Wrastling Samson

On a service trip to Kentucky when I was in college we met a gentleman in the back woods (mind you this was in the late 1980’s) who owned a mule named Samson.  After all the work was done at his house he was sizing up a couple of my male friends trying to determine who would be most likely to take on Samson in a “wrastling” match.  One of the young men suggested that one of our adult chaperone’s could do it instead and the man agreed that the was a “good stout woman” and added in his own Kentucky way, “I betcha you could wrastle Samson.”  That line has lived since that moment.  Whenever it feels right I will throw in “I betcha you could wrastle Samson.” 

Barn at Mount Saviour Monastary

This week I feel like I have been “wrastling” Samson.  Finances, migraine, logistics, you name it.  I also think that Samson is winning.  But that is only temporary because I am heading to get some spiritual backup at my monastery.  Mount Saviour is a Benedictine monestary that sits in the foothills of the Allegheny Mountains.  A full time sheep farm and retreat center, it has been my home away from home for more than 25 years.  There I can rest, read, pray and learn what it really means to live your whole life devoted to God. (That is not to say that one cannot live their life devoted to God unless they are in the walls of a monastery, because we have daily evidence of people who do).  But the simplicity and conviction with which these people choose daily to live their lives in the midst of this chaotic world, (and yet very much in touch with this chaotic world) is a source of calm and comfort to me.  It allows me to re-group and to remember who I am at heart without the distraction of everyday buzz.It also allows me to re-connect with some of the dearest people in my life.  On long walks, on the top of a windy hill or cozied up in front of a fire with tea, it is a time to give thanks for the gift of those relationships that help sustain me.So you can see why I am excited.  God lets me (actually calls me!) to run away with him once a year.  My nine year old asked how I knew God was “calling me” and I said, “You know how sometimes you come in and say, ‘Mom did you call me’ and I say, ‘No, but I was going to'” she said, “yes”….”Well, something like that.” 🙂  I will be checking in.  Have a blessed weekend all!