A "Failed" Sabbatical

This is our 6^th year taking a July sabbatical from our work. In anticipation of the time, I imagined myself sitting for long hours on the dock at the Lily Pad (our tiny cabin in SW Michigan), or on chilly mornings snuggled under an electric blanket on the screened porch, reading and reflecting deeply about life. 

Little did I know that my bucolic visions would not become reality.    

On July 5^th, just before we were to head to Traverse City, MI, to meet our daughters for a continued family vacation, we received a call from a neighbor who lives across the street from David’s 91 1⁄2-year-old mother, Marlene. She’d fallen, and an ambulance was on its way. We immediately headed back to Indianapolis to assess the situation.   

Thankfully, she had no broken bones! I won’t disclose the other maladies that led to her fall. What is important to note is that this health crisis finally led her to the realization that living alone was no longer safe. (David’s dad died four years ago and Marlene had continued to live by herself, in her home of more than 60 years.) It was time for a change.

Being an only child, David (and I) are the primary parties responsible for making this monumental change happen. Like dominoes falling one upon the other, this reality set into motion a million other necessary decisions. We began to explore rehab facilities and assisted living communities; talked with lawyers, financial advisors, movers, and realtors. (Thankfully, there are three in our family!) 

In addition, we’ve begun the laborious task of going through all her possessions and sorting them into three piles: keep, give away, or throw away. You can likely imagine what it entails to clear out 60+ years of life from every drawer, cabinet, closet, and cubby with stuff stuffed to its limits! It is so incredibly overwhelming. 

So much for our tranquil sabbatical. For sitting on the dock in the quiet of a sunrise. For reading and thinking deep, profound thoughts. 

About this time, you might be wondering if I’m feeling sorry for myself; for us. Probably a little. I’ve had to grieve what has been lost: vacation time with our family, a season of rest and renewal, an extended dose of nature bathing. And it is very clear to me—to both of us—that we’re right where we need to be, doing what we need to do! 

I’m reminded of some words I read during my first week or so of “sabbatical.” They now have a much deeper, more profound application:

The marginalization that eventually comes with aging is a privileged way to move into solidarity with the poor, to recognize more deeply something we should have recognized our whole lives; We are not self-sufficient; we need others. From that recognition, from accepting our place among the poor, we can now be prophet. And what is to be our message? What are we, in love, to name?

We are to name what Jesus names in the first words of his public ministry: that the Gospel and Christian faith are meant, first of all, to be good news for the poor. Any preaching, ministry or religious activity that is not good news for the poor is not the Gospel of Jesus. As we age, as we mature as Elders, as Sophias, that air we exhale needs to carry always the prophetic message that we are on the side of the poor and so is God.” Insane for the Light: A Spirituality for Our Wisdom Years, by Ronald Rolheiser (P. 98-99)

“Any preaching, ministry or religious activity that is not good news for the poor is not the Gospel of Jesus.” This is exactly the good news I’ve been invited to offer. A “failed” sabbatical? Yes—at least in the way I’d imagined it. Yet the invitation to be in solidarity with the poor and vulnerable (I .e. Marlene) is an invitation to be in solidarity with Christ and his gospel.

In the last three weeks, I’ve witnessed Marlene descend into an increasingly vulnerable state of helplessness, to become truly dependent, or what Rolheiser calls a “holy beggar.” I’ve experienced this not as a detached bystander, but as one who has been with her, connected to her, bound to her, caring for her. This has been a spiritual experience without me knowing it. The Spirit has stealthily infused me with energy, not for some lofty endeavor, but soul energy to “get down low.” To be humbled; to eat dirt; to descend from my role as daughter-in-law into my soul as a fellow human made of dust.  

Though it’s been exhausting and overwhelming, and I’ve been disappointed with what I’ve lost, I now suspect that I’m getting what I need: a chance to connect with my roots as a human person and the opportunity to embrace my own aging process. There seems to be in it a foreshadowing of what is to come: for I, too, will one day be a holy beggar.  

Beth A. Booram

Fall Creek Abbey

July “Sabbatical” 2026

PS: I also want to celebrate something with you. We have been absolutely amazed and so proud of Marlene and how she’s embraced this huge change. She has truly been an example of resilience to us! Her transition into rehab and (soon) into an assisted living apartment has been nothing short of miraculous; a graced experience!