A Quest for a Local Labyrinth (Article #33)
A photo for a Greek mythology article leads to a mother-daughter meditative moment
We circled the hospital campus again looking for its elusive outdoor paved labyrinth.
“Just ask someone,” my daughter directed from the backseat, so I parked the car near the next medical building entrance.
Cold wind greeted us as we exited the car on this gray Good Friday morning that followed a night of storms. While there was no rain, there wasn’t any sun either.
“Can you tell us where your labyrinth is?” I asked the receptionist.
She smiled in confusion. “We have a labyrinth?” she asked.
I pulled up the information about St. Joseph Hospital’s labyrinth in Elgin, Ill., that I had discovered on The Labyrinth Locator website.
The previous day I had finished drafting my next Substack article about using Greek mythology to engage students in reading, but I needed a picture concept. That night, one struck– what if I posed D’Aulaires’ Book of Greek Myths in a labyrinth.
Internal questions followed: “Where does one find a labyrinth, and is there a labyrinth close enough to me? And even if there was, is there one open to the public on Easter weekend?”
On the Labyrinth Locator website, I eventually identified the one in Elgin. Even though it had been more than a decade since my now-deceased grandma received treatment at St. Joseph Hospital, the location felt meaningful and familiar.
“Why do you need a photo of a labyrinth, and what is a labyrinth anyway?” My daughter asked when I proposed our Friday morning outing to her.
At some point, I learned labyrinths resemble mazes, but while mazes have distinct entrances and exits, a labyrinth shares its entrance and exit. One reflectively walks the path to the center and then retraces the path back outward– an internal journey of discovery.
“What’s that got to do with Greek mythology?” she quipped.
“We’ll have to read the story about the labyrinth and the minotaur very soon,” I absently answered as our morning adventure started to take shape in my mind.
Finding St. Joseph Hospital’s labyrinth morphed into a journey in and of itself as the first receptionist we asked directed us to the hospital’s Main Entrance receptionist for further information.
We returned to the car and drove further around the campus before entering the hospital.
Again, we were met with confusion; the receptionist knew nothing about a labyrinth.
Doubt set in. Maybe the website wasn’t credible. Since the labyrinth had been built in 2003 as the first hospital-based labyrinth in Illinois, maybe it had long since been demolished.
“The website states, ‘The labyrinth is located on the east side of the hospital and can be accessed via the walkway between the Cancer Care Center and Medical Office Building II,’” I said, showing the receptionist a picture of the labyrinth on the website.
With this information, she directed us to the general area, which resulted in us circling the campus again.
Eventually we found it, inconspicuous signs leading us to the labyrinth, which was nestled between two tall brick and window buildings.
The wind blew. The birds chirped. It was quiet; no other human being in sight.
After taking dozens of staged shots of the mythology book in various positions on the walking path, we decided to stroll through the labyrinth ourselves.
A sign instructed us to follow the path toward the center, “letting go of [our] worries and thoughts.” Once at the center, we were to pause to “encounter God.” Then, we would walk out, reflecting on what we had learned.
My daughter ran ahead with few cares in the world and found the center quickly. I walked at a meditative pace, attempting to release all the burdens adults carry that often can’t be explained to a child.
At moments, I’d stop, wondering if I had made a wrong turn.
“Wasn’t I here already?” I asked aloud.
“You’re actually really close to the center now,” my daughter cheered me on.
It didn’t feel that way; I actually felt more on the edge than when I started.
But I trusted the path would take me where I needed to go, and I resumed walking with continued insights from my daughter. Eventually I found the center, where she greeted me with a hug.
“Now what?” she asked.
“We walk back out the way we came.”
“But doesn’t that take us further from God?” she wondered.
“Sometimes it feels that way, yes,” I responded, “but God calls us to take what we learned, return with it to the outside world and share it.”
I reflected on my own words as I returned to the path, and that’s when I decided I would live out what I told my daughter by writing about our experience on Substack.
Once we gathered our belongings and prepared to leave, my daughter chirped, “It’s cold. Let’s get soup.”
With the sun just starting to poke through the clouds, out into the world we ventured, hand-in-hand, with our next, comforting step in mind.
And that’s just one more way we can make reading VISIBLE. VITAL. VALUED– together.
Stay tuned for the article that prompted this Good Friday outing. It’s titled “A Heroic Journey into Greek Mythology (Article #34),” set to release Monday morning.
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"The professor said to write what you know / Lookin' backwards might be the only way to move forward" —Taylor Swift, “The Manuscript”
I really enjoyed this articlle! It brought back memories of the labyrinth on my college campus, where I would go to slow down, reflect, and pray. Reading your piece makes me want to return to that labyrinth and experience it again, and even introduce my children to it. Thank you for the inspiring article!