An End, A Beginning
On What was, What is, and What will be
Today’s reflection is personal. I’ve debated sharing this with you in this way, but decided that my Substack has always been more reflective and personal in nature, and this is what I would tell you if we were sitting across the table from each other at the coffee shop. If you’re new here, I hope you’ll pardon this raw reflection, and hope you’ll stick around for the next one.
An End
On Monday, I made my very last trip to “our” beloved retreat house this week. I thought I’d made the last trip there in April, but when my friend, and Director of The Pines, Heidi, invited me to return one final time, I didn’t hesitate. I’ve made that nearly-two hour drive more times than I can count. The first time I drove there, my youngest was just 5 years old, and on Monday, she sat next to me in the car, now just shy of turning 16.
We’ve lived entire lifetimes since that first trip to The Pines, and yet when we pulled up the hill to the house, it was almost as if time had stood still—almost.
The unexpected presence of the bright blue dumpster situated in the driveway pierced that veil.
I’ve told the story of how Refine {the retreat} came to be a number of times, but I never imagined telling the story of how it ended. The origins of this work are a significant touchstone in my life and my friendship with Jesus. In the beginning…is a story I love to tell because It. Is. Is. Wild. The rampant and flagrant provision of God runs buck-wild through every detail, and if I hadn’t lived it myself, I’d look sideways at the teller of such a tale. It’s unbelievable and yet entirely true. And I am forever marked by that miraculous season—branded, not only by the commemorative tattoo I got a few years ago, but in my actual soul. In so many ways the work of Refine saved me again and again.
As I’ve reflected on that season of ministry1, I’m reminded of this passage in Luke2 where Jesus is warning the disciples that the path of discipleship is not for the faint of heart. He tells them, “Whoever does not bear his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple. For which of you, desiring to build a tower, does not first sit down and count the cost, whether he has enough to complete it? Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it begin to mock him, saying, ‘This man began to build and was not able to finish.’” For 10 years, the work of Refine {the retreat} has been ground zero for my own discipleship journey.
In the beginning, I spent a lot of time “counting the cost” of Refine. I’m talking about the dollars required to secure a retreat space, to feed the women and provide the materials necessary for the retreat weekend. The financial cost of such an endeavor was the first (of many) fleeces that I tossed out before God. Contending with the actual cost was a constant place of deep prayer and much testing of my faith. I counted the cost (and miscounted—much to my husband’s shock and dismay), and though my math was crappy, God made up for every single one-and-zero that I missed. The Lord in His unrelenting kindness, filled every hole and then some. And then did it again and again for the next 10 years. Every time I wasn’t sure I had enough—whatever—fill in the blank, to complete the work, God made a way.
With time and experience, I learned to count the costs with more accuracy. I also learned that the cost in Jesus’ warning was not purely financial, but relational, emotional and spiritual. I’ve experienced those hidden costs and bear the scars of lessons learned the hard way. Jesus says we have to bear our own crosses, but the Truth is always that He bears it with us. In moments when I nearly believed God had abandoned me in the work, some whisper would come, some donation, some generous offering from someone who didn’t know why but just “felt like they were supposed to…” would find its way to me.
As I walked the now-dark halls of the space where so many hearts had been renovated, restored, and perhaps, broken too, I could see us all there together, gathering the way we had so many times before.
But it’s quiet now. There’s no buzzing conversation. There were no flowers. No music. Just shadows—lots of shadows—lots of memories.
I’ve known for two years that Refine was in transition, but it’s been difficult to talk about it. Truthfully, it’s taken time to accept that the “way we’ve always done things” is actually over.3 I’ve had to reckon with how entangled my work became with a space that was never mine, and the reality that I never imagined that space wouldn’t exist.
Is this me failing to count the cost?
Perhaps.
I’ve needed some time to sit in my grief, reflect on my mistakes, own the lessons I’ve learned and, name the treasures I’ve been given. I’ve needed to name what God has done, and to celebrate the gift that this work has been, to remember the women who walked through those doors with me.
It’s not an exaggeration to say that Refine {the retreat} changed my whole life. And I know for a fact it changed some of your lives too, and that is proof of God’s superior math. The way God chooses to multiply God’s goodness will never make sense on paper, and will always be so far above and beyond anything I could build or steward. The kindness of God that invites us, in all of our imperfection, hubris, and foolishness, to co-work alongside Him will never not blow my mind and lay me low.
The sky opened up as we pulled around the circular driveway to leave, and as the first big drops began to fall, I felt it behind my ribcage, the acceptance that Refine {the retreat} of 2014-2024 is finished. I’ve known this for months but I have not said it here, out loud to you. I’ve needed to say it, but I think I also needed to walk those halls one more time to find the words and courage to lay it all the way down. I needed to stand in the chapel and let that emptiness sink into my bones. I think I needed to see that god-forsaken dumpster in the driveway.
I will always be a door-holder, but I can stop holding that particular door now; I need to stop holding that particular door, partly because it’s just time, and partly because, another door is opening
(Driving away from The Pines for the last time)
A Beginning
How do I even begin to share this news? It’s a story worth telling from the beginning and eventually, I will do that, but for now, this is a glimpse—
For several months, I’ve been meeting with my friends, Sarah and Summer, building something for you, and a couple of months ago, we filed paperwork for our non-profit, Tending Place. When I tell you that this is the culmination of YEARS of holding a Refine-adjacent dream in my heart, I am telling you that this is literally something I have prayed about for more years than I can remember. There’s so much more to tell but for now, follow us on Instagram, where we’ll be sharing more about this dream as it unfurls. In the meantime, we want to hear from you! Would you take a minute and complete this brief survey? Your voice is important as we pray through the specifics of this new dream.
Thank you for reading along and bearing witness to this mingling of grief and joy. Your presence here means so much.
If you’re new here, Refine {the retreat} is a retreat ministry that I started in 2014. For the last 9 years, we have gathered at the same place every year for our retreat, and sadly, just this month, that special place has been permanently closed.
Mary (my friend and assistant) and Christin (my friend and mentor) have held so much of this behind the scenes with me. They are so much more than a footnote, but I couldn’t write this without naming them for the monumental role they have each played in the work of Refine.
My heart is quiet and still as I read this. There will never be the exact right words to explain what Refine has meant to me. I am grateful. And I will be waiting with anticipation to see what’s coming next. I only pray that I can partake even if only in a small way. Thank you Jesus.
Sharing this emotional tension of “ what has been and what gift awaits.” Glory be to God for gifting you with the leadership, with the obedience to His call. So many of us touched and changed by Refine at the Pines. I will never forget and can’t say thank you enough for the tender memories, friends made, and taking me with you on the journey there. Love you, Kris, and thank you, Jesus, for immeasurable blessings!