What Happened On My 1.5 Day Writing Retreat

Butterflies were swirling around all day.

Yes, there are usually hundreds of butterflies flittering between the zinnias - fluorescent yellow ones the color of a highlighter, yellow swallowtails, black swallowtails, snout-nosed, and the rare, coveted monarchs who make their appearances in late summer. But on Saturday, they were swarming far away from their usual spot, as we set up outdoors for our farm store on a sweltering, humid August morning.

I found a brown spotted butterfly perching on the lid of peach bourbon vanilla jam, another on my eyelashes, another brushing the shoulder of a delighted customer. I held one on my finger and examined it up close - its antennae searching for pollen on my finger. I spotted an orange butterfly with a broken wing, still flying.

That afternoon, I began a 1.5 day writing retreat here at my dining room table in my farmhouse while Steven took the girls to a downtown Nashville hotel to play in the pool, eat takeout, and watch movies while jumping on fluffy king size hotel beds. My book manuscript still isn’t due for 6 months, but there is so much more to write, and photos and content to coordinate on top of that. 

On most ordinary days at home, what I wouldn’t give for a few hours by myself, undistracted, to write this book. Steven and I had been talking about doing this writing retreat for awhile so I could get a big chunk of writing down before our fall craziness with events and planting and holidays. 

But when he told me we were scheduling the writing retreat for this weekend, and this was the only weekend going into fall when we could definitely make it happen, I wavered.

It wasn’t because I didn’t want to be home. Or that I’d hoped to have my retreat at a luxurious spa or a cozy cabin in the mountains.

I love being home and actually feel most productive in my own space, with my beloved pottery coffee mugs, flowers, and remnants of my favorite people scattered around the home to remind me I’m loved and supported in this new calling.

I wavered because of fear.

How will I be by myself for 1.5 days with no human interaction? 

What if I miss you guys?

What if I can’t get the words on paper?

What if it all sucks?

What if I can’t actually do the thing?

This is what happened in the first moments on my own after my family pulled away in Steven’s white Ford pickup truck: 

I put my hair in a side-ponytail, turned on Sleeping At Last instrumentals on Apple Music, ground some fresh coffee at 4pm (definitely regretted that later…), and then remembered to lock the back door.

As I popped the deadbolt into the lock, I looked up for a split second, and no lie - there was a brown spotted butterfly inside my house, resting on the door frame. 

I offered my pointer finger, and it gingerly stepped onto my fingernail. I took it with me to the table, to my writing space.

I did some free writing in my new journal to get the juices flowing and then started typing out the words in this post. The butterfly crawled on my keyboard and then flittered to the sunshine-filled dining room window.

Over the next hour, I tried to brew coffee without remembering to heat the water in the electric kettle, sang out loud and talked to God with abandon, checked my side ponytail in the mirror, took photos with a butterfly on my nose, and resisted the urge to clean up the living room (Ok, I miiiiight have straightened a few pillows).

I wrote and wrote some more. And then, I decided it was time to send that butterfly back outside, to set it free. I opened the back door deadbolt and held out my finger. It flew away towards the far edge of the zinnias faster than I could imagine, in a streak. It flew to its freedom without hesitation, without looking back.

I want to fly to my freedom like that.

What will it take for me to finally get out of my own way?

Is 1.5 days dedicated solely to writing my book - heart-digging, soul-searching, word-crafting, soul-reclaiming, this gift set before me in the most orchestrated of ways - enough?

WRITE. Just WRITE.

Not perfect words. Not filtered words. And quite possibly words that won’t even make it into the book.

Honest words. Words I’m proud of.

Words that reflect my true thoughts and revelations I want to share with the world, because I’ve lived them, and I know that our stories speak powerfully.

This is it God, ME AND YOU.

You’ve given me eyes to see the world a certain, unique way. You’ve given me a soul that isn’t satisfied with status quo, but that needs connection, slowness, beauty, adventure, joy.

I want to help others find this too.

I went outside to stretch my legs and run free on our land for a little while before a thunderstorm started rolling in…

And then, I went back inside to write these “6-word stories” as a little creative practice. I don’t remember where I saw the idea to try to encapsulate a story into 6 words, but I loved trying it:

Connection is lifeblood, not an option.

Courage: choosing to move forward again.

Reclaim the “me” that wasn’t afraid.

Safe spaces of connection heal us.

A seed isn’t just a seed.

The upside-down Kingdom is always Good.

Not trying is worse than failing.

Never be too busy for sunsets.

I don’t want shallow living anymore.

Add adventure to make ordinary extraordinary.

Fruit hangs low outside comfort zones.

Beauty unfolds in the daring “yes.”

Broken wings can still fly high.

~ ~ ~

As I’m finishing this post, there are less than 2 hours left to my writing retreat. In a few hours, I’ll pick up my children, Steven will be cooking for his clients in the barn kitchen, I’ll be preparing to start homeschool tomorrow, clutter and rambunctiousness and the voices of my precious children will once again fill the floors and walls of my home.

But I’ll always remember what happened on my 1.5 day writing retreat in August 2020.

I sang out loud, walked around in my underwear, listened to music nonstop, and drank copious amounts of coffee and red wine.

I wrote almost 15,000 words for my manuscript - good quality, soulful ones, ones that could actually end up in the book.

I didn’t feel anxious or alone, like I usually do.

God has met me here, like He always does.

I go back to my normal, everyday life, feeling more fully alive and free.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to waste ANOTHER SINGLE SECOND of my life living in fear. I will falter though, because I’m human. But then I’ll go back to these little 6-word stories I wrote during these 1.5 days by myself in the cocoon of my home and remind myself of what I now know to be true:

I WILL SOAR WITH FRESH COURAGE.

THERE IS JOY IN LEADING NOW.