To Speak or Not to Speak...

I've taken a liking to a show called Garfunkel and Oates, about two female comedians. It is pretty stupid but it makes me laugh. Which is almost always a good thing.

So there is this one episode in which the girls decide to go on a double blind date and not talk at all. In fact, they decide to keep dating these guys and see how long it takes for the guys to notice they never speak. And the girls find it strangely liberating to not have to contribute at all.

Which is kind of what God and I have been wrestling with lately.

When to speak. And when to remain silent.

While Facebook and Twitter and whatever else you kids are using these days thrive on making us believe that what we want to say should be said, and said for all the world to hear -- it simply isn't true.

And I'm not talking about telling people what you had for breakfast or that you are on your way to the grocery store. Maybe no one really needs to know that, but at least you aren't hurting anyone by saying so.

But sometimes our opinions are hurtful. Or really don't matter. And should be kept to ourselves. Especially if we are putting our noses into someone else's business where we weren't invited. Especially if our opinions are said to tear people down instead of building them up. Especially if they aren't said in love.

If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy but don’t love, I’m nothing but the creaking of a rusty gate. If I speak God’s Word with power, revealing all his mysteries and making everything plain as day, and if I have faith that says to a mountain, “Jump,” and it jumps, but I don’t love, I’m nothing. If I give everything I own to the poor and even go to the stake to be burned as a martyr, but I don’t love, I’ve gotten nowhere. So, no matter what I say, what I believe, and what I do, I’m bankrupt without love. 1 Cor 13:1-7 MSG

Did you take time to read that passage? It says even if I'm speaking straight out of the Bible, and even if my opinion is 100 percent right, but I don't speak in love, I would be better off keeping my mouth shut.

There have been many times, just this week alone, that I have wanted to express my opinion. Told someone they were wrong. Or told them they were right. Gossipped. Or given my take on an issue, even though 100 others had already done so and I had nothing new to say.

But this week (okay maybe not the whole week, but at least the last 3 days) I have kept my mouth shut. And found it strangely liberating.

In a Quaker Meeting everyone is invited to preach every Sunday. As prompted by the Holy Spirit. And that is the key -- to listen to whether this is something God wants you to share with everyone, or if it is something for you alone.

What would happen if we carried this practice over into our everyday lives?

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...

Day 57

Day 57: Palas de Rey to Boente - 21.3 km

Zurghen the German rolled up beside me and hopped off his bike. "Come on," he said, "let's go for a walk."

The first thing I noticed was his tires. Different than all the other bicycling pilgrims. Because he was doing the entire route on the walking path. Since St. Jean. Including the Pyrenees.

"How long have you been like that?" he asked.

We must have been a site. Me on crutches with an orthopedic boot strapped to my back, and him walking his mountain bike beside me.

I told him I had rested a week and started walking again in Sarria.

"Wow!" he said. I thought he was going to compliment me on walking through the pain or with the crutches or something of the like. But instead he said, "I don't know how you say it in English, but not everyone is strong enough to be quiet for so long."

He reminded me of the doctor who prescribed me to "be more quiet". (I can't imagine why we don't have a direct English translation?!!)

I told him it was hard. That I wanted to give up. That I almost did.

"Only 15% of people who start in St. Jean make it to Santiago in one trip," he said. "Some because of injury, sure, but walking is the easy part. It is the mental challenges, being alone, away from home, in a different place every night, faced with yourself that makes people crack. But you didn't give up."

I understand what he is saying. While the pain was at times unbearable, the thought of it standing in the way of my goal was equally painful. As was confronting the pride, competitiveness, and fear of failure that came with that. And the disappointment I imagined you all having at this journey ending short, or on a bus.

Being quiet is hard! But important if we ever want to have all that we were made for.

Zhurgen told me he had the same challenges--of so much time alone--on the bike. So he takes time each day to walk a little with others. Especially on terrain like the small hills we were currently climbing.

"What about all the big hills?" I asked. Those would be the ones I would walk!

"The big ones you know are coming, so you can prepare in your mind for them. It's the small ones that rock you."

True. I expected the journey to be hard. Mountains to climb. Blisters to endure.

But there has been so much that you can't prepare for. Becoming best friends in a matter of hours. And then having to say goodbye. Hard things happening at home and not being able to do anything about it. Trusting the arrows. And the guidebook. Feelings of accomplishment, disappointment, isolation, and pure joy. All in the same day (or hour!). The thrill and sadness of knowing Santiago will be here by the end of the week...

After Zurghen climbed back on his bike, to arrive in Santiago later today, I met another cyclist who had rested a week in the midst of his journey after having an accident coming down one of the hills. His expected 10 day journey will now be 17.

These last few days have been incredibly insightful. I'm so grateful for all the people who have walked with me, taught me, encouraged and inspired me. I can't believe we are only 46 kilometers from Santiago!!

Day 38

Day 38: Villar de Mazarife to San Justo de la Vega – 27.6 km

I am finding it very difficult to stop and rest now that I am walking alone. And not just stop, but to actually sit there for more than 5 minutes to allow my body a chance to recover. So after walking 9.6 kilometers without stopping this morning, I ventured into an albergue, looked at my watch (which I stopped wearing after about a week into my walking with Randy, but just put on again yesterday), and determined to sit for at least 45 minutes.

And so I sat. In the outdoor courtyard. Alone. Slowly sipping my coffee and eating my croissant. Listening to the albergue's pet bird repeatedly say “hola” and “adios”. Reading my Bible. With my boots off.

It wasn't so bad. But still I felt like I should be walking. Not just sitting around.

After I had "successfully" rested, I ventured on another 4.5 kilometers to Hospital de Orbigo, a town that I have heard wonderful things about. But which was either on siesta or I was distracted by my sore feet, because I walked through the entire town (population 1,100) without feeling the need to stop and stay.

At the edge of town I unexpectedly came to a cross roads and had to pull out my guidebook. While finding the page I needed, a young couple passed by me, said hello, and kept walking. Then turned around and came back.

“English?” they asked in German accents.

“Yes.”

“If you go straight, it is shorter. But if you go right, it is more beautiful,” the man said.

“Right it is, then!”

Sometimes shorter is better. Days when it is raining, muddy, or the scenery has been the same for several kilometers in a row. But today I wanted to follow the more beautiful path. Even though my feet hurt. Because this couple took the time to tell me that it was worth it. And it certainly was beautiful.

The next town was only 2 kilometers away. And since it was lunchtime I stopped at a bar. And bumped into a father/daughter duo from Canada I had met earlier on the trail.

“I’m buying you a drink,” the father said. “It comes with tapas!” I remember being that excited when I first learned this custom as well. “You are joining us whether you want to or not,” he added.

His daughter was just a few years younger than me and made for good company. It was her dad’s idea to come on the Camino. And after hearing his excitement for several months as he made plans, she decided to tag along. At least, she said, that’s how she would describe the Camino before coming. But now it is as much her journey as it is his.

“I don’t really see the point in getting to Santiago,” she said, when I told her I had less than 2 weeks left in Spain, “unless you are really religious.”

“I can find God in the trees and mountains, the ever changing scenery and certainly the people," I offered, "just as easily as I can find Him in the churches and cathedrals.” Which has become even more true for me with each passing day.

They were anxious to get to the next town (just 2.5 kilometers away) and settle in for the afternoon. But my feet wanted a longer rest. So I ordered a tortilla and a lemonade, plugged in my computer, and worked for the next two hours. Spending only 3 euros on my afternoon. (I love that so many bartenders expect pilgrims to loiter!)

As I was preparing to leave, a group of older gentleman started asking me all kinds of questions, most of which I didn’t understand. Except that they wanted to know if I was traveling alone. And they wanted me to take their “youngest” friend with me. “No, no, no!” he kept shouting, more interested in playing cards than walking 10.5 kilometers.

And even though this guy didn’t join me, I did meet up with an even older fellow about 8 kilometers later. Out for his evening stroll. Wearing a sweater and cap. Slacks and tennis shoes. Walking just a hair slower than I was.

We had your typical small talk. Where are you from? Where are you going? What do you think of this weather? But I enjoyed the sound of someone walking beside me as much as I did his interest in my Camino.

I walked him back to his car, about a kilometer down the road, and he wished me a “Buen Viaje.” Good journey.

Unwilling to go any further, I stopped at an Albergue Donativo. You pay what you can to stay at the donativos, and they use the funds for upkeep and the next night’s dinner. 

A special thank you to whoever stayed here the night before, because I enjoyed a delicious meal of noodle soup, salad, spinach and mushroom tortilla, and dessert.

The real treat, of course, was the company. My Spanish host. A French woman who lives nearby. And a Romanian couple who seem to be vagabonds (the young man I saw sitting outside another donativo earlier in the day, and she said she'd spent the afternoon washing her hair in the fountain).

Meditation was the main topic of dinner conversation. The Romanian couple just completed a 10-day silent retreat (she only lasted 7 days). And the Frenchwoman wants to go next. I told them I was a Quaker and that we have silence in our worship services in order to listen for God. The man said that it is important to focus on our breathing because that is how God created Adam. By breathing life into him. 

I will carry this thought with me tomorrow as I walk.