my Christmas letter

Dear loved ones,

2014 has been a year of faithfulness!

I rang in the New Year with a new circle of family and friends, who will forever have a place in my heart. More than anywhere else this year I have seen God at work in their lives, from healing relationships to physical healing, from prayer and financial support to radical faithfulness. Their strength has taught me what it is to be strong.

2014 has been a year of travel!

By the first week of January I was already off! After flying to Texas with my parents and older brother, we joined my aunt, uncle, cousins, and grandma on a cruise ship for a week. Then I was off to Corpus Christi for a week with my younger brother, sister-in-law, and the cutest niece in all of Texas.

On March 4, I was back at the airport and off to Madrid for a 30-day walk across Spain! On day 58 I finally arrived in Santiago, having spent the first 34 days falling in love and the next 24 days falling apart and trying to put it all back together again.

The next 6 months were spent healing, navigating the transition "home", and traveling back and forth to California. This was by far the most challenging part of the year.

2014 has been a year of family!

I was "gone" as much as I was "home" in Ohio this year, but every day there was spent with family. Experiencing four of my nieces turning 5 and my nephew turning 8, t-ball games and football games, trips to McDonalds and visits from the tooth fairy, weekly family dinner nights and boxes of wine after the kids went to bed, walks with my dad and talks with my mom, these are the "moments" that make up the year.

Even when the decision was made to move to California, it was still all about family. Randy, Jovi, and I spent as many days with family members in Arkansas, Oklahoma, Texas, and New Mexico on our road trip as we spent on our own.

And arriving here didn't take me away from family, it simply expanded it. I now have even more brothers, sisters-in-law, kids, nieces, nephews, and parents to love and be loved by.

2014: "Walk With"

2014 may be remembered as the year that I walked. But for those of you who have taken this journey with me, you know that "walk" wasn't my word of the year. Because it wasn't about walking; it was about who God placed on my path to "walk with".

With gratitude to all of you for your prayers, walks, and love!

Katie

lean into grief

"I didn't miss the sad story, did I?" Kelli asked, returning from the ladies room.

"She's right in the middle of telling it," I said, surprised she would want to hear again the story that just weeks ago had dissolved her into tears.

We were at a women's brunch at the church, listening to Nichole Nordeman share in story and in song. Word for word, song for song, the same set we had listened to last month during the Women of Faith conference in Sacramento. (And it was just as powerful the second time.)

The sad story was about a young couple, deeply in love, who asked Nichole to sing at their wedding. Shortly thereafter the groom was diagnosed with cancer and within the year Nichole was singing again, this time at his funeral.

When Kelli had dissolved into tears beside me the first time I had only known her for about 3 hours. So even though I wanted to wrap her up in a hug, I didn't. This second time, however, I knew her enough to put my arm around her, exchange a little conversation and some shared tears.

Kelli's own son had met and fallen in love with and married a young lady, beautiful all the way to her core. And earlier this year, still in her 20s, his beautiful bride passed away.

It struck me that Kelli would want to feel the grief inspired by the similar story that Nichole shared. Isn't grief a feeling most of us try to avoid? And yet Kelli has discovered, I think, a secret that might better serve us. That to lean into the grief, to feel the feelings, is where healing comes.

In addition to being Kelli's daughter-in-law, the young woman who died was also Randy's niece. During our family Thanksgiving prayer last month, his brother named the sadness that we all felt at her absence from us, but the joy that would come when one day we would be with her again.

Again it strikes me that the grief would be named, felt, shared, rather than being the elephant in the room or the thing that everyone knows not to talk about.

I'm heartbroken for this family's loss, but grateful that through it they are teaching me how healing comes.

Nutty Chicks

Almost 9 months ago, on our first day of walking across Spain together, Randy gave me this Nutty Chicks granola bar to have as my lunch.

It was the best thing I have ever tasted.

And not just because I was so ill-prepared for what turned out to be 2 days of walking through waist deep snow over and across and down the Pyrenees Mountains.

Randy told me that a woman, an ER trauma surgeon, had started the company after her coworkers loved the homemade granola that she would bring in to work every day. She started selling the granola, which evolved into these delicious bars, at farmers markets. The demand grew and soon stores were placing their orders.

A few months after I had my first Nutty Chicks bar I met the woman behind it all. It was late at night, after her shift in the ER, and she was elbow deep in granola, trying to keep up with demand.

This past weekend I met her husband. He shared with us that the people behind the Emmys had called, and then the CMAs, asking for Nutty Chicks bars for their "swag bags".

"It was huge," he said.

But it soon became apparent that his wife felt more overwhelmed than excited.

So they said "no" to the Emmys. And the CMAs. And to the company altogether. At least for now, while she continues working full time as a surgeon.

It was shocking. But I can't help but be inspired.

It's easy to hear this story and think they made a terrible mistake. To come up with all kinds of ways they could have made this work. From selling the recipe to hiring a ton of staff to quitting their day jobs in order to make it big in the granola world.

But when it comes down to it, they chose the only option that would eliminate all their stress immediately.

They said "no" to what could have been fame and fortune in order to say "yes" to what was more important -- their emotional well-being, the day jobs they feel truly called to, their relationship, etc.

Maybe some day, when they retire, Nutty Chicks will revive. At least in our local farmer's market. But for now, this delicious snack is just a memory.

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.

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.

Frozen Choices

Spoiler alert! If you haven't watched the movie Frozen, go buy it and watch it before continuing!

Ever since watching the movie Frozen for the first time (and the 20+ times that have followed), my sister-in-law has been waiting for me to write a sermon about it. 

She knew it wouldn't be hard. From being the first Disney film with a female director, to having a princess NOT rescued by a handsome prince in the end, there is much talk about this movie. And many sermons have already been written on the subject.

Since Sunday was my last sermon at my home church for the imminent future, I decided it was finally time for this message. And to invite my 5-year-old nieces up front to sing "Do You Want to Build a Snowman?" and "Let It Go" for everyone's enjoyment. Well, mostly everyone. 

[Giving a 5-year-old a microphone takes a lot of faith. But they did awesome. Even Tysen who refused to sing and had her hands over her ears the whole time.]

The sermon was about choices, decisions, and consequences. Here is a quick summary of the "Frozen parts": 

Elsa's parents, the king and queen, choose to lock Elsa up so she can’t hurt anyone with her powers to produce ice and snow. It’s a choice made with good intentions because they want to protect Elsa while she learns how to control her powers. But it comes with the consequences of isolating Elsa from her family and her community, and teaching her that what makes her unique is not to be celebrated.

Elsa chooses to run away after her parents die and her abilities are exposed to the community. It is again a choice made with good intentions because it lines up with what she was taught, to protect others from herself, but again it results in her isolation and alienation and feeling like she can only be herself when she is a safe distance from others.  

Elsa’s younger sister Anna [which Tessa frequently reminded me from the congregation is pronounced "Aahh-na"] chooses to accept a marriage proposal from a prince she just met. This ends up being a really bad choice. In some fairy tales this works out for the princess, but not so for Anna ["Aahh-na"]. Prince Hans turns out to be a bad guy with bad motives which are revealed after she gets to know him a little better.

Anna ["Aahh-na"] has to choose whether to save herself or save her sister. In the end, she chooses to sacrifice herself in order to save her sister, and in turn she ends up saving the entire kingdom. This act of true love is the very best choice, even though it seems to come with the consequence of losing her own life. But lucky for Anna ["Aahh-na"], her choice to save her sister was the act of true love needed to save her own life. 

You can see how we sometimes have to choose between what is good and what is bad, or what is good and what is good, or what is good and what is best. And that regardless of what we decide, there are always consequences, positive and negative.

Christian tradition tells us that Jesus made the same sacrifice for us that Anna ["Aahh-na"] did for Elsa. [I love that we get to be Elsa in this analogy, the beautiful Queen with special abilities and unique qualities.] And that even though it meant a gruesome death for Jesus, it was still the very best choice.

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

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.

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 31

Day 31: Carrion de los Condes to Calzadilla de la Cueza - 16.1 km (in the cold, wind, and rain)

We knew today would be a challenge. The trek from Carrion to Calzadilla is one of the longest of the entire Camino with no stops along the way. Even longer than our treks across the Meseta. Literally nothing but an occasional barn, pilgrim, and rain shower to keep us company.

Add to that my waking up with flu-like symptoms and you get a less than fun afternoon.

Ironically I had just told my parents on the phone the night before that I haven't felt sick at all on this journey. And the only ones we have really met along the way who have been ill were two Canadian teenagers we had been with the last couple days, who said their dinner with the nuns didn't sit well so they were taking the bus into the next town in order to stay on schedule.

Luckily we had stayed at a hotel in Carrion so we didn't have to check out until noon. Meaning I had time for a morning nap before heading out into the rain and the straightest road I have ever walked.

I could have stayed another day in Carrion, but I stubbornly did not want to waste a rest day being sick. And since I didn't feel like eating it didn't matter that there was nowhere to stop for lunch between here and there.

As the hours passed my stomach started to feel better. Just in time for the wind and rain to pick up. And our bodies to begin to ache because of carrying ourselves and our packs differently against the cold.

We tried to keep our minds distracted by talking about some of the ways Spain is different than the U.S.

• The toilets have buttons on top of the tank that you either push down or pull up in order to flush.
• Their Pat Sajak wears jeans and a t-shirt, and their Vanna White the shortest shorts you could ever imagine being allowed on daytime television.
• Dogs and children are regularly seen in bars. And people feel free to throw their trash all over the bar floor. 
• No one tips. And if we do tip our bartender we usually end up with more food and drinks, or them not charging us if we come back later. 
• Everyone says hello and good morning (all day long) to each other.
• Yogurt is the most common dessert. Followed by a shot of the local liquor to "aid in digestion".

Despite this entertaining conversation we were never so glad to see an (heated!) albergue as we were entering the 60-person town of Calzadilla. 

After a short nap we ventured to the one bar in town for dinner where we met John from Australia. 

Actually we met two Johns. "Uncle John" (from London, living in Spain) was driving an RV from town to town, carrying the backpacks of his niece and the 7 elderly pilgrims she was leading to Santiago. He could only be described as a "character", and not one you wanted to spend a lot of time with. I can't quite pinpoint what it was about him. He was cheery, despite having the look of a character from Grumpy Old Men. But he seemed more interested in telling us how we were going to experience the Camino (and he would know, because he has done it 3.5 times), than engaging in the experience with us.

John from Australia, however, was a true delight. Despite not wanting to divulge the reason for his Camino (which I totally respect), I left feeling like we knew each other in a way perhaps only those walking the Camino together for the first time can. 

He encouraged me to try to catch up to Anna, a woman who literally woke up one morning and just started walking. With no premeditation or preparation. She simply walked away from her medical practice and onto the Camino. And she wrote a book about it! 

Perhaps I will catch up to her, one of these days, now that my stomach is back where it should be!

Day 20

Day 20: Belorado to Villafranca de Montes de Oca - 11.9 km (in the cold, wind, and rain)

Total for the first 20 days: 251.2 km

Today was a day of ups and downs for me.

It started way up. While we were having breakfast in Belorado, a farmer's market was being set up around the town square. We filled our packs with fresh apples, oranges, and the most delicious pears!

But shortly after we started walking my shoulders began to ache. I blame this on everything from my backpack, to sleeping in a different bunk bed every night, to the thoughts weighing heavy on my mind.

Randy and I get teased everywhere we go that we aren't going to make it to Santiago "until Septiembre" at our pace. That even the "viejo" (old) can do 30 kilometers a day.

I'm not actually worried that I won't make it in my time frame. And I'm quite happy with our slow and steady pace that allows us to appreciate the world around us and each others company.

But I am reminded that I have only one month left in Spain. With tickets to fly home on April 24.

Will it be enough time to do and see and experience all that I want? Will I be different when I go back? Will I be ready? Will the transition be hard?

Randy knows me as well as anyone by this point and could tell I needed a break today. We stopped outside a church in Tosantos and shared the fresh fruit from the morning market. While sitting there a bread truck came along, honked twice, and stopped alongside us. We looked at each other in amusement, and jumped to our feet to see what was going on. Some of the neighbors joined us. The van door slid open and the driver sold us a fresh loaf of bread, for less than one euro. We were just as excited as if he had been an ice cream truck! (Perhaps more since it was only 35 degrees!)

This manna from heaven was exactly what I needed to bolster my spirits.

We walked and enjoyed our "communion" of bread and conversation. My pack felt several kilos lighter. And after a coffee stop in Villambistia, I was even able to appreciate the cold, windy, rainy walk the rest of the way to Villafranca. Especially since we could see our friend Aloys from Holland and his backpack's yellow rain cover ahead of us on the Way!

I'm happy now to be warm and dry. To have a bunk bed on which to sleep. And am committed to making the most of my next 30 days!

Day 18

Day 18: Santo Domingo to Grañón - 6.5 km (in the rain)

The most common questions we ask each other on The Way are: 

• Where are you from?
• Why are you walking el Camino?
• How did you get time off in order to walk?

Answers to this last question have been very interesting. Committing to el Camino means anywhere from 4 to 10 weeks away from home, work, and family. Some are between jobs. Or just graduated. Some worked 365 days last year in order to get 6 weeks off this year. Others are retired. Or made special arrangements to cover their jobs and other responsibilities. 

But more often than not pilgrims recognize that they simply had to make the Camino a priority. 

Because we can come up with excuses all day long not to live our dreams. (No matter how legitimate they are.) Or we can choose to live them. 

And everyone here has made the choice to live.  

For me that means carrying my laptop across Spain, taking short walking days so I can complete my work assignments in hotels and cafes. 

And it has been worth every step. Every extra kilo in my pack. 

Whatever it takes in order to live. 

That is the choice I want to make. 

Working in the albergue in Granon.

Days 2 & 3

Day 2: St Jean Pied de Port to La Cruz (mountain top cross) - 16 km
Day 3: La Cruz to Roncesvalles - 9 km

My first two days of walking! I was the last pilgrim to leave my albergue (hostel) and quickly bumped into Randy who was the last to leave his. In these first days of getting used to a new culture, new lifestyle, new everything, including walking with people from all over the world, I am drawn to the familiar. Which is anyone who speaks English. So Randy, a soon to be grandpa from California, felt like a great person to walk with.

We established early that we were here for adventure, beauty, and setting our own pace. The world we live in often sets the pace for us, but here we can follow our hearts, minds, and feet. He doesn't know if this will be a spiritual pilgrimage for him, but I don't think it is accidental that God put me on his path.

5 kilometers into our walk we came to a way marker that indicated we had taken the wrong path. Two routes led to Roncesvalles. The Route de Valcarlos was the easier route, along the highway, that we were told to take and had planned to. The Route de Napolean that we were on went over the Pyrenees and wasn't recommended in the winter due to snow.

Since we were here for adventure we decided to go another 5k instead of turning around. But the hostel we arrived at in 5k was closed for the season. At this point we were committed to the adventure, and had yet to see snow, so we pressed on.

Despite the fact that we were walking "together" we rarely walked side by side. Me usually 10 if not 20 minutes ahead. Though any time there was a fork in the road I waited for him so we could decide together our next steps.

As night came upon us we came to a cross on a mountain. A memorial of sorts. And set up camp.

Randy, an eagle scout, was more than prepared. With a tent, cook stove, dehydrated dinner, we camped in style. The wind gusted up to 50 miles in the night, adding to the adventure. So we waited until 9 am when the winds subsided to begin our trek the next morning. When we immediately ran into snow.

There is no way to describe how difficult it is to walk up, across, and down a mountain that is waist deep in snow. But I will tell you it took 10 hours and all our strength to go those 9k. I never feared for our safety, but I did worry that we might spend another night on the mountain or have to hike it in the dark.

With 4k to go I asked God to bring us into Roncesvalles by 8 pm in time for mass. Which, at our pace, did not seem remotely realistic. But we made it. And I received a blessing of safety from the priest. So I guess you could say I ended both nights at the cross!

That first night I thought I might be sad if this was the wildest adventure of my journey. But by mid afternoon of the second day I realized I would be perfectly content to stay on the "right" path for the rest of the journey.

Sometimes you have to take the more difficult route first in order to appreciate the "right" path later.

Though I wouldn't give up my adventure in the Pyrenees for anything!

today is the day

Today is the day!!

Six months ago today "I" came up with this crazy plan to walk across Spain for Lent. It felt like a long time then, but now I can't believe how fast and full it has been. The preparation has been as much mental, emotional, and spiritual as it has been physical. And I imagine being stretched in all those ways over the next 52 days. 

I keep thinking back to the mantra we came up with to guide us this year:

Today I will be brave, honor my commitments, explore life to the fullest, enjoy the journey, and take time to selah--pause and calmly praise God for that.

We are certainly fulfilling that prophecy!

Today I feel brave. Today I am honoring my commitment to this journey. I will explore. I will enjoy. I will selah. And it all begins at 3:55 p.m. when I board a plane in Columbus, Ohio, make a quick stop in Philly, and wake up tomorrow in Madrid.

In the meantime, I had one last family dinner, tucked in my nieces one last time, hugged my brother and sister-in-law, kissed my nephew and my boyfriend, took one last walk with Jovi this morning, paid one last bill, saw one last Ohio sunrise, and will have one last lunch with my parents before I say goodbye for almost 8 weeks.

It is my hope that I will be able to continue to blog and update you each day, probably in the early afternoon for you eastern time zone folk (I'll be 6 hours ahead). But who knows what the coming days will hold! Regardless, I promise to walk with you and your prayers. Thank you for walking with me and mine.

Going to miss my walking buddy Jovi!

One last Ohio sunrise

not knowing

"There was a certain freedom in not knowing everything that was ahead." - Arthur Paul Boers

I'm 8 days away from beginning my Lenten journey across Spain and I have no idea what to expect. But as the author above writes, there is a kind of freedom in that.

There will be times so hard that if I knew them in advance I might not want to take on this journey. 

There will be times so wonderful that if I knew them in advance it would be easy to want to rush ahead to seize them, skipping all the hard parts that bring the lessons that make the wonderful parts so wonderful.

Life is like that. With unexpected highs and unexpected lows that somehow perfectly balance each other out.

To Walk With Jesus is like that. With so many painful and beautiful lessons along the way.

I am truly grateful for the not knowing. Grateful that this adventure will be more wonderful and more difficult than I can even imagine.

protection

My brother recently asked me if I was going to take any sort of protection with me to Spain. He meant something along the lines of pepper spray. But my mother had another idea.

Saint Christopher: patron saint of travelers.

When my parents started dating my mother lived in Iowa and my father in Ohio. As my dad's trips to Iowa became more frequent his mom bought him a Saint Christopher medal to keep him safe. Apparently it worked because every trip was a safe one. (He was even able to outrun the Xenia tornado of 1974!)

And so my mother bought me one as well. So that I will Walk With protection as I journey in less than two weeks from Ohio to Madrid to Roncesvalles to Santiago and back again.

My faith isn't in Saint Christopher alone, however. I would greatly appreciate your prayers, positive thoughts, and a little extra love shown to my family while I'm away as they claim they are going to be missing me (just a little!).

determination

There are two kinds of people in this world.

There are the people who hear "you can't do that" and feel fear.

And then there is my sister-in-law who hears "you can't do that" and takes it as a personal challenge.

Which is how we--two people who have never frosted a cake in their lives--ended up making four princess cakes for yesterday's birthday extravaganza.

And while we--emboldened by a dozen containers of frosting and a box of wine--were pretty impressed with our results, nothing compared to the priceless faces of my nieces when their cakes were revealed.

I don't know that there are more cakes in our future. But I do know that when faced with a challenge I would much rather Walk With determination like my sis and meet the challenge head-on.

the only one

I was hanging out with some friends this week when they got to teasing me (in good fun) about "doing my own thing".

It all started when a pack of gum was presented and everyone in the room wanted a piece. Everyone except me.

"Everyone else is chewing it," they said.

"I'm different, yeah I'm different," I sang.

And we all laughed.

Most of the time I love being the one who is "different", not afraid to follow the road less traveled and go my own way.

But that doesn't mean it's easy to maintain your stargirl qualities when you are "the only one":

The only one who doesn't chew gum (it gives me a stomach ache). The only one who doesn't have kids. The only one who doesn't smoke. The only one who doesn't have anything to complain about. The only one who goes to church. The only one who is divorced. The only one who works from home. The only one who leaves her phone at home on purpose. The only one...

You can fill in the blank for yourself. Because as many times as I am "the only one", there are just as many times when I'm part of the majority, leaving someone else--maybe you--to claim "the only one" status.

It can feel isolating to be on the outside of inside jokes. To have different tastes in music or movies, hobbies or passions. But I'm always in awe of the person who refuses to compromise who they are. Because I know how hard it can be. And how beautiful. And how worth it.

To Walk With integrity to your true self is a challenge. But knowing that there are times when we each feel like "the only one" is an invitation to celebrate each others' uniqueness, encourage authenticity, and be kind. Always.