flexibility

We learned right away we were going to have to be flexible on this journey.

The week before we were to leave, my car was in the shop to fix the minor scrape I got two months ago when I got hit in a parking lot, and to make sure it was in fact minor and not hiding something major.

It did end up being minor, but they estimated it taking until the day before we were to leave to get done.

Which meant that we wouldn't be able to get a hitch put on my car to pull the u-haul until the day we were to leave.

Which meant borrowing my dad's truck in the middle of harvest in order to pick up the u-haul so we could get it loaded while the car got worked on, and pushing our take off by at least half a day.

Then Randy missed his flight to Ohio.

Luckily the next flight had him landing just an hour later. His luggage, however, took the scenic route, through airports he never even flew through, and we had to pray it would arrive before we departed.

It did. In the middle of the night. With a loud banging on the door and a need for a signature.

The trip itself was smooth sailing compared to this rough start. But I'm glad we had it. Because it reminded us that whatever came up we would be able to handle it. That we might have to be patient. That our schedule might get changed. That we can see the delays and detours as opportunities, rather than annoyances.

You see, because we couldn't leave until Tuesday afternoon, I got to go to the airport with my little brother (who was in town visiting for the weekend) and my parents on Tuesday morning. We had the car ride and breakfast to spend time together.

And because we didn't get an early start, there were other times in the trip when we decided that we could also wait until noon to begin our driving day. Days that one or both of us had to work. A morning just hanging out with my niece Riley. Lingering over breakfast or taking Jovi (my dog) for a long walk before we spent the rest of the day in the car.

And because Randy missed his flight, my nieces had time to put on their Halloween costumes after church to go with me to surprise him at the airport. Followed by a trip to Foy's in Fairborn where we could buy them candy since we would be missing out on trick or treat.

The flexibility and patience of this trip was similar to that of our walk across Spain. Never knowing from one night to the next where we would be sleeping. Taking much longer than most to make the journey. More often than not stopping short of our daily goal. Intentionally adding miles, even when our deadline for being home was approaching.

And enjoying every step of the way!

"Well done, good and faithful servant."

Quakers have this practice of writing and recording what they call a "minute". I like the way Bethesda Friends Meeting defines this:

A minute is a statement of belief that an individual or group would like to record for others to see, both now and in the future about a certain topic or person.

On Sunday I was given a minute that Xenia Monthly Meeting, the church that I have been speaking at twice a month for the past couple of years, wrote about me.

It reads, in part:

Xenia has benefited from [Katie's] insights into the world of practical spiritual living. We have been uplifted by her infectious smile, her candor, and her ability to find a spiritual message in the most mundane activities of life. We have been buoyed in spirit by her eternal optimism and her willingness to take risks as God has led her in her life. 

If I could have put into words two years ago how I hoped God would use me during my time in Ohio, these are the kinds of things I would have asked for. This is precisely the kind of legacy I would have asked to leave. And through this minute it was like God was saying, "Well done, good and faithful servant."

My heart was humbled. And filled with love for God and this community.

The minute was read and presented to me right before I was invited to offer a final sermon. I used this time to reminisce with folks about our time together:

• The first sermon I gave, when it was so cold in the sanctuary that I wore a coat and hat. 
• The Sunday they invited Lois, their other regular pastor, and I to preach a sermon together. 
• Our sermon series on spiritual gifts.
• The Sunday I told them I was training for a triathlon. The Sunday I told them why I'd gotten divorced. The Sunday I told them I was going to Spain, and the Sunday I told them I was moving to California. 

I also used this time to tell them how they had ministered to me. From using our Sunday school hour and long lunches at Frisch's to get to know each other better, to sharing their very personal struggles so that we could pray for one another, to wearing brightly colored socks, holding hands with their spouses every week, and simply allowing me to be me.

God has blessed me so richly with the connection I have to this church. And I'm grateful to know that the feeling is mutual.

Do I have the courage to keep showing up?

Two people I care about have been "caught" in wrong actions this year. And have responded very differently in their relationship to the church.

The first was engaging in an extramarital relationship. And when confronted, stopped going to church. Labeled that particular church judgmental. And started looking for a new church filled with people who would be excited to support and worship with the new young couple, ignorant of their history.

The second is facing criminal charges for possessing child pornography. And when confronted, showed up the next Sunday morning in desperate need of prayer. The church responded with an outpouring of love and support, and is seeking to take whatever steps necessary to make themselves a safe and welcoming place for all, which includes full disclosure.

When I was going through my second divorce, I was the person who stopped going to church. Who started looking for a new church where no one knew my story. So I wouldn't have to confront my pain in community.

When I was in college, I attended the church that was a safe space. No one pretended to be perfect, but it even went beyond that. We fully embraced ourselves as a broken people, seeking to listen and respond to God in our lives and in the world. Together.

These situations have taught me how beautiful it is to be in a place where you can be who you are. Without having to hide for fear of condemnation. And how painful it can be to be so afraid of judgment that you'd rather turn your back on your community than invite them into your struggle.

Our conversations tend to focus on how the church should respond in these situations. And, more often than not, how the church gets it wrong.

But what about how we as individuals should respond when confronted with our own shortcomings?

It takes a great deal of courage and humility to keep showing up. And we do face the possibility of being judged and condemned by a people who are called to love. But we are also doing a disservice to the church if we never challenge them to be who they say they are. And we miss out on the beauty and healing that comes when the church gets it right.

church shopping

In the three weeks that I've been in California, Randy and I have visited three very different churches.

Small, medium, and large.

With a simple organ and piano.

With guitars and flashing lights and internationally recorded artists.

One with its own campus. Another that rented a room for Sunday mornings.

One with buckets, another with plates, and the third with purses to receive the offering.

Where we knew lots of people.

Where we knew no one at all.

With street parking.

With huge parking lots, volunteers directing traffic, and private parking for first time visitors.

And this is what I've discovered:

It's not easy to find a new church home.

I really liked the sermon at one. The warm welcome at another. And the informal nature of the third.

But where I liked the sermon, I didn't care for the music. Where we received the warmest welcome, the sermon left me confused. And in the atmosphere where I felt most comfortable, the room was way too dark.

Doesn't the Bible say that Jesus is the Light???

No church is perfect. Even the church where I've been attending most of my life has things about it that I don't care for. But through time, community is built. Family is created. And you come to think of it as home.

I don't know where Randy and I will end up. Maybe at one of these three. Maybe at one we haven't visited yet. But I do know that finding a place to worship on a regular basis is important to me. And will require more than one visit to feel at home.

The Natural World

Everyone in Placer County, California, loves Randy. It is amazing the love and support for him, and us. Everywhere we go, from the grocery store to the high school football game, from church to the brewery, people have heard about us walking across Spain together and want to hear it again direct from us.

It has been so much fun retelling and reliving the Camino!

But also exhausting.

So this morning we escaped the social world and went for a long walk. Just like old times!

It was the perfect day for it. A cool 65 degrees at the start and a beautiful 85 by the end, made all the more perfect by sticking our hot feet in the cold waters of the American River.

The only negative to the whole adventure was the smoke-filled air from the neighboring forest fires. Not close enough that we have to worry about them, but close enough that the air tastes like your face is pressed deep into a wood stove. The smell is especially strong first thing in the morning.

We were discussing the fires yesterday with some friends. About how they are nature's way of taking care of the earth.

It is easy to think of forest fires as a bad thing. But they are actually necessary for new growth, proper nutrients, healthy habitats for animals, and the necessary thinning of overcrowded forests.

(Think about this like purging your Facebook friends list. Eliminating the relationships that are no longer life-giving makes more room and time for new and deeper relationships, and for nurturing the growing relationships you already have.)

Not surprisingly, the problem with allowing nature to takes its course in the forest is a human one. People have moved into these woodland areas. Therefore, allowing the fires to burn out on their own would mean the loss of many homes and communities.

Of course this is just my very simplified version of the issue. But hopefully a reminder that we need to take care of our beautiful earth AND the people in it.

With special thanks to the firefighters who specialize in controlling and containing the wildfires in California!

An unexpected love story...

The last thing I expected to learn from my walk across Spain was that I didn't trust God.

Two years ago, after my second divorce was finalized, I began to doubt that love could last a lifetime. Or, at least, I began to doubt that it was ever going to be in the cards for me.

I didn't recognize at the time that losing faith in the forever kind of love was really losing faith in God.

Shortly before going to Spain I began dating a man who I quickly and easily fell in love with. (Falling in love has never been a problem for me; it's the believing it will last forever that is the problem!)

This guy made it especially easy to love and be loved. Our relationship felt perfect. I couldn't imagine being happier.

And even though I had a hard time imagining I would ever be ready to marry him. Or anyone for that matter. I didn't see anything wrong with that.

But then I went on the Camino.

And met Randy within minutes of beginning my walk.

It wasn't love at first sight for either one of us. (He was even more cynical about love than I was, if that's even possible.)

But slowly, day by day, walking together, talking together, making decisions together, seeing the best and worst of each other, our walls began to come down. Catching us both completely off guard. And we started to have hope. And hope turned into love.

Yet, the first time he asked me to move to California I was nowhere near ready to think about forever together. And when he offered to move to Ohio I wasn't ready for that either.

I was starting to see that it would take way more faith for me to get married a third time than it did the first.

A faith I didn't have.

It wasn't until a friend of mine, also divorced, began talking about getting remarried that I realized God and I had unfinished business.

"Are you jealous?" I felt like God was asking when I had concerns for my friend. And I realized I was. Not of their relationship or upcoming nuptials, but that they trusted God enough to believe their love could last a lifetime.

I finally asked God if I could trust Him that much. Because, for the first time in a long time, I wanted to.

And God reminded me that He put Randy in my path for a reason. Not so I would put all my faith in Randy. But so I would put all my faith in God.

It was then that all my concerns, fears and doubts, washed away. And I knew I was ready. Ready to trust God completely. Ready to say yes to love. Ready to move to California.

I make the choice...

"I've made the choice to move to California," I said near the end of my sermon on "choices and consequences" a couple weeks ago.

Immediately my 5-year-old niece Tessa burst into tears. Which continued throughout the rest of the service. (Who knew the kids even listened to the sermon?!)

Afterwards she came up to me and said, "When you said you made that choice, to move to California, that made me sad. I make the choice for you to stay."

I explained to her that when you get to be my age you get to make your own choices. But that also means you are responsible for the consequences of your choices, which include missing out on family dinner nights and other fun times with her and her siblings in order to move forward with the plans God has for me.

It's a hard lesson to understand when you're 5. (Or almost 35.)

Especially when my choices directly affect her.

But I hope in the long run she will learn from this to not be afraid of making the hard choice when you know it is the right one. To not be afraid of the "what ifs", or fear change, or focus too much on what can no longer be. And instead to be brave and see all of the possibilities that open up when we take the next step forward to follow our dreams.

Real Friends Say "No", Part 2

A story to illustrate yesterday's conversation about boundaries...

I have a very good friend who was once going through a hard time. Job, health, relationships, and finances were all weighing him down.

He had been there for me during a hard time, and I wanted to be there for him too.

So when he came to me, excited about the new job he had just applied for, I shared in his excitement.

The truth is, I didn't think it was the right job for him. While he was fully qualified for the position, it seemed too political and not creative enough for his gifts. I had concerns about how it would affect him spiritually, relationally, mentally and emotionally. But he came to me looking for a friend to share in his excitement. Not one who would tell him it would never work. So I celebrated with him and kept my concerns to myself.

That is, until he asked if I would be willing to serve as one of his references.

And I had to say "no."

Actually it came out more like this: "You can list me as a reference. But if they call me I am going to tell them not to hire you."

Not very sensitive of me, I know.

He was obviously shocked, and rightfully hurt by my blatant rejection.

But because he respects me and our friendship, he allowed me to share my concerns. And because I respect him and our friendship, I left the decision of what to do about the job up to him.

It wasn't going to change our relationship if he took the job or not. It wasn't going to change our relationship whether or not he listed me as a reference. But it could have changed our relationship if we hadn't respected each others' boundaries.

He honored my boundary - that in order to be true to my word I couldn't recommend him. And I honored his - that the choice of whether to take the job or not was his alone.

In the end he didn't take the job. Because my concerns pointed him to his own uneasiness about the position.

But shortly thereafter, another job came along. This one perfectly suited for him. Where he could be creative and independent, experience growth and challenge. And truly make a difference. (He didn't ask me to serve as a reference for this one!)


Our friendship was made stronger through this experience of exercising boundaries and trust. And in the future I know that if I need help in wisdom and decision making I can call on him. Because he will be honest. Blatantly so if necessary. And I will give him the same respect.

allowing others to make a difference

I spent last week in Athens, Ohio, with a friend of mine. She had just had surgery and asked if I could spend a few days with her helping out.

I know how hard it was for her to ask for help. It reminded me of just a few years ago when I broke one of my ribs in a 4-wheeling accident. I couldn't drive or carry anything, clean my house or any of the other ordinary things that we do on a daily basis without thinking about it. I had to rely on my coworkers to drive me to work and doctors appointments, carry my purse and anything else over five pounds I needed.

I hated feeling helpless and I hated asking for help.

But I know my coworkers didn't mind helping. They were glad to help. And last week so was I. Because I knew my friend was sore and tired and frustrated. And even though I couldn't take any of those feelings away, I could help with the kids, the laundry, the house, and try to take her mind off things with much needed girl talk.

Yesterday I got a card in the mail that said, "You make a difference in others' lives, and you allow them to make a difference in yours."

It reminded me that I am here on this planet to love others. But so is everyone else. And maybe I am the person they are called to love. Therefore, if I don't allow others to love and care for me, I'm denying them their purpose. I need to be just as good at receiving love as I am at giving it.

going nowhere

Kasen: "I hate hiking. We aren't even going anywhere."

You will have to forgive Kasen's attitude. We were "forcing" him to hike on a morning when it was already 83 degrees, with an added 73% humidity. And it was true--we weren't going anywhere. We were simply wandering the trails until we got tired and turned around.

But it made me pause. And think. Because hiking is my absolute favorite thing to do.

How could I love something so much that gets me nowhere?

Granted, some hikes have destinations. The bottom of the Grand Canyon. The top of Mount Whitney. A waterfall or hot spring. But most times I hike simply to hike.

I love feeling the earth beneath my feet. I love the green plants and towering trees. I'm not a fan of bugs but I can appreciate the architecture of a spider's web as long as I'm not walking right into it. I love listening to creatures I cannot see, making their way thru leaves and debris. I love the distant sounds of cars and planes, reminding me that I am my own mode of transportation. I love the space it gives me to think and dream and breathe, or to empty my mind of everything.

So hiking, for me, is not actually about getting anywhere. In fact, I think it is a gift to have no idea where you are going to end up and still be able to enjoy the journey.

Because success is not always having an end goal. Or everything turning out the way we planned. And we don't have to wait to arrive in order to be happy. We can be happy every step of the way, if we begin to see the ordinary moments for the extraordinary moments that they are, even if they don't appear to lead us anywhere. Even if we have to turn around or begin again. Because it is in the dailiness of life that we see who we really are.

And I for one want to be someone who can enjoy life, whether I am going somewhere or nowhere at all.

ABRA

I had just sat down in the driver's seat of my car, closed the door and put my new book purchase in my lap, when I was rocked from behind. I got out to see a man gracefully and apologetically removing his Dodge Ram from the rear panel of my car. We exchanged info; he parked and went into Walmart while his son made fun of his poor driving/parking skills, and I drove away.

Within the hour this same Walmart was evacuated. A suspected shooter was inside. The news reported from the same parking lot where I had left some of my paint on someone else's bumper.

My instinct was to pray for the man and his son. I knew nothing more of him than his name, the make and model of his vehicle, and his insurance policy number. But that wasn't nothing. That was something. I could pray specifically for this man, whose name I knew. That after hitting me in the parking lot his day didn't get a whole lot worse.

When I talked to the insurance company later they told me to go have my car looked at, that the nearest place was called ABRA.

I just opened my new book, the one that was on my lap when the man hit my car. It wasn't the book I went in to purchase. But when I couldn't find the one I wanted I bought this one instead. Doctor Sleep. Stephen King's sequel to The Shining. Wouldn't you know that Part 1 of Doctor Sleep is called: ABRA.

Isn't it strange that my car got hit outside a Walmart that was later evacuated, and the collision shop had the same name that opened the book I had just purchased?

And on my way home a black cat ran in front of my car.

I don't think the black cat has anything to do with it. I just threw it in there to remind us not to over analyze life's synchronicities.

Maybe there is some deeper meaning to all this that will eventually be revealed to me. But maybe it is just a little reminder that if we pay attention we will see these connections happen all the time, to all of us. Because there is Someone greater at work in the world.

"Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening." 1 Samuel 3

healing hurts

Two months ago my feet started to hurt. I had just walked 500 kilometers so it was kind of understandable.

Two weeks later a doctor treated me for tendinitis and told me to "be more quiet." I rested for a few days but then walked another 110 kilometers, so it was kind of understandable why my feet kept hurting.

But in the last month, since returning to the U.S., I have done a much better job of being quiet. So why do my feet still hurt?

I went to the hospital yesterday to find out.

Doctors are adorable when they get excited, so I had to laugh at mine when he said, regarding my x-rays, "Come check this out!"

He pointed out the broken bone.

But that wasn't the cool part.

The cool part was the new bone growth. Developing on both sides of the fourth metatarsal. Which nearly doubled the width of this bone. (No wonder my foot feels swollen!)

He said this is exactly what you want to see happen after a broken bone. That the healing process is progressing as it should. That I shouldn't go home and run, but I could walk as much as my foot says is okay.

Hooray!

I could talk now about how, just like my broken bone, we grow and develop and become stronger through times of trial. Putting a positive spin on the adversity that is simply part of life. But I think that denies a key point: healing hurts.

We expect to hurt at the moment an injustice occurs. A bone breaks. A loved one dies. A marriage ends. But after the point of impact we think the pain should go away. Immediately. And if it doesn't go away immediately we must be doing something wrong.

Only that isn't the case.

In reality, we continue to hurt through the healing.

Eventually it might go away. Or lessen. Maybe it will come and go with a memory, anniversary, or the rain. Or maybe it doesn't go away at all and we simply learn to live with the pain.

Regardless of what the future brings, I think it is okay to tell the truth today: healing hurts.

what is hard now

Looking back at my pictures from the Pyrenees, I am in awe of the beauty. The adventure. The wonder. I feel a sense of accomplishment. A desire to return. To conquer new mountains. And other heights. 

In the back of my mind I remember the two men, younger and in better shape than Randy and me, we met several days later in Pamplona. Who had followed in our footsteps. "We seriously thought we were going to die up there," they said. 

The paths were steep. The snow was deep. The hours kept ticking by with little sense of accomplishment. If giving up had been an option we surely would have considered it.

But all that is a distant memory. A feeling I can no longer relate to. Now I only see beauty and joy in those paths, those drifts, those feats. 

A reminder to me that what is hard now will soon be a distant memory.   

March 7, atop the Pyrenees, Spain

leaving the nest

My best friend since kindergarten and I were talking over the weekend. About how no matter how old we get we still want the approval of our parents. To know that we make them proud.

Even when it is time to leave the nest. And long after.

We leave the nest in many different ways. From finding our own spirituality/religion/church, to making our own relationship and career decisions. How we choose to raise our children, how many we have or whether or not we even have any. Our dreams become not theirs but our own.

And, of course, we leave literally. Just as my turtledoves have spread their wings and set sites on nests of their own.

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.

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...

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 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 54

Day 54: Samos to Sarria - 13.6 km by taxi; Sarria to Barbadelo - 4.2 km ON FOOT!!

Juan drove me to Sarria late this morning and I asked him to drop me off at the bottom of town. He told me I didn't need to climb all those steps, but I insisted. If the other pilgrims were going to have to climb 50+ steps to get lunch then so was I.

And I was met with a beautiful site at the top... my new friend Aeren from yesterday! She waved me over and introduced me to Kim from Korea who started in St Jean the same time she did.

After teasing me that I don't eat like a pilgrim who takes a taxi, Kim made sure to leave me with these words before he left us: "Whatever you do, don't give up. Even if you are taking the taxi or the bus, don't give up."

I needed this reminder that my attitude was my choice. And I could either finish my journey with joy, or I could end feeling defeated.

So I started walking. Looking for a place to stay in Sarria that felt good to my soul. And found myself leaving town.

I was about to pick up the dirt path when a local woman stopped me.

She told me the terrain was rough, muddy, and very steep. And added, "Es imposible con las muletas."

Impossible on crutches? Impossible?

It was just the kick in the pants I needed to stop feeling sorry for myself and do something about it.

She was still shaking her head when I started my muddy walk, singing "I can do all things..." (Matthew West, "Strong Enough"), reminding myself that it is in God's strength that all things are possible.

(Don't worry Mom. I had Juan the taxi driver's cell phone number just in case!)

And even if these are my last kilometers, I can honestly say I enjoyed, celebrated, embraced every last muddy, steep, rough step of the day and the pilgrims I had the pleasure to walk with!

Day 53

Day 53: Las Herrerias to Samos by taxi - 39.9 km

I woke up to pouring rain, high winds, and cold temperatures. I felt for my fellow pilgrims, but was equally jealous of the adventure that awaited them. A difficult mountain climb. But by now their legs and feet are strong. Unlike mine.

Victor had offered to take me up the mountain on horseback. But because of the weather, he called me a taxi instead.

David showed up and opened his passenger door. We sat side by side, listening to Rihanna and Eminem, while he gave me the tour of the small towns I would otherwise be walking through. In addition to driving, he also owns a bar, has a graphics design degree, and works for a dentist. And one of these days he will come to America and drive Route 66. He was a good driver (ie. I didn't get car sick), so I would happily ride along for this adventure!

He promised the weather would be better in Samos and he was right. The sun came out and I was able to walk the monastery grounds. I so miss long hours spent outdoors!! I didn't even realize how much.

I went on a tour of the monastery with 20 others, pilgrims and tourists. Despite the fact that half of them spoke English or Spanish (the rest French), no one talked to me. But plenty stared and talked about me.

I'm no stranger to crutches and wheelchairs. And how these are somehow an invitation to be ostracized and ogled.

So I was especially grateful to meet Mazen and Erin on the way to Mass later.

Mazen (Syrian, living in France) and I bonded when he took off his shoes and socks to show me the skin on the bottom of his feet had peeled off in one long strip. I wanted to look away because it was so disgusting, but I also longed to be seen in my hurt. And to do so I must see others in theirs.

Erin and I bonded when she told me she stepped wrong off a curb and sprained her ankle.

"The same sufferings are experienced by your brotherhood in the world..." (1 Peter 5:9)

Erin (Puerto Rican, living in Texas) had coffee with me while I ate dinner and explained what I hadn't understood at Mass. The message was about doubting Thomas. And how we can't say we don't believe if we don't give God a chance. Just like seeing a man with long hair doesn't prove that barbers don't exist, seeing humans fail to represent God doesn't prove that God doesn't exist.

Erin and I talked for hours about our journeys, heartaches, and how God has directed us along the Way. It was so nice to connect deeply with someone again about things that really matter!