by Angie Steinke

I remember the first time I read the  poem, The Man Watching  by Rainer Maria Rilke, it was back in the late 90’s featured in a beautiful book by Ken Gire titled: Windows of the Soul – Hearing God in the Everyday Moments of Your Life . It spoke to me then, but was most meaningful as I was heading into  my late forties. It gave me words for what I felt was happening in and around me as I was wrestling with everything and everyone, including God. I offer it here as the dramatic backdrop for what I’m calling: A Great Storm in the Wilderness

The Man Watching by Rainer Maria Rilke – translated by Robert Bly

I can tell by the way the trees beat, after
so many dull days, on my worried window panes
that a storm is coming,
and I hear the far-off fields say things
I can’t bear without a friend,
I can’t love without a sister.

The storm, the shifter of shapes, drives on 
across the woods and across time,
and the world looks as if it had no age:
the landscape, like a line in the psalm book, 
is seriousness and weight and eternity.

What we choose to fight is so tiny! 
What fights with us is so great. 
If only we would let ourselves be dominated
as things do by some immense storm, 
we would become strong too, and not need names.

When we win it’s with small things, 
and the triumph itself makes us small. 
What is extraordinary and eternal
does not want to be bent by us. 
I mean the Angel who appeared
to the wrestlers of the Old Testament:
when the wrestlers’ sinews 
grew long like metal strings, 
he felt them under his fingers 
like chords of deep music.

Whoever was beaten by this Angel 
(who often simply declined the fight) 
went away proud and strengthened
and great from that harsh hand, 
that kneaded him as if to change his shape. 
Winning does not tempt that man. 
This is how he grows: by being defeated, decisively, 
by constantly greater beings.

Selected Poems of Rainer Maria Rilke – Robert Bly, April 22, 1981

Journal Entry circa 2011 – 50yrs old

I could feel it coming, a storm was brewing inside of me just a few short years ago. The thunder clouds rolled in, dark and heavy. It seemed there was nothing I or anyone could do, but just let it come. At first I was glad for it. This storm would blow over leaving behind a fresh crop of new growth in me, feeling revived after a true drought of the soul. 

“Hunker down and wait it out” I’d tell myself; “You can make it through anything! In the end it will be very good.” But what seemed like a seasonal downpour turned into a hurricane of disillusionment swirling all around me. Suddenly, I felt like there was nothing to anchor to. The straight line winds uprooted the very foundations of who I knew myself to be. I thought the storm would surely weaken, but it didn’t. What seemed immovable, moved, shook by a force I had never experienced before.

The earth gave way under my feet, and so I fell, and fell, scraping across boulders, grasping for a handhold, anything, and then, crashed onto the rocks below. I found myself and everything I believed in buried under the rubble of my own shame. There I lay pinned, broken, bleeding from the heart, concussed, under a pile of rocks, too ashamed to even try to dig my way out, and somehow, I didn’t care much, I couldn’t. I could hear them crying out in the distance somewhere, the ones who loved me, not knowing how to reach me. I was too beat to even cry out; “I’m here…still breathing!” 

Jacob, as the story is told in the Old Testament, went away from his wrestler walking with a limp for the rest of his life. I’m certainly no Jacob, but I suppose now I will walk with one too. I’m still limping…always limping. Who wrestled with me was none other than my Maker, whose strength and resistance I cannot deny or even describe very well, but there was such tenderness in the discipline, a tangible closeness with the presence of God, a knowing of the heart of God holding all of my raw humanity! And yet, my wild soul was still challenging God. 

Then came the help, the kind of help from well meaning family and friends who come knocking on your troubled door. 

They handed me books and prayers. 

Nope! 

They told me to; “Stop this nonsense!” 

Nope! 

Implored me to curb the cuss words. ( I took up cussing for a while, Ooofda! ) 

Nope!

I went to our local Christian counselor for a few sessions.

Ah, thanks, but Nope! 

I tried to attend our church. 

Nope! 

I immersed myself in long days of work and attending to the needs of my family but everything felt like a big fat Nope! 

I went to my mom’s place by Lake Michigan for a few days and all I could do was cry. She just kept sending food and water into the bedroom. I was so MAD and SAD and it seemed like nothing could touch this unreasonable grief.

I felt prompted to do a bit of a confession among friends who were our peers in ministry but only came away with ‘confession regret’. ( Even now, I cringe thinking about it. ) 

I’m telling you, I was wild inside. I felt wild and a primal part of me is wild! Truthfully, I like that part of me. I didn’t want to lose her again. When I became a Christian, I felt like I had to let go of this beautiful wild child – Angie Kafer, that barefoot and free, healthy, funny, adventurous, in-the-dirt, outside in the rain and snow, dreamer me! Somehow, I thought from what I was being taught, in my nineteen year old mind, that I had to renounce all of who I was in order to become “new”. I wish someone would have told me that all I needed to do was to cooperate with the Spirit of God and transformation would be God’s work within me without losing the beautiful way I was made. Something original of who I was got lost in the mix of me trying to be the kind of person God would love, not knowing yet how deeply loved, liked, and cherished I was even as the wild and free girl. 

I think in retrospect now, I can see how this Great Storm in the Wilderness was actually a way for the true me to be found again amidst the clutter and confusion of what it means to be a Christian, and a woman in leadership. Maybe this was God’s kindness to me, to show me the best and worst of myself, all in one big wrestling match with my midlife self. I trust now, that with this storm, everything that needed to be uprooted has been washed away, and everything that was meant to stay, remains. 

My Prayer for Help

O Lord,

Help me to pick up the parts of me that I let go of so many years ago,

to cherish what you cherish,

to let go of what hinders me from living free. 

Help me to receive both your joy over me and your strong hand of guidance. 

Help me to see your wild side, your gentle side, allowing you to be you! 

Please forgive my stubborn pride. Forgive me for how I hurt you and others. 

Thank you for kneading me to change my shape, master potter, remaking me. 

Winning does not tempt me as much now, 

having been defeated, decisively. 

Amen.

Perhaps you can relate to this journal entry and it has invited you to take an honest assessment of the state of your own soul as a ministry leader. If you’d like to have a conversation with a spiritual director who can offer this: Are You Dangerously Tired? diagnostic and a follow-up session, we can set that up for you. Just contact us here with an email and tell us a bit about yourself and we will follow up with you.