our story
lisa orris
On Friday, August 7, 2015, the same week when a car crashed through the church I was pastoring, our family was gathering at our house for a birthday celebration. Our youngest son Michael was turning 21, and we were getting ready to head to a Harry Connick, Jr. concert. It was about 4pm when a McHenry County Sheriff’s car pulled up and parked outside the driveway.
Everyone was in the house except for our oldest son Billy, who was on his way. I couldn’t imagine why the officer was walking down the driveway toward our front door. When I answered it he asked if this was the Orris home. I answered yes, and he asked if everyone was inside the house. Now I began shaking. I said yes. He told us there had been an accident. It was our oldest son, Billy. He had been hit on his motorcycle and was killed. The officer’s voice quivered as he spoke. I could hardly understand what he was saying. I just kept screaming Billy’s name. I fell to the floor, Michael ran out of the house down the street and my husband went into the back yard…screaming. The entire house was in disarray and disbelief. We could not comprehend what we were hearing. We were about to celebrate, and now we were headed to the hospital to identify our son.
Our daughter, Lauren, took over. She drove us to the hospital, began making phone calls and became our rock. The entire way to the hospital I begged God for Billy to still be alive. As I got to the room where he was laying, all I remember is leaning into the nurse who was standing by the door. I buried my head into her shoulder and wailed bitterly. My heart could not bear what I was about to see.
Over the next few months I began to walk the journey of grief. All I wanted to do was run. I had nothing left. I didn’t even want to live. I wasn’t even sure I believed in God anymore. I felt like a stranger in my own life.
The two things that helped me in my lostness over my son were community and beauty.
In the dark places after such loss, there seems like there will never be light or laughter again. One of my dear friends encouraged me in the following weeks after Billy died to look for beauty..a sunrise, a flower, trees, a stream of water, walking paths…anything that could remind me that there was still life to be lived. I remember once I stopped under a tree and let the leaves fall on me. I would have never done that ever in my life. I was too busy…too driven…too rushed. It has become my practice now to find beauty every day and to not run past it but to sit by it even for just a minute to remind me life is still good.
I also needed a place…a sacred space where I could weep, wail and shake my fist at God and not be afraid. I found what my soul needed in the form of retreats. A time away where I could walk, sit, be, pray, sleep or do nothing while I started healing. I don’t know if I would have made it without those times and places.
And so I wondered if it were possible to provide that same kind of space for others. So many people with so much pain. Where do you go? How do you process it all? How do you heal?
As I began to dream and pray, the Silver Lake Retreat was born. I live on a lake. It has brought me so much healing and restoration in my own life that I want to share it with as many people as possible!
I want to invite you to bring whatever your soul needs to the Silver Lake Retreat. I believe it will be one step on your journey of healing and we would love to be a part of that!
I look forward to hosting you!