Another Writers Retreat
by Michele Husfelt on August 17, 2026
Another historical church whose walls burst forth with story.
Cobwebs decorate the steep stairs that lead to the balcony. Upon arrival, a choice is required to walk straight ahead past the old rickety pews (dating to the 1800’s) to peruse the ancient relics that tell parts of the story, or turn right to discover dusty books in an old wardrobe, stacks of Sunday School attendance notebooks checking off the weekly attendance of the boys and girls who came to learn about Jesus.
An ornately carved antique organ sits quietly against the wall, sadly silenced, giving way to the guitar and keyboard downstairs, which have replaced the timeless hymns of our tradition with tirelessly repeated choruses of our modern-day songs.
We looked forward to getting away from it all and embracing the quiet. And much to our surprise, as we arrive at the church, a team of painters arrive to spend the day restoring the exterior. Our initial reaction is a sense of flexibility; we might see them occasionally, but their brushstrokes will hardly be noticeable throughout the day.
Little do we realize just how disruptive and noisy they would prove to be. For most of our day, the outside cacophony of painters scraping and pounding the wooden slats to restore them to their original beauty battles for our attention. An untimely intrusion to the silence and solitude we’ve come to drink from? Or a timely reminder that through the noise and distractions, God is still speaking. We may just need to bend an ear to listen a bit more intently.
A walk in the adjacent cemetery begs the question, “What happened in between the dashes?” As I read names, dates, and the occasional epitaph, I ponder how each one lived. How did they spend their days? Were they jovial and spirited, or quiet and subdued? How did they contribute to the town and to society at large?
Most importantly, “Did they know Jesus? What did they pass down to the following generations? How were they remembered?” As I stroll along the gravel path, I remind myself of the song performed at our wedding, “Oh, may all who come behind me find me faithful.” How do I want to be remembered?
A quick break to walk to get lunch, a rather long wait in a crowded, unairconditioned local deli, and a stroll back as we listen to each other’s stories and marvel together as we share how God is working. A time of breaking bread and the realization once again that our time is fleeting, and we have words to muse.
The flowers along the walkway remind us that we are planting words, while God is watering them, tenderly sowing our minute offerings, and preparing the soil in which they will bloom.
The final exclamation point to our gathering culminates back in our circle, sharing where we have heard God. Through laughter, tears, and the gift of togetherness, we commission one another to continue the journey of collecting words and phrases that the Master Storyteller has entrusted us to pass along.