The Holiness of Snug Hollow--A Eucharistic Table

I should have been breathing and relaxing, you know eating bonbons and sipping wine. It was the end of July and after 3 plus years of living in a constant state of crisis mode things were settled and even keeled. It was bliss, but it was then I suddenly fell apart.

I couldn't stop crying; I couldn't sleep; I couldn't think straight. I was a text book example of the psychological theory (the name which I can't remember) that says when living in crisis mode all your reserved energy is utilized and it's not until it's over that you fall apart. (And really I've been a textbook example of this for years--through all the medical traumas...) But this time I was totally lost and so FINALLY I took the advice of my therapist and booked a getaway just for myself. I planned a time of personal retreat, journaling and trying to figure out how to live as a normal person (y'all can stop laughing now...) I couldn't wait. But then....

Three days before I was to leave Chris was downsized.

Perhaps I shouldn't admit this, but I struggled. I wanted this time for myself, but I also knew Chris needed to get away and to process--I was feeling selfish and I was feeling loyal--oh good, back into the living I understand--being torn and scared and on high alert. But this high alert I didn't understand--what was my role? I knew how to be the wife that says, "you want to buy a business, let's do it; you want to sell the business and get your MBA with 4 children under 4, let's do it; you want to move to Pittsburgh, Virginia, England, Louisville, let's do it." I knew how to be the wife that takes every ounce of support her husband gives her as she follows her call. But I didn't know how to be the wife whose husband through no fault of his own was downsized. (I interrupt this blog for a public service announcement--suggesting to said husband there are a number of household projects he could begin working on during this time of unemployment is most definitely not the answer....) What I did know how to do was to say, "Come with me."

On a Sunday afternoon Chris and I set off for Snug Hollow, for time alone and time together, for quiet and refuge.

Monday morning we went to breakfast and sat on the porch with the other visitors. One was a couple from Indiana. He walked with a cane and had trouble cutting his food. Sometimes it took him a moment to find the words he wanted to say. We lingered over breakfast, and the couple told us how this was their anniversary trip--I can't remember the number but over 40 years. They told us how they knew this was the last trip they would probably be able to take. And we shared stories about children, and their grandchildren. They didn't sugar coat their years--they talked about hard times, scarce times, trouble with children, and fears about the future. And they talked about love and getting through it together. I had no idea then those stories would help carry me through the next 6 months....

Chris and I left the table and hiked through the woods talking about the future, sharing our fears, our hopes and our dreams. Being together as we faced our new normal.

Two months later I returned to Snug Hollow, this time alone. I was there for retreat and to plan Advent. During this stay I asked Barbara, the owner, how Snug Hollow came to be. We sat on the porch overlooking the holler and she told me the whole story--the good, the bad, and the ugly. She shared how there were times of tears and anger (even some yelling and cussing); there were times she didn't think she would make it, but she kept moving forward. She learned how to ask for what she needed and to say thank you and accept help when people offered. She learned how to maintain her vision and her dream when all signs indicated she should throw in the towel. And she learned the path she thought would lead her to the end wasn't necessarily the path she would have to take (and it certainly wasn't straight) but she never lost sight of her dream.

I again left Snug Hollow carrying someone's story that would strengthen me in the days and weeks to come as Chris continued to job search and I continued to discern my ministry. I learned how to be open to possibilities I hadn't considered and to remain steadfast. I learned to open myself to others and to say "yes thank you" and to accept help.  And yes, I learned that it was okay for there to be tears and anger along the way....

I just returned from 4 glorious days--again personal retreat and preparation this time for Lent and the Easter season. I again met fascinating people from all over; I again sat at the table being physically nourished by the most amazing food and emotionally and spiritually nourished by the stories we shared. It amazes me; Barbara doesn't plan or orchestrate the guests making sure they'll get along or have something in common. And yet each time I'm there, the people who gather are exactly the people I need to be with, exactly the people whose stories I need to hear.


Snug Hollow is about being open and vulnerable and sharing--not
withholding. It's about wanting everyone to flourish. It's about telling Barbara I can never get her biscuits right at home and her saying, "Well let's practice that while you're here. Here's what you're probably doing wrong." Or asking Olivia how she prepared a dish and her sitting down and telling you exactly, telling you it's in the cookbook but she makes a few changes and here's what they are--there is no hoarding information, no secret recipes. It's about empowering others to take the gifts of food and friendship we receive while we are there back into the world.

On my last day as I was walking it became very clear. Snug Hollow is a Eucharistic table in the world. In the Eucharist we say we are taken, blessed, broken and given. God takes us; God chooses us. There is no question in my mind God as we each understand God is present in the gatherings at Snug Hollow. The people that come are from varied walks of life, people you may not encounter anywhere else, sometimes people you wouldn't speak to anywhere else, and yet at Snug Hollow everyone is valued, equal and offers something of his or herself to those around the table. We are each blessed by the other. We leave after having needs met--sometimes needs we didn't even know we had.

Each of us comes with our own stories, our own brokenness. And some of it we share. Through one another's brokenness we also are nourished--nourishment that sustains us in times we had yet to know would be coming. Through our blessings and brokenness we give to each other. And then just like at the end of the Eucharist having been strengthened, nourished and refreshed we are sent back into the world to share the gifts we have received--to create Eucharistic tables wherever we are.