graduation

My nieces graduated from preschool yesterday.

All of the kids were adorable, singing songs about ice cream and guacamole, receiving their diplomas, walking down the aisle to Pomp and Circumstance.

But in the grand scheme of things it was just another day.

Why? Because a ceremony can't capture all that they have learned. Experienced. The fun. The challenges. Growth. Daily victories. The hilarious things that come out of their mouths (during yesterday's slideshow Tessa kept asking when she was going to get to play on the slides). The light bulbs that go off when they finally connect. Friendships made. With students, teachers, parents, and aides.

It's kind of like walking across Spain. And expecting the Cathedral in Santiago (or the piece of paper you get that says you walked there) to hold all of the magic. Only to realize that the moments you will forever cherish didn't take place on that last day. But all along the way. In the people you met, the mountains you climbed, the bones you broke, the tears and the laughs and the wine.

turtledoves

My turtledoves hatched while I was in California.

I've been thinking about these two birds and how they must feel listening to and watching all the other birds in the yard. Running and jumping and flying. Doing the things they were made to do. While my little squeakers (that's what you call a baby dove!) aren't yet ready to leave the nest.

Because even though they are far closer to achieving God's plan for the next stage of their life than when they were encased in egg shells, just because they hatched doesn't mean they are ready yet to fly.

This speaks to my own frustration. My longing to live into the next adventure. To explore more of the beauty, community, and opportunity beyond my front door.

But like a nestling, I have to be patient. Until it is my turn. My time. And then, soon enough, I too will be ready to fly.

blank pages

I have no idea what to write about.

It isn't writers block.
It's more like when a person retires and they don't know how to fill all of their new found time.
Or a relationship ends and you have to figure out all over again who you are without that other person.

Writing was easy when I was in Spain. There were new adventures every day. People. Food. Vistas. Pain. Determination. Kilometers that needed walked.
And it felt amazing to have such a clearly defined purpose. In life. And in writing.

But now it feels like I'm trying on all of my clothes (literally and metaphorically) to see what still fits and what doesn't. What still serves me and what I can give up.

And in the meantime I have no idea what to do with myself. Or this blog.

two questions

There are two questions that people have been asking me since I left Spain: "How was it?" and "Where are you going next?"

The first answer is easy. It was amazing. Life-changing. Beautiful. Hard. The best thing I've ever done.

The second question, however, took me off guard. I haven't even adjusted to the eastern time zone yet and already you want me to have another adventure?

But I guess you all know me better than I know myself sometimes. Because tomorrow after church I'm headed straight to the airport. Just 12 days after landing in Ohio. To spend the week in California.

I'm hoping its exactly what I need. A place to celebrate and to rest, to reflect and seek direction. A place of comfort and community. Inspiration and perhaps discovery of that next great adventure. Or at least a greater sense of peace about where I'm at.

I'll be sure to tell you all about it... as soon as I get back.

Have a blessed week everyone!!

comfortable

Last night, after his sisters went to bed, my nephew propped a pillow up against his mother's hip. Grabbed a blanket, tablet, and his penguin. And settled in for a few peaceful moments in his little nest. 

This kid knows how to get comfortable!  

And I'm completely envious.

I haven't found that comfortable place yet since leaving Spain. Not in my body or my home. My head or my work.

I'm sure it will come. And I'll be just as content as Kasen, in his last week as a 7-year-old. I just have to be patient...

coincidence

My sister-in-law shared with me a book called When God Winks. The gist of it is that God speaks to us through what we call "coincidences", to encourage us and let us know we are on the right path.

Last night I went to church to hear a friend of mine preach. He referred to an article about the "top regrets of the dying". He also mentioned that churches in Korea are enormous. A few months ago I did a research project for a huge church in Asia and the exact same article was part of my research.

Over the weekend I "randomly" thought about a friend of mine who I haven't seen in over a year. One of his close friends, who I haven't seen in at least 10 years, was at church last night.

Mike, who used to pastor my church, thanked me for extending my stay in Spain. I had been scheduled to speak at the end of April, but because I decided to stay 10 extra days they had to find a replacement. So they asked Ken. Meanwhile some of Mike's family was in town for a celebration and said they really wished they could hear Mike preach. Ken and Mike "happened" to bump into each other and Ken said something came up for him on Sunday. So Mike offered to preach in his place.

Doug just started dating a widow. Actually Doug is his middle name, but he has always gone by Doug. His girlfriend's husband's name was also Doug. Actually Doug was his middle name too, which he had always gone by.  

While Randy, who lives near Sacramento, and I were walking across Spain together, I worked on a marketing project with a company in Sacramento. My friend--who I went to hear preach last night--his name is Randy too.

Coincidences? Or God's way of winking?

birds

My nephew enlightened me over the weekend about cardinals. (His chosen bird for a school project because he's a Louisville fan.) They can sing up to 16 different songs and are the state bird for 7 states. (I don't know why I imagined Ohio had sole claims to this one.)

Birds are amazing creatures. Seemingly connecting heaven and earth, the human and Divine. Inviting us to spread our wings in order to reach new heights, embracing what we can see and what we can't.

Birds were very much a part of my journey across Spain.

The cuckoo bird that showed up any time we were struggling--with sickness, pain, or doubt.

The vultures that circled overhead, hoping we would give up in the Pyrenees.

Small birds with large voices and large birds that were silent. Some that floated easily on the wind, and others that struggled against it.

One man told me that he walked the Camino during a particularly hot summer and didn't hear a single bird on his journey. I don't know that I went a single moment without one making itself known.

And of course the stork. Nesting on every church top in northern Spain. "The one that brings babies" everyone called it, regardless of the country they were from or the language they spoke. The perfect symbol for what we all hoped to gain from our walk--new life, rebirth, awakening.

The stork returns to its nest, year after year, to raise its young. Just like we all returned home, after walking, to begin the process of raising up whatever new insights were birthed inside of us.

I even came home to the promise of two new turtledoves.

celebrating the ordinary

Watching my nieces "play" this week has reminded me that there are many ordinary, daily tasks in my "normal" life that I didn't think about while walking the Camino... 

I only did dishes once in Spain. 

I haven't vacuumed in two months.

Music was church bells and bird calls, not filling up my i-pod and turning on the car stereo. 

By the end of the journey I could go several days without ever looking in the mirror. And "fixing" my hair meant putting on a hat. 

Watching the kids celebrate these activities, as if rites of passage, reminds me that I can celebrate them too. I can be grateful to have dishes to wash, because I'm home where I can make healthy food choices. I can be grateful to vacuum, because I like carpet and they don't have much of that in Spain. I can be grateful for bird calls AND car stereos, because music is how I connect with the Creator. And I am certainly grateful for shampoo, because using the same soap for my hair, body, dishes, and clothes is not a trend I want to continue.

Thank you girls for the reminder that all of life is worth celebrating!

alone

My aunt asked me yesterday if it was hard to go from being around people 24/7 for two months, to living alone.

Incredibly hard. Impossibly hard.

Like I've lost my sense of community.

But family dinner and movie nights are certainly helping.

the in-between

In Spain, I had a clear and defined "purpose"--to walk. 

Today I am wrestling with what that clear and defined purpose is now that I am "home". If I have one. If I need one. What is next.

Or if I'm being called to stay in this "in-between" place for a while, to rest and reflect and recover. 

It is an unsettling place. The in-between. But that doesn't mean it's not right where I'm supposed to be.  

fresh air

One of the most amazing benefits of walking the Camino is the opportunity to spend at least 8 hours a day outside in the fresh air. In rain and sun. Snow and wind. Mountains and vineyards. Small towns and on city streets. 

For many of us we haven't taken this kind of time to "play outside" since we were kids. (It's no wonder I first got the idea to walk across Spain when I was working in an office, 40+ hours a week.)

But lucky for me I now have a life, a "schedule", that allows me to enjoy the fresh air. To sit in the sun with my dog. Stand outside and talk to the neighbors. Dig in the dirt and plant vegetables with my dad. Let the fresh air come in through the screen doors to fill the house with air worth breathing.

I feel for those who walked with me, whose lifestyle doesn't ordinarily allow for these long hours outdoors, and hope they are able to find some way to make time for fresh air. Because I can't imagine what it would be like to walk across Spain and then have to go back to an office.

groceries

Resting, it seems, is going to take some practice.

Yesterday, instead of sitting on the couch with my feet up, I dropped my dog off with the groomer and spent the afternoon at the grocery store.

I expected to be overwhelmed by the choices. Only twice while I was gone was I ever asked if I wanted white or wheat bread, and one of those times was in Philadelphia.

I expected to have a hard time thinking about cooking for myself. Because over the past two months the most I have done is butter my own toast and peel my own oranges (and that I only started doing after Randy left).

But the thing that surprised me was how challenging it was to buy food for an entire week.

We went to plenty of grocery stores in Spain, big and small. Hit lots of fresh markets. But never bought more than what we needed for the moment. Because whatever we bought we had to carry in our packs.

One of the beautiful parts about the Camino is learning to trust each day to take care of itself. To carry only as much water as you need to get to the next rest stop. Enough fruit and granola to satisfy a hunger that may arise before the next cafe. A fresh baguette if you happened to pass the bread truck that morning. At most the makings of a sandwich if 15 or more kilometers stood between you and lunch.  

I guess it isn't practical to go to the grocery store every day or eat out for every meal now that I'm home. Especially since it would take me all day to walk to any of those places (or a 20-minute drive!).

But I think I will be more mindful of what I need each day, and what I can do without. And not just when it comes to food.

Ellie, my host in Trabadelo. Who took care of all my needs for one night:
dinner, laundry, hot shower, and a bed. And made me breakfast the next morning.

Day 63

Day 63: Home

• Flight from Philadelphia to Ohio
• Dinner with my parents
• Baseball practice with my brother, nieces and nephew
• Walk with my dog
• Wine and conversation with my sister-in-law Kari, followed by her reminding me that the tendinitis in my foot may be better but the stress fracture is not going to heal itself if I keep walking my dog

Yep, I'm officially home! 

And for the next few days you can find me dutifully resting on the couch. Reading a book (2 months without reading... I have a lot of catching up to do!). And eating peanut butter (can you imagine 2 months without peanut butter?!).

Thank you all for being a part of my journey! For walking with me across Spain. For opening your hearts to the highs and lows of this adventure. And bravely following whatever dream God is calling you to in your own life.

Animo! (You can do it!)

Ultreia! (Walk on!)

Buen Camino!! (Have a good journey!)

Day 62

Day 62: Philadelphia

After a 9 hour flight from Madrid to Philadelphia, I was welcomed back to America with the most amazing surprise.

Randy.

There in the airport. Holding a sign with my name on it. To congratulate me on reaching Santiago. And help me begin the transition from two months on the Camino back to “real life”.

After hugs and laughs and rearranging my flight schedule so we could spend a day in the city together (the Camino has definitely encouraged me to be more flexible!), we did the most “American” thing we could think of.

We went out for Philly cheese steaks.

And I got my first taste of the “American” things I am going to have to readjust to. So many choices (what do you mean what kind of beer do I want?). Finding the toilet handle (what is it doing on the side of the tank?). American prices and dollar bills (where are the fifty cent and one dollar coins?).

And those were just the adjustments I faced in the first hour.

The rest of the evening was mostly spent crying. Tears for all the amazing experiences. The easy and the difficult ones. Tears of joy and accomplishment, relief and exhaustion. Tears for leaving a beautiful country that was home to me, that cared for me and challenged me to grow. Tears for all the people I met along the Way, that they too would have an incredible journey, far into the future. All the tears that I wanted to cry along the way that I didn’t allow myself to. And tears for whatever changes are ahead.

Randy tells me the tears are a normal and natural part of the transition. I feel so blessed that the Camino brought him into my life. That he was here to share his transition experience with me and help me ease into mine.

I know the transitions, the processing, the learning will continue far into the future. But I can’t imagine a more perfect way to begin!  

Day 61

Day 61: Madrid

There is nothing fun about a 9-hour overnight bus ride from Santiago to Madrid. Except the 5 minute break we had in Ponferrada, my home for those few rest days after my hospital visit.

It is hard to believe that was only 10 days ago. But an amazing reminder that so much can change in such little time!

Ponferrada is where I was told my walking journey was over. Tendonitis in the feet is one of the major reasons people have to leave the Camino early. Caused by walking too fast, or too long, or carrying too much weight in your backpack.

The doctors and nurses and pharmacists applauded me for having come this far (approximately 615 kilometers). But told me to stop walking. Until it didn't hurt any more. Which could be days or weeks or months. And by no means to walk with crutches.

But one person told me if I could immobilize it, get an orthopedic boot, rest, that MAYBE after a few days I could walk.

I didn't believe it for myself. I was in too much pain. And had been for too long. But sometimes all you need is one person to believe in you to convince you that anything is possible.

When Kari, my sister-in-law, told me if I did all those things I might be able to walk some more, I started to imagine that it could be possible. At least the last 5 kilometers into Santiago.

I went to the bus station in Ponferrada all those days ago to see about taking a short ride, just 45 kilometers. Slowly making my way to Santiago. And around the corner from the bus station I found a home health care store. Where they sold me an orthopedic boot. Which a pharmacist told me they don't have in Spain (Randy and I were told by a hotel clerk that Spain doesn't have pizza, which is also not true).

So I wore the boot. And took the bus for a day. Then a taxi for two days. And on that third day, with a short 4.5 kilometers between towns, I tried walking the Camino for the first time with the boot.

It was hard. And painful. Because even though the tendonitis was in the top of my foot, my heel was also causing me pain. Which didn't have much cushion in the boot.

The next morning, now that the swelling in my foot had gone done enough, I decided to try walking in my hiking boots, with the crutches. And strapped the ortho boot to my pack in case I needed it.

The support and cushion from the boots was just what I needed. So I walked that way for 50 kilometers, over the course of 3 days, before deciding I needed to trust my feet to carry me to Santiago.

So I left the boot at kilometer marker 53.

Maybe someone else will need it. Or will be inspired by it. Or realize they too need to let go of what is weighing them down, in favor of trust.

I used the crutches for those 3 days, plus one day more. My last day walking. But for most of that day I carried them in one hand at my side. To see if I needed them any more or if I had just come to rely on them the same way I had the boot strapped to my back.

Determined to walk into Santiago unaided, I left them at the top of a hill, about 5 or 7 kilometers outside of the city.

Tony saw the crutches the next afternoon when he was walking those final kilometers into Santiago. "It was like you were giving me a sign," he said. "It was incredible!"

"Animo!" I said, his favorite Spanish word. Which doesn't exactly translate. But is meant to be an encouragement. Like "keep it up" or "you can do it!"

Which is exactly how I felt at that 5 minute bus stop in Ponferrada. That even though my foot has swollen again with all the walking and long bus rides, and even though I have blisters on the other foot from using it so much more... I did it! I can do it! And I can keep choosing to believe that with God ALL things are possible!

Day 60

Day 60: Saying Goodbye

After Saturday's sunrise in Finisterre, a traditional cleansing dip in the sea (full body for Viktor, just feet for me), and a couple breakfasts (I've finally met someone whose appetite matches mine!), Viktor and I and several others took the bus back to Santiago.

Where I bought another bus ticket to go to Madrid later that night.

Meanwhile, we had the entire afternoon free in Santiago.

Immediately upon finding our way back to the cathedral plaza, we bumped into Teresa. From America. Who Viktor had spent a couple days walking with, and who I had met my first day back on the trail and celebrated with at the 100 kilometer mark.

She had just reached Santiago and was taking in the cathedral, as well as lots of chocolate and cheese (she doesn't eat bread and says she has nearly starved because of it on the Camino!). And was finding herself a bit disillusioned by the whole thing.

"Maybe I need to keep walking. To Finisterre," she said. "I have time."

"It worked for us," we told her.

Soon Teresa and Viktor were off to find a place to stay for the evening.

"Goodbyes are the worst part of the Camino," Viktor said, grabbing me into a brotherly hug.

"Thank you for walking into Santiago with me," I said. "For helping bring my Camino to its perfect end."

That was all.

No tears. No exchanging phone numbers or emails. No promises to meet up in 2 years to do it all again.

Because the thing that made our relationship work was that it was purely spirit-led. From the moment Viktor saw me on the trail he said he knew he was meant to walk with me. We were meant to walk with each other. Into Santiago. And again we followed our hearts to Finisterre. Without feeling the least bit guilty about saving our feet by taking a taxi there and a bus back. To watch the sun go down on one journey. And come up on another.

And we wouldn't be honoring that spirit if we promised to write or to call. Because our time to walk came. And went. With a hug and a wave and a high-five. And fuller hearts.

I had time for dinner before my 21:30 bus departure, and ended up at a cafe where I bumped into Tony. He told me about his experience entering the cathedral plaza. Overcome by emotion. Tears rolling. Kneeling with his hiking poles in gratitude for such an amazing experience. Entering alone. Exactly how he was meant to.

For him, Santiago was the end of his Camino. His perfect ending.

I had given Tony my email address right before I met Viktor and walked through the night to Santiago. And we will keep in touch. With sincere promises that our homes and hearts are always open.

It was this goodbye that had me in tears. Even though we walked far fewer kilometers together than I did with Viktor. Because just like every Camino is different. So is every relationship. Every connection.

"See you," Tony said. And I hope, some day, he will.

I wondered if I could find that same reverence in Santiago that Tony did. So before heading to the bus station I stood in one corner of the plaza. Where I could see the cathedral and all the people celebrating. And a calm came over me. An invitation to be grateful for all that I have experienced in these 60 days. Learned. Fought against. Been opened to. For all those I have met. For all who cheered me along. For all who suffered alongside of me. And celebrated our victories. For all who I carried in my prayers. And for all who carried me in theirs. And to God for being with me every step of the Way.

Coming back to Santiago, it seems, was also important in bringing closure to my Camino. To take time to pause and give thanks. It's been quite a journey!

Days 59 & 60

Days 59 & 60: Finisterre

Arriving in Santiago comes with a whole to-do list.

After a couple hours of sleep (3-4.5 has been standard for me the last month), we went first to the pilgrims office to receive our certificates of completion. Then, despite having eaten a 3 a.m. salami and cheese sandwich, found ourselves tremendously hungry. After our first breakfast we then went to the backpack holding area to leave our packs. Feeling entirely out of place without the rest of ourselves. But a little more free at the same time. We had a quick brunch then went to mass to see the swinging of the botafumeiro. Along with a thousand or so other people. Making it feel a bit more like a production than a religious experience.

Following mass we went to the post office to pick up my computer which I had shipped here on Easter Monday, dropped it off at the baggage area, did some shopping, then made our way back to the cafe. Where we had an array of good eats, from cheeses to mushrooms to octopus.

All of these tasks, combined with the crowds of people, left us weary. Not to mention we weren't used to staying in one town for a whole day without being hurt or sick. We wrestled with whether we needed to sit with our discomfort, or move on.

When we ran into the man from Venice, who had helped me cross streams, he said we needed to walk to Finisterre. Another 87 kilometers away. In order to give every bit of ourselves to the journey.

Since that conversation, both Viktor and I had been wrestling with how to make this happen. How much we still had to give. And if Finisterre had anything to do with our lack of emotional attachment to Santiago.

Before chewing our last bites of octopus, we decided to go to the ends of the earth (finis = end; terre = land).

But not on foot.

At least not entirely.

So, without so much as a change of clothes, we hopped in a taxi and headed the rest of the way west. To kilometer 0.00. Walked the rocky path as far out into the ends of the earth as we dared. To watch the sun set over the water. And burn our boots.

"I'm not striving for anything to make me happy any more," Viktor said. "I'm full."

"Me too," I said. "This, the water and the sun going down and the ritual of burning old hurts and empty spaces, was what I needed. My Camino is complete."

All around us people cheered for the setting sun. The end of the day. The journey. The love burning inside us.

Then we went out for pizza.

And because every ending is a new beginning, we slept one last night in an albergue and got up early to watch the sun rise over the trees and the water. Ushering in whatever journey comes next...

Day 59

Day 59: Santiago

When I met Viktor yesterday, I had already walked 26 kilometers. And he had already walked 46.

I was sitting with Tony, Andrea, and Kevin at a cafe near the albergue where they were all staying. They were trying to talk me into staying with them. Not knowing if there would even be another albergue with open beds for another 15 kilometers. Because it was once again a holiday in Spain. Their Labor Day.

But I felt drawn to walk.

And I met Viktor less than half a kilometer later.

Looking back, it reminds me of my "chance" encounter with Randy on Day 1, less than half a kilometer from the start of my Camino. Because I know God ordained exactly who I would begin my Camino with. And exactly how and who I would walk with in the end.

Viktor had planned on stopping shortly after meeting me. We began our journey in silence, and daylight, through a forest of eucalyptus trees.

But he quickly adapted to my slow pace and soon felt like he could walk "forever" if he walked this slow. (Or at least the 20k to Santiago!) So when we came to the next town, he said, "I think I want to keep walking."

By the time we stopped for dinner, we had committed, albeit mostly unspoken, to entering Santiago together. By night. THAT night.

(Kind of like Randy and me deciding to hike the Pyrenees, simply by continuing to move forward.)

And 8 hours later we did. Enter Santiago. Alongside Andres the German, who we met on the trail with 5 kilometers to go.

We were ecstatic to see the Santiago sign and stand under the archway that countless pilgrims before us have stood beneath.

But to be honest, by the time we made the long trek across town, the cathedral itself was a bit anticlimactic.

Granted, it was dark and we were exhausted. But more so, I think we realized it was not "where" we journeyed to that was important. It was "who" we walked with that made the Camino.

Walking through the night to "end" this Camino with someone who in ordinary life would be a stranger, but in Camino life is a lifelong friend after a few hours, felt exactly right.

And today the first person I saw was Kim who told me not to give up. Then, waiting in line for my certificate of completion, I saw Seth from Virginia. While storing my backpack I bumped into the Frenchman who held my hand across the streams (who is actually from Venice and speaks perfect English). And several others I had met during the last 100 kilometers.

While visiting the cathedral and attending mass felt like important "traditions" to help us feel the end of the journey, celebrating with and congratulating friends we made along the way was the best way to honor how far and how much we had all come through. Together.

Day 58

Day 58: Boente to Santiago - 46 kilometers walking!!

Today was a day of blessed connections.

I met Brett and Katherine (a travel writer!) from Indiana. I walked with Seth, a student from Virginia. I bumped into Tony and Andrea (the torn meniscus') who introduced me to Kevin from Philadelphia who just decided last week to come to Sarria and walk to Santiago.

Then, about 5 p.m., I met Viktor from Sweden. A man in purple pants with elephants on them. And we walked all the way to Santiago!