Arriving wasn’t the easiest by any means. Opie had been sick the entire night, and in trying to give Kristen as much rest as I could, I took it as my night. I got less than two hours of sleep total. We woke up making plans for where Kristen would work so someone could watch him during the day since daycare wasn’t an option. I was going to take Anna to daycare and then get the truck ready for the three-hour backroad trip. Just as we had it all settled, Kristen found out she had jury duty that day.

I genuinely postured myself that I probably wasn’t going on the trip because I needed to be home to help.

Looking back, I think I had been getting tired for five years.

In May of 2021, I stepped into a dying church with the hope of helping rehabilitate it and somehow seeing God breathe life back into it. Four months later, in September, Kristen and I got married. The church began growing faster than any of us expected, and by October of 2022 we had moved to two services.

At the same time, Kristen and I were struggling to have our first child. Eventually we discovered the medical issue was with me, and while the doctor never actually said, “It’s not going to happen,” everything he said felt like he was preparing us for that reality. We began the process toward IVF, and the very week we were signing the financial paperwork, we found out we were pregnant.

I became a dad for the first time at 42. Then almost immediately, we found out Opie was coming.

All the while, church life kept moving. There were ugly staff transitions. People I loved left the church. The church kept growing. We hired new staff. There were problems to solve, people to care for, sermons to preach, decisions to make, and another Sunday always coming.

Somewhere in the middle of all of it, I nearly broke.

I reached a point mentally and emotionally where I knew I wasn’t okay and eventually went on antidepressants. At the same time, I began deconstructing—not my faith in Jesus, but much of what I had been taught about ministry and what faithfulness in ministry was supposed to look like. I began realizing that some relationships and ministry environments I deeply loved had also been deeply unhealthy for me. Walking away from people you love because you realize you can no longer remain healthy around them carries its own kind of grief.

And through almost all of it, I just kept moving.

Another Sunday. Another decision. Another crisis. Another person who needed something. Another sermon. Another meeting. Another season of growth. Another transition.

Marriage. Babies. Church. Leadership. Healing. Grief. Growth. Change.

There had rarely been a moment to stop long enough to ask what all of it had done to me.

So when I say I was tired, I don’t mean I needed a good night of sleep.

I mean something in me had been running for five years without ever fully coming to rest.

I wasn’t just tired. I was weary.

Kristen is an absolute answer to prayer. She truly is everything I never knew I needed to pray for. She was adamant about me going on the trip because I needed a break—for church, yes, but for her and the kids also.

I had planned on still taking two meetings at the church before I left because Mondays set the tone for the upcoming weekend and help ensure everything is moving in the right direction.

Belinda jumped into action to take care of Opie, Mom and Dad took Max, I told the staff I wasn’t going to be at the meetings, Kristen wasn’t sure if we would see each other before I left because of jury duty—and I left.

I ran some errands to waste time so I wouldn’t go into the office, and by the time I was done it was 11am, exactly when I needed to depart and get on the road.

I usually find the shortest route I can and drive faster than I should so I’m not on the road as long. This time, however, I found the route that was almost entirely backroads. I wanted to take my time and ease into this monastic retreat of silence.

Admittedly, I wasn’t sure what I was getting myself into.

Who was going to be here? What was it going to entail? Would I even be able to stay quiet the entire time?

I’m a control freak by nature, so not having those small details at least thought through beforehand proved problematic on the drive. There were several moments of anxiety and nervousness as I debated the entire thing. Certainly there was another option, but in the middle of all the unknown, I knew one thing for certain: I was exhausted.

The drive itself was peaceful. Tennessee and Kentucky backroads, farmhouses and their surrounding farms. Hills and turns seemingly everywhere, with small towns tucked between them.

I finally landed at the monastery, and pictures don’t do it justice.

Immaculately kept grounds. Mature trees placed throughout the entryway. A novel little cemetery near the front walkway to the guesthouse. Random chairs beneath trees for retreatants to sit quietly and escape the noise of life.

It was impressive to see something in the middle of nothing and to be somewhere in the middle of nowhere.

Exiting the truck, it was noticeable how palpable the atmosphere was. Calm. Not busy. Peaceful and peace-filled.

I wasn’t sure where to go, and I didn’t want to act out of order by wandering somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be, so I made my way to the gift shop. They make chocolates and fruitcakes as Trappists during the hours they aren’t praying or taking care of guests during the day.

I entered the gift shop and simply asked, “Where am I supposed to be?” The ladies pointed me in the direction of the four-story guesthouse that looks somewhat like a well-kept hotel across from what appeared to be a high-walled garden.

It was increasingly noticeable how peaceful it was. So either I was that exhausted and searching for respite, or there was something about this place that has stood the test of time.

I think the only way I can put into words what I felt was this: Is this the embodiment of, “Come all who are weary and I will give you rest”?

I crossed a threshold on the property leading to the guesthouse after following the ladies’ directions. A sign read, “Silence after this point.” It’s evident they have a plan in place even for travelers who are clueless as to what they’re getting themselves into.

I walked through the front door of the guesthouse and was greeted by another lady who found which room I was in. No computer for check-in, just a simple piece of paper with retreatants’ names on it. She handed me a key.

I told her I wasn’t sure where to go or what to do since this was my first time, and she directed me toward a set of stairs or an elevator. I told her I’d take the stairs. She joked that a lot of people prefer to do so and then followed it with, “I’ll keep my eye on you.” I laughed and made my way upstairs to find my floor and room.

I walked into a modest, dorm-style room with a twin bed, desk and chair, a bedside lamp, and a place to put my clothes. The bathroom was similar—nothing extravagant, but everything I would need. It wasn’t excessive. No TV. No phone. No bells and whistles. Just a room with a bed and a bathroom.

I went back to my truck to retrieve my luggage, got back to the room, and crawled into bed. It was 3pm and supper was at 6, so I set my alarm for 5:30.

It was the first of several realizations on the property of how spent I actually was. Not just from the drive. Not tired from any one particular “thing.” I was drained and empty—emotionally, mentally, physically, and spiritually exhausted. I looked into the bathroom mirror under an unforgiving vanity light and saw a face that nearly appeared unrecognizable. I’m not sure I’ve ever known this level of tired before. Maybe Kristen was right the entire time about my need to get away and disconnect.

I slept soundly until my alarm woke me up, got dressed, and headed downstairs—still unsure of instructions or protocols, but that seemed to somewhat describe everyone, or at least that’s how it appeared to me.

We all made small decisions that each person followed along with and eventually found the food line leading into the dining hall, where we ate in silence—each respecting both the rules we were still unsure of and the people around us whom we didn’t know.

Following dinner, we had a 6:30 introductory meeting/service with Father Carlos who has been on the property for 40 years. He gave us the details we didn’t know and then gave us the inspiration for why we were here: To meet the living God who loves us. Not merely the God of our doctrines and denominations. Not the God found only within Bible knowledge, but the God who wants to be real to us and often can’t be heard outside of silence. It was refreshing to finally get some semblance of awareness of why I was here.

Following the talk, it was time for Compline, the final prayer and worship moment the monks honor for the completion of the day. We were invited to attend and watch from a space set aside in the church.

Probably close to 150–200 feet long, maybe 50 feet wide, and 75 feet tall, it’s minimalist in appearance. Not the architectural picture of a cathedral I had imagined, but rather white walls, simple wooden beams holding up the white roof, modest chairs and seating, and a stone floor. It’s beautiful. And I fight the urge to figure out how I would improve it if it were Salem or if I were in charge. That becomes the first of several internal fights I feel like I may have as I focus on being quiet—not just from talking with others, but from talking with myself. I’m here to commune and abide with God.

I enjoyed watching the monks come in and having the opportunity to observe them worship. Modeling the pattern of the church itself, everything is very modest and minimalist. Just a chorus of voices following songs drafted from Scripture—certainly not the noise of the latest radio worship created for charts and appeasement of the masses. They are singing to honor the One who gave them the day and thanking Him for its completion.

I filed in line with everyone else, still not sure exactly what I was doing, and the Abbot blessed me alongside everyone else. I wasn’t sure whether I should bow, say thank you, or do something else, but I fought the urge to begin asking questions—everything from what we were singing to how they kept the monstrous room cool with no visible HVAC.

Again, attempting to stay quiet even with myself. I made my way back to my room, got ready for bed, FaceTimed Kristen and the kids, and enjoyed speaking with someone—especially playing hide-and-seek with Anna over FaceTime.

Then I turned off my phone and the lights and went to sleep...for 15 hours.