Sabbatical Letter #5: Journeying Inwards
Note: This series originally took the form of a newsletter to friends on my sabbatical travels from April to July 2026.
Dear friends,
I write from the Lake District, England’s largest National Park, where I’ve been for a week. My days have been unexpectedly full — long hikes through rotating rain and sunshine, being folded into a little church community with out-sized warmth and deep joy, visiting local businesses and learning about their sustainability efforts, and precious indoor days in my apartment where I can simmer butter beans for soup for hours, prepare slow meals and fall asleep on the sofa.
At grocer Another Weigh, where it makes it more affordable and frictionless to go zero-waste
Walking alone and with new friends
Precious community away from home
The joy of feeding myself
I spent two magical days at Rydal Hall retreat centre last week. It’s a space designed for rest and contemplation, and where I walked a prayer labyrinth for the first time. Prayer labyrinths have never been something I’ve been particularly drawn to — revolving on the same spot without going anywhere just felt like navel-gazing. But regardless, it's been on my mind, my spiritual director mentioning it in an email and reading about Rebecca Solnit's experience in Jenny Odell's How to Do Nothing. And here I was with one in the Rydal Hall woodlands, without my planning.
I'm transcribing some of the points in the picture above for readability:
Labyrinths they have been used in Christian communities since the 4th century as an alternative to pilgrimage, and as a support for prayer and contemplation. This labyrinth has a single path leading to the centre, so you can't get lost. You return to the outside by the same path.
An approach to walking the labyrinth:
1. The journey inwards. In this stage, we are invited to let go of demands, distractions and expectations in order to quieten the mind.
Ask: What do I need to let go of?
2. The centre. Here we open ourselves to receive insights and guidance.
Ask: What do I need to receive?
3. The journey outwards. As we return, we seek to integrate what we have received into our lives.
Ask: What do I need to do?
It’s a drizzly morning where I had made the unwise decision to wear sandals with socks, not the best idea when the path is squelchy with mud. But here I am, and here we go.
- The journey inwards: What do I need to let go of?
I get lost walking into the centre of the labyrinth — twice, I hit false endings, thinking I’d already reached the centre before I actually did. Clearly, the letting goes need more time than I'd like.
My list of letting-goes is long. Physical comforts. The need to be liked, accepted, admired, useful, competent, successful. The need for immediate results, for my days to be obviously meaningful on my sabbatical. Fear of brokenness and sin, of the inevitabilities of life. The need to control outcomes, make the best decisions.
- The centre: What do I need to receive?
When I reach the centre of the labyrinth, I stand in a little pool of light valiantly making its way through the gap in the treetops, through clouds.
I think of these lines from Sandra McCracken’s luminous writing, whose music and words have carried me through much in the last ten years.
"How much slow beauty do we see? How much does it reveal? How much does this attention to quiet beauty help us to see and trust that scarcity is not the binding rule?
Scarcity is not the final word. It is as fleeting as the shadows. It has been defeated."
I receive God’s lavish abundance, His never-ending, deep wells of love. I receive His faithful provision. Writing these emails are such an act of faith. There’s never a guarantee that I’ll write something meaningful when the next time rolls around, no specific proven formula. It’s been a new adventure with my Shepherd, Him showing up in ways I cannot imagine. All I can do is receive.
I receive the muddy, squelchy bits of the labyrinth path, the unexpectedly lovely weeds breaking them up. I receive my creatureliness and limitations and that of others. I receive the times of disconnect with others on different journeys. I receive the inevitabilities, the boredom, the frustrations, the uncontrollable.
I receive the stone footholds laid over the muddy ground — the labour of love of others supporting me on my journey. I receive the dead leaves that form safe, dry patches that I can crunch through — the sacrifices freely given. I think of the kindness and counsel of dear friends, patient and passionate art and design instructors, decades-long spiritual mentors, church families that have loved and given me so much unconditionally. The hearts, minds and hands that designed and protected the woodlands and gardens I walk in, so that people like me from the other side of the globe centuries later are by it still nurtured and blessed.
Rydal Hall makes me think of hospitality. I’m free to roam, but there’s thoughtful design — for nurture and rest — to work within. Landscape architect Thomas Mawson championed the importance of garden design to emphasise views over the garden and the surrounding areas in 1909. The magical woodlands where the labyrinth sits includes sculptures to ponder, a little hut with viewing window built in 1668 — England’s first spot intentionally built for beholding beautiful vistas. The abundance and generosity (there is no entry fee) of every corners of the garden cultivated and nurtured, regardless of whether it’s paid attention.
3. The journey outwards: How do I integrate what I’ve received?
I think of my sister talking gently to my five-year old nephew last December before he visited the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam — giving him the context and support he needed to learn. As an educator, she calls this scaffolding. I think of others who have scaffolded me. I think of all the people and places who have been holding me up, holding space, giving me life — and how I can be that to others.
I return to shaping experiences to help others see God and themselves rightly, to clear away the brambles and weeds of our vision that so easily entangles. How to be still in a noisy world to see and hear what we ordinarily miss.
Two things I’m working on:
A Journal School, where we design their own journaling and reflection processes and integrate it into our lives. I will run them over three sessions: a) Visioning, b) Rhythms, c) Integration.
The Joy of Discovery Bible Study, starting July. I'm excited about it because while it’s framed around the Inductive Bible Study method, it goes further into the heart of the author beyond academic dissection, and our personal relationship with the Word. It’s reshaped the way I see Bible study as a way of journeying into God’s heart.
If these are things you’re interested in, want to join, run together, brainstorm and dream about, let me know!
And I'll continue to chew on these questions:
- What do I need to let go of?
- What do I receive?
- What do I do to integrate what I’ve received?
- What kinds of environments provide a true home to others who are away from home? What brings true mental, emotional and physical freedom?
- Which people and which spaces have been my hospitality and scaffolding? How can I do the same for others?
Love,
SH