me to the icon, but now you have ditched me. I feel like Estragon in Waiting for Godot; I hated that play, and I certainly hate this one.” As the wind blows and the trees bend as if in mourning, I walk down the main road that leads to the retreat center. I begin an angry, passionate, and rage-filled conversation with the absent God. “You have let me down. You have put me through hell this week and uncovered a lot of buried conflict. I felt led to Our Lady of Vladimir—and for what? The retreat is