building containing the decent-sized meeting room, library, kitchen and dining room.  A hallway by the library contained glass bookshelves containing things you could buy, including everything ever written or recorded by John Michael Talbot and a variety of rosary necklaces, handmade on the premises by an endearing little monk known as Brother Andrew, who I got to know and who I'll share a story about in a moment.
      Elsewhere on the immediate grounds were a small main office and a bell tower.  It was all relatively simple and modest without being uncomfortable.  You had all the conveniences you'd need, except maybe for a vending machine.















      The retreat center and the Hermitage were apparently founded by John Michael Talbot, which explains why he made occasional visits during my stay, sometimes sitting in on sessions with Michael.  As I said, it was like getting two for the price of one.  Incidentally, John Michael's wife was regularly seen in supportive roles too, often serving food.

      Michael Card was as agreeable and approachable as he seemed in concert.  The thoughtfulness he puts into his music and lyrics comes from a man who gives a lot of consideration to his purpose on this earth.  Within minutes of beginning his first seminar it was clear that the reason his songs are so effective is because he himself is so spiritually authentic.
      What I didn't know before the retreat was that he's written an impressive number of books on biblical topics and from the ready knowledge he shared at every opportunity he could write many more.   I had no expectations about the subject matter of the conference, other than a suspicion that it might have something to do with his book Scribbling in the Sand, so I was only mildly surprised that he never tried to teach us the process of creativity (not that it would be possible anyway), but rather helped us to understand the reasons why we are creative, and how to know when we are channeling that energy in the proper directions.  Being myself a person who questions his motivation in creating things -- especially things intended for a Christian audience -- I was grateful for some guidelines to ponder.

     

RETREAT THOUGHTS PART 3
      The sessions encompassed many hours and covered lots of in-depth material but some of the main points I got out of it are simply summarized and will stay with me for a long time:
     
      * We create because want to be 'known' and noticed by our Creator
      * Jesus knows us, not as we are but as we will be
      * Humility was present in all of Jesus' miracles ... those who witnessed                  them responded by praising God, not Jesus
      * 'Wash feet' with your talents
      * You are not your gift.(don't be limited by believing that your talent is                      you)       
      *  Don't hide behind your talents
      *  We shut down our creativity through ego (fear or pride)
      *  Stay on the edge of your creativity, at the level of your inadequacy

      I appreciated the differentiation he made between creating out of ego and creating for the enrichment of others.  If we create with the intention of hitting it big, we are missing the point of using our talents.  However, if we create for our fellow man, the rewards are immediate.  For example, creating within a community provides greater measures of acceptance, apprenticeship, freedom to fail and accountability.  Creating for industry results in competition, jealousy, criticism, deadlines, etc.
      An extremely interesting concept that I had never considered before is that once in a while God leads us in a direction in which He knows we are going to fail.  Basically, He will call us to failure.  Mull that one over.
      A related story.  In the summer of 2003 I acquired a rosary made in Medjugorje  (Med-ju-GORE-ya), an area in the Ukraine where the Virgin Mary has reportedly been making appearances for a number of years.  (That's an interesting topic in itself, but one for another time.)  My rosary is made of white pebbles taken from the mountain were the sightings occur, and thanks to the friend who acquired it for me, it was also blessed by several Medjugorjean priests. 
      Although my father was Catholic before I was born, I never even knew what a rosary was until last year.  It is now among the prized religious icons that I just like having around, especially if they have a story behind them, which all of mine tend to.  In any event, these rosary beads have accompanied many of my special prayers and were a frequent companion during Lent.
      Imagine my dismay in mid-May when my rosary necklace broke.  (I must have been praying too hard that day.)  I gathered the pebbles and pieces of silver chain and kept them safely in an Altoids tin until I could get out my soldering iron out and reconnect them.  It wasn't all unstrung or anything ... one of the chain links has simply broken and a bead came off, though it would take some meticulously close-up effort to restore it.
      On the morning that I left for this retreat, I wanted to bring my rosary with me (remember, I thought there would be a lot more praying and meditating going on).  I hurriedly reattached the bead, incorporating some pretty copper wire that Adam had found at a construction site.  I kind of liked it, but it would always be a bit of a distraction and a reminder of its brokenness.
      Here's where Brother Andrew comes in.   At breakfast one morning he was going around talking to people, wearing one of the rosaries he'd made.  Someone at my table engaged him in conversation, and he happened to mention that he made one of the first Medjugorjean rosaries.  My ears perked up and I was proud to be able to show him my own such rosary, which I had in my pocket.  He admired it and asked what happened with the copper wire, and I told him I'd tried to repair it.
      The next time I saw Brother Andrew he had his tool kit with him and was looking for me to fix my rosary.  He got out some wire and the most needle-nosed pliers I'd even seen, and in less than two minutes it was perfect again.  I was delighted that my beads were not only fixed, but by a genuine rosary maker, one who had some connection to Medjugorge, and who was a monk on top of that.  Pretty cool, really.  I reached for my wallet to give him something and he asked me just to pray for him, which I've done many times since.

            













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Michael Card playing a hymn on a banjo.  An unlikely combination yes, but since he doesn't play like a hillbilly, it works.
I never found time to sit and read while there, but dozens of books on every spiritual subject were available in the library.