Have you ever been to a “retreat” that didn’t feel like a retreat by the time it was over? I have. Not only did I experience such a retreat, I attended a second retreat that sharply contrasted with it. I experienced first hand a simple fact that God has been teaching to many spiritual seekers for centuries.

One of the hopes I had for these two retreats was to answer a question gnawing on me constantly: What direction should I take in my ministry? I wasn’t sure if God wanted me to continue as a pastor or move to another venue to fulfill my calling. As tends to be the case, God did answer, but not as I expected.

My first retreat stop was in Bethany, Oklahoma at a local college. I attended many good sessions but most notable were the high emotion-charged services. At the beginning of the week, I felt I was on a spiritual high. By the end of the week, I had experienced emotional burnout. It didn’t matter how exciting, great and pumped up the service was, I felt like a zombie. I had cried, shouted and waved my hands so much it had become meaningless.

If it had not been for the chaplain’s retreat that immediately followed this one, I would not have been ready to face the daily grind again, nor did I obtain an answer to my concerns. I had to ask elsewhere.

I drove to the Navigator’s campgrounds in Colorado Springs. The majestic mountains surrounding the small valley, a cold mountain stream rushing through the camp to some distant destination, and Pike’s Peak poking over the surrounding mountains in the distance induced an atmosphere of serenity. Just arriving, I felt better.

The teaching sessions centered on the Lord’s Prayer. Two seminary professors, one a good friend, guided us in our study. They sang no high-powered choruses, just simple hymns led by a guy who could have been a song director at any number of small churches. No pizzazz or humph, just a powerful simplicity that contrasted so sharply with the previous week, an awe filled my soul at the powerful renewing I experienced.

On one particular day, the teachers asked us to venture into nature and listen to God in quiet solitude. Not sure what to expect, I obediently explored the trails. I gazed at the trees and the mountains, but nothing struck me there. I meditated on the flowers and other plant life, but God remained silent.

I finally sat down beside the mountain stream in the middle of the complex, watching the water rushing down the mountain. As I contemplated the scene, a truth dawned on me. The water rushing past so hurriedly resembled life. Life flies by: happy times, sad times, tragedies, all pounding at us and flowing into the past. We kid ourselves if we think we control this crazy stream of life. No, it controls us. Or does it?

“Well God, that’s interesting, but it certainly doesn’t make me feel any better. It’s actually depressing.” I kept looking, hoping God had more to tell me.

After I stared into the water for a while, I saw what God wanted me to see. Rocks lying in the rushing water glimmered in the sunlight. The stream had polished them smooth and round. The fast moving water had revealed the inner beauty God had created. On the bank, a different story unfolded. The stones, rough and jagged, poked through the dirt. I couldn’t see any beauty to them; dirt and crusty edges hid their glory.

We so much want to escape from the flow of life. We think stress and responsibility are something to run away from, a negative in our lives. The stereotype of heaven envisions us as sitting on clouds, strumming a harp, with no cares or concern for the life on earth. God’s point became clear. While I could escape the stream on occasion as I did at this retreat, spiritual disaster would follow if I left it completely. God uses the rushing river of life to polish us into beautiful stones fit to adorn His building.

I took advantage of relaxing from the stream of life that week. One morning, I arose at five o’clock and in the cool darkness, made my way up a mountain in the campgrounds. Overlooking the buildings snuggled into the valley and Pike’s Peak in the background, I watched the sun rise over the horizon as I sang hymns softly to God, just Him and me. I simply cannot put into words the joy and refreshing of my soul I experienced as I sang and watched the sun striking the snow atop Pike’s Peak. I didn’t want to come down.

I left the retreat reluctantly, yet I knew I must. I had to dive back into the stream so God could keep working on me. I still had my unresolved questions, but they didn’t seem so overwhelming now. I knew God held it in His hands and I left it there, contended. God did answer. He would use the stream to make me into what He intended. I simply had to be patient and let Him do the work.

I learned a powerful lesson. I discovered for myself what Elijah learned a long time ago:  God speaks not in the high emotions and dazzling displays the world would call “exciting,” but in a still, small voice when we are quiet and listening. I pray I’ll never forget to listen in the manner God talks.