Emerging from the Sabbatical: Light Returns to Hope Springs

Written in the days following Imbolc, as winter begins its slow release.

When we paused retreat operations in November and named it a Winter Solstice Sabbatical - a "fallow period" - we didn't yet know what would emerge from the darkness. We knew only that rest was needed. That the land was asking for it. That we were asking for it.

The Board gathered for a strategic retreat at Hope Springs during Imbolc—that liminal moment when the first stirrings of spring whisper beneath the snow, when light begins its return, when we set intentions for what wants to be born.

They came to do the work of planning and discernment. Budget spreadsheets and operational decisions were made. But the land had other teachings too.

Walking in Fresh Snow

Our Board Chair, Melissa Marie, walked out onto the land early one morning, the first to step into snow that had fallen overnight. She noticed where her boots broke through the pristine surface—the weight of her body creating a path where none had been before. She noticed when it was easier to step into footprints already made by someone who had walked before her. She noticed when it was time to walk alongside another's tracks, parallel but not following.

And she noticed—perhaps most importantly—the places where the land itself said not yet. Places where the snow lay undisturbed because those spaces weren't ready to receive human steps.

This became a teaching for all of us: Sometimes we are the first to break trail. Sometimes we walk in another's footsteps. Sometimes we walk alongside. And sometimes the most sacred thing we can do is not walk at all—to let certain ground rest until it calls us forward. 

"We've Tried This Before"

During our time together, board members shared dreams and waking visions. More than one person heard the same message, spoken in different ways: "We've tried this before."

Not as judgment. Not as defeat. But as wisdom.

We've tried to keep going when the body said rest.

We've tried to do more with less until "less" became nothing at all.

We've tried to hold everything together through force of will and love alone.

The pipes froze the day before we arrived—a small crisis that felt like the land saying, Are you paying attention? They thawed the morning we left, as if to say, Yes. This. Now you understand.

There were clearings that weekend. Releases. Truths spoken aloud that had been held in silence too long. And in the space that opened, commitments were made new—not the kind born from urgency or fear, but the kind that emerge when you've walked through winter and can finally see the first green shoots pushing through frozen ground.

What Was Held at the Fire

We built ceremonial fires. We built an altar to Imbolc and honored the apaceta—that Andean tradition of stones stacked at mountain passes, where travelers leave offerings and receive blessings for the journey ahead. We dressed it with intention, with prayers, with the names of what we were releasing and what we were calling in.

Around the fire, we asked: What is Hope Springs for? Who does it serve? What wants to be born here?

And in the quiet between the asking and the answering, the land spoke.

It said: You cannot rush spring.

It said: Honor your limits. They are sacred too.

It said: Quality over quantity. Depth over breadth.

 

What Is Being Born

Out of the winter darkness, out of the ceremonial fires and the fresh snow and the dreams that came in the night, clarity emerged.

Hope Springs will remain a nonprofit.

For the next 18 to 24 months, we will hold this form while we stabilize, while we listen more deeply to what the land and community are asking for, while we continue refining our mission and our way of being in the world.

We will move at a different pace.

Hope Springs will host 12-18 retreats in 2026—fewer gatherings, but each one tended with greater care. This lighter rhythm allows the land to rest between offerings, allows staff to work without burnout, allows us to explore what else wants to emerge here.

Other retreat centers have taught us: sustainability comes not from doing more, but from doing what we can do well. From honoring seasons and cycles. From knowing when to pause.

We will build structures that hold the work.

We're bringing on an interim Operations Manager and Administrative Assistant—not to pile on more, to ensure the work doesn't rest on too few shoulders. We're updating policies and pricing to reflect real costs and support sustainability. We're saying yes to support where it's offered.

These aren't just operational decisions. They're acts of care. They're how we live into our values when no one is watching.

We will ask for help.

We're continuing to work with Perspective Guides to support this transition—to build systems, pilot new offerings like virtual programming, explore grant opportunities, and document what we're learning so it doesn't live only in one person's memory.

And we're leaning on our community. You who have held this place through decades. You who know that sacred work requires tending, not just talking about. You who show up.

What the Sabbatical Taught Us

The pause wasn't about fixing what was broken. It was about listening to what was true.

We learned that Hope Springs cannot continue on the old path—below-cost pricing, invisible labor, policies bent for every exception, exhaustion worn like a badge of honor.

We learned that we've tried this before—and it doesn't work. Not in ways that honor the land. Not in ways that honor people. Not in ways that last.

We learned that sometimes the bravest thing is to stop. To let the ground go fallow. To trust that what needs to emerge will only come in the spaciousness of rest.

The sabbatical was hard. It asked you to trust when answers weren't yet clear. It asked facilitators to wait. It asked the community to hold questions without resolution. It asked the board to sit with uncertainty and resist the urge to rush toward solutions.

Your patience made this possible. Your continued faith in Hope Springs—even when the path forward was unclear—created the container for this discernment.

Imbolc Invites Us Forward

Imbolc teaches us: The light is returning. Slowly. Not all at once.

The ground is still frozen in places. There are seeds beneath the snow that need more time. But there is also movement. First stirrings. The faintest pulse of green pushing toward sun.

Hope Springs is reopening—but differently. With more intention. With clearer boundaries. With systems that support rather than strain. With a commitment to moving at the speed of trust, not the speed of urgency.

Some of what was decided may feel like loss. A reduced retreat schedule means not every program can be accommodated. Updated pricing reflects real costs, which may be higher than before. The timeline for reopening is slower than some hoped.

But what is being born here is sustainable. Rooted. Grounded in what the land, the people, and the work itself are asking for.

Walking Into Spring

Our Board Chair's footsteps in the snow remind us: We are finding our way. Sometimes breaking new trail. Sometimes following paths laid before us. Sometimes walking alongside. Sometimes knowing when not to walk at all.

We don't have all the answers. We won't pretend we do.

But we know this: Hope Springs has held sacred space for thirty years because people believed it mattered. Because this land calls to something in us that remembers—remembers how to gather, how to rest, how to listen, how to tend.

That hasn't changed.

What's changing is how we steward it. With more honesty. With clearer limits. With structures that honor both the sacred and the sustainable. With a willingness to say not yet when that's what's true, and yes, now when the ground is ready.

What Happens Next

In the weeks ahead, you'll hear from us about:

• Specific reopening timelines and retreat schedules

• How to stay connected and engaged during this transition

• Ways to support Hope Springs as we build this new foundation

• Community gatherings where we can share more and hear from you

For now, we invite you to hold this with us: The light is returning. Spring is coming. What wants to be born here will be born—not rushed, not forced, but tended with care until it's ready.

With Gratitude

To everyone who has held Hope Springs through this winter—who showed up at community gatherings, who filled out surveys, who asked hard questions, who simply kept this place in your heart—thank you.

The board's work was made wiser because you were willing to walk with us. Hope Springs is still here because people care deeply. Because this land matters. Because sacred work is worth tending, even when—especially when—it asks us to change.

We're grateful beyond words.

And we're ready—finally—to walk into spring.

Questions? Reflections? Stories of your own to share? We welcome your voice. Reach out to director@hopespringsinstitute.org.

Want to walk alongside Hope Springs as we move forward? Together, let's honor what Imbolc teaches: that light returns, that new life stirs, that what is ready to be born will find its way.

With love and in service to the land,

Hope Springs Leadership Team

Written in gratitude for the snow, the fire, the silence, and the stirring.