to say or to do

I spent yesterday afternoon in our hotel room in Forth Worth, Texas, writing about God and the purpose and plan he has for each one of us.

Randy was out walking the city streets, getting fresh air and a cup of coffee. He struck up a conversation with a homeless man and ended up giving him the jacket off his back. 

It struck me that what I was writing about doing, Randy was actually doing. 

Writing is an important ministry to me, one that God has clearly called me to. But writing about Jesus should never take the place of living out the teachings of Jesus. In this life I am called to both. 

"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.

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.

do the thing

Last night I spoke to our local Lions Club about my walk across Spain.

I've had lots of opportunities to share about my experience, and each time it comes out a little differently. But I think I've finally figured out what I've been trying to say:

DO THE THING

The thing that stirs in your heart. The thing that gives you joy. The thing you long for. The thing you know you are made to do. The thing you are afraid of. The thing you would do if you won the lottery. The thing you would do if you only had one month to live. The thing you are most passionate about. The thing you want to be remembered for. The thing. Whatever it is. Do it. Do the thing.

I know not everyone wants to walk across Spain. And I don't think everyone should. But I know that everyone wants to do something:

Adopt. Host a foreign exchange student. Be the president of the Lions Club. Donate food to the local pantry or towels to the local shelter. Run with the bulls. Canoe down the Amazon. Graduate. Pay off student loans. Learn to read. Join a book club. Protest for peace. Fight for your country. Quit a job. Start your own company. Take a photography class. Bungee jump. Sing. Dance. Fly. Move. 

No matter how big. No matter how small. Whatever it is. Do it. 

DO THE THING. 

That is the message I have to share.

And here is some added inspiration: One year ago TODAY I attended a lecture in which a retired teacher shared her experiences of walking el Camino de Santiago. And I decided that "now" was as good a time as any to do the thing.

Here I am. A mere year later. And now I... ME... I am the one sharing the experience of my own walk. Hoping to inspire others. Like she inspired me. To do the thing.  

 

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.

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

share your story

I'm so blessed for all the opportunities I had this summer to share my journey walking across Spain. With church groups, individuals, reminiscing with friends I made on the Way.

And today in the local paper!

Terrell Walks el Camino

I've taken time to start to lay hold of some of the life lessons, and may share those with you in the coming weeks. Even as they continue evolving and revealing themselves.

But for today I will say this: 

If you have a story to tell, tell it!

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.

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.  

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 46

Day 46 – Holy Saturday

“And they rested on the Sabbath according to the commandment.” Luke 23:56

Every journey, every Camino, every calling is its own.

Many people I have encountered have felt led to walk to Santiago. Others beyond Santiago, another 87 kilometers, to Finisterre. Or even a day’s walk beyond that to Muxia.

Not everyone is called to Santiago, however. Some are simply called to walk.

Some started in France. In St. Jean Pied de Port, like me. Or further away. In Le Puy. Or Paris.

Others began in Spain. Roncesvalles or Pamplona. Burgos or Leon. And some will begin in Sarria, to walk the last 100 kilometers.

Many do the Camino in stages. One hundred kilometers or one week at a time. Over the course of a few or many years.

Others follow the guidebook recommendations and walk from St. Jean to Santiago in 33 continuous days.

I’ve met people who walk far faster than this. And many, like me, who go much slower.

My own calling was to walk for Lent.

I thought it would take me to Santiago. Or Finisterre. Or Muxia. I thought I would have “arrived” by now. But I find myself 185 kilometers short of Santiago. Resting in Villafranca del Bierzo. Because that is what the Scriptures say happened between Jesus’ Crucifixion and Resurrection. Rest.

After Good Friday, a day of processions and services, holiday crowds and late night music, I welcomed a day of quiet. Both outside in the streets and inside my own mind.

Because the Camino is a difficult journey. But not just on the body. It challenges you mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually. And after 46 days I needed a break. In body, mind, and spirit.

So that I would be prepared for the celebration of the new life that comes with Resurrection Sunday.

Here they say ‘the authentic Camino begins when it is completed’. So even though Easter marks the end of Lent, my journey has just begun.

I’ve decided to stay in Spain for another 2 weeks. To listen more deeply to what it means for me to live the Camino.

I will continue to walk. But by now I know (and I hope you do too!) that the Camino is so much more than walking.       

Day 45

Day 45 – Good Friday

It was my hope to be in Santiago for Easter weekend (along with tens of thousands of other people). But nothing about this journey has gone according to plan. So I have found myself in Villafranca del Bierzo instead.

In medieval times, pilgrims who couldn’t make the long trek all the way to Santiago could receive their absolution in Villafranca del Bierzo. By passing through the church's la puerta de pardon (the door of pardon, a north facing door). 

Perhaps it was Divine planning for me to be here all along!

With 3 churches, 2 convents, 1 monastery, and a castle, plus everyone in town being off work for holiday, there is a lot of activity this weekend!

The morning started with two processions, one on either side of town, meeting in the central park. I was on the side of town that followed Jesus carrying His cross, while the other side of town followed His mother Mary.

I have never experienced anything like this before. The first thing that caught my attention was how quiet everyone was. I guess I had envisioned a “parade” instead of a “procession”. But there was no band. No jeering or cheering or weeping. Even the children were quiet.

(Watching the news I see that the celebrations are unique in every town. Some are loud. Some are quiet. Some are elaborate. Some are simple. And each procession is to remember a different Holy Week event, so even in the same town they can be different from one day to the next.)

I wondered what that day, so long ago, must have been like. Was it hot? Did it rain? Was it simple, elaborate, quiet, or loud? 

Did Jesus' feet hurt anything like mine?

And what was it like for His followers? Did they follow quietly? Confidently? Naturally? Because as His replica passed by this morning, we all fell silently in step behind.

In the evening I went to Mass. Jesus hung on the cross at the altar, and after all of the gospel versions of the crucifixion were read, we were invited to come forward and kiss His feet.

As I stood in line I thought, “I’m not worthy to touch the feet of Jesus.”

I looked around to see if anyone else was looking at me, thinking the same thing. But as I drew nearer I was reminded that it was His being there, on the cross, that made me worthy. Not anything I have done or could ever do. And when it came my turn to approach, no one turned me away.

I’ve loved experiencing this acceptance from the church here in Spain.

I’m reminded of my first Mass. In Roncesvalles. I was fresh off the Pyrenees. With my pants still duct taped to my boots. Mud and snowmelt pooling at my feet. And still I was invited to come forward to receive the priest’s blessing.

Last week at the cathedral in Astorga, the priest’s acolyte wore jeans and a sweatshirt to perform his duties. And I didn’t hear a single person whispering about it.

And here today they’ve invited me to kiss the feet of Jesus.

After Mass was over, another silent procession formed to follow the crucified Jesus across town. I fell in step with the others, but quickly sensed discomfort.

The man behind me took my arm and pulled me aside, out of the procession. “No mujeres,” he said. And I realized why I had felt so out of place. I was the only woman in the line.

An older woman took me from him and pulled me even further from the procession. “No mujeres,” she repeated.

“Por que?” I asked. Why couldn’t I follow Jesus when I so desperately wanted to?

“No se,” she said, unable to give me a clear reason, yet simultaneously surprised that I would even question the tradition. “Hombres andan con Jesus. Mujeres miran.” The men walk. The women watch.

She could see that I was either going to argue or cry, so she attempted to distract me with questions about where I was from, what languages I spoke, if I was a pilgrim. A woman who I had seen at lunch with her young family came over and told me there would be a beautiful procession later tonight that I could walk in if I wanted. Several teenage girls stood close, listening to the conversation.

I’m actually very traditional in my religious beliefs. And I know the Scripture that says the women “watched from a distance”. But being asked not to participate in the procession stirred up a million emotions in me.

Embarrassment at being corrected in front of the entire village. Confusion because I had just felt so accepted by Jesus and the church. Alone (as if I needed another reminder that I am a stranger here).

And frustrated. Because I dropped everything to follow Jesus during this season of Lent. Like James the apostle, whose footsteps I walk in, who went to the ends of the earth because Jesus asked him to.

Day 43

Day 43: Ponferrada to Cacabelos - 15.5 km

Yesterday I repeatedly bumped into a woman who kept saying, "Next time, I'm going to stay in this cute little town... I keep saying that. 'Next time.' I guess I have to come back!"

And all I could think was, What kind of crazy person would put themselves through this TWICE?!

Today I walked with a Korean young man who wasn't having nearly as much fun as she was. Granted it was 80 degrees and sunny today and 50 degrees and cloudy (much better for walking!) yesterday. But he was also pushing himself to do 31 kilometers when he had been doing a more comfortable 17 a day for the first half of his journey. So he was hot and tired and sore, with mountains to climb looming in the distance.

I think we are all feeling the "push" to reach Santiago, now just under 200 kilometers away!

These experiences remind me that there is both beauty and hardship in following our dreams. God places big dreams in all of our hearts. But to pursue those dreams means having to endure trials, heartbreak, suffering, challenges... in addition to getting to experience mountain top moments, breathtaking beauty, eternal reward.

If it was easy, more people would pursue their dreams!

But many people don't want to go through everything it takes to get there.

Luckily God places others on our journey to help encourage us, walk with us, to remind us never to give up, to tell us that God will be with us every hard and beautiful step of the way, to tell us it will be worth it when our dream is realized.

While walking out of Ponferrada today, dozens of people encouraged me on my way. "Buen Camino!" they said. Several patted me on the shoulder and told me to 'go with God' or 'keep walking' or 'see you later'. One man told me he walked this Way 5 months ago and it was beautiful.

My family too continues to be a huge source of encouragement. Texts and messages from both my sisters-in-law. Phone calls to my parents. Randy continuing to cheer me on from California. Aloys reminding me that he is just ahead of me (by 50 kilometers or so!) if I need anything.

And all of you who Walk With me on this journey, by reading, commenting, sharing, and considering what God is calling you to.

It won't be easy. But I promise you it will be worth it!  

Day 40

Day 40: El Ganso to Acebo – 24.1 km

Today I reached la Cruz de Ferro (the Iron Cross)!

Cruz de Ferro is a significant waymarker on the road to Santiago. It is the place where pilgrims bring a stone from their home country/community to place at the foot of the cross. Symbolizing our collective journey.

I didn’t actually bring a rock from home. I hope that doesn’t disappoint you. But it wasn’t something I felt called to do before leaving.

I did have a stone to place on the pile, however. Two actually. One that Randy brought for himself and one he was carrying for a friend. Since he didn’t get to walk to the cross this time around he asked me to carry out this task for him.

Some of you might recall that I thought I would leave my embrace key here. As a reminder that “to embrace” can mean to close your arms around someone or something. But it can also mean to open your arms/heart/self to everyone and everything. Like Jesus did on the cross when He stretched His arms out wide. For all of us.

I didn’t leave the key here, however. Choosing to give it to Randy before we left Leon. Because he fully embraced me: the good, the bad, the smelly. And he fully embraced the Camino: a journey all his own, that will continue to shape the amazing person he already is. And he has come to fully embrace life: living it, breathing it, sharing it. And I know I’m not the only one who is grateful for that.

But I didn’t need the key to remind me why I am here. In fact, I think it is more symbolic that I gave the key away, and carried instead stones for a person I know well and one who is a stranger to me.

Because that is what my journey is about. To stretch my arms open wide. Wide enough that all are included. The ones I know and love. And the ones I don’t yet know. To give and give and give. To receive from God and His children. And give some more. To do my part to extend the invitation to God’s table. And in turn my own.

Day 37

Day 37: Leon to Villar de Mazarife - 20.1 km

To celebrate how far we had come together, Randy and I stayed at the infamous Parador hotel last night. And met our mysterious friend John from Australia for drinks in the bar. And again this morning for breakfast.

We shared with John a few of our theories about him. That he is an apostle. A figment of our imaginations. The CEO of the Camino. Or at least the Parador hotel.

"Do you like what I've done with the place?" he asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

While much of John remains a mystery, he did reveal to us his reason for walking the Camino. A heartache we felt honored to be entrusted with. And invited us to "one" of his vineyards in Australia. If ever we found ourselves in the neighborhood.

"We'll have lunch under my tree," he said, a statement I can only fathom the depths of.

Obviously Randy and I have a new top priority on our bucket lists!

Randy's bus didn't leave until 16:45, so he walked my first kilometer with me before saying goodbye.

Along the way he asked if I had everything I needed: money, water, donuts... And he asked me if I felt safe.

I immediately started to cry. Not because I felt unsafe. But because I realized it was a concern I hadn't had to worry about since the moment he walked into my life.

Some people you just know immediately you can trust.

We were walking past a flower shop, so he stopped and bought me a carnation. (A woman told me later that it's called a "clavel" in Spanish.)

The weather was perfect. Nearly 80 degrees, with the sun shining bright. Except for the few moments that we had to say goodbye. In which the tiniest cloud stopped over our heads and brought rain to mix with our tears.

Even though I know it isn't forever, or even for long, saying goodbye to Randy has been the hardest part of my Camino.

But I knew I had to move forward. So with a last look over my shoulder, I found my way out of the city of Leon and onto the dirt paths that are now so familiar.

My plan had been to stop at the first albergue I came to, just 6 kilometers outside the city. But it felt good to push myself, so I just kept walking.

In honor of Randy being from California (and because he would want me to rest), I stopped in Fresno for a refreshment before tackling the last 13 kilometers of my day. And asked the bartender to put a stamp in my passport.

"Su primero dia," he said.

The passport I started with 37 days ago is now full of stamps from albergues, hotels, churches, bars, and museums. So Randy and I stopped in Leon to visit the nuns and get me a new passport.

"Si," I responded. Because in a way it is my first day. The first day of my new Camino. With a new passport. A new pace. And a fuller heart.

Day 30

Day 30: Villalcazar de Sirga to Carrion de los Condes - 6.6 km

One of the unexpected joys of this journey across Spain is the lack of choices.

In the morning I have the choice of putting on my leggings, my rain pants, or my leggings under my rain pants. I then put on whichever of my two tank tops is the cleanest. Followed by a long-sleeve smart wool shirt. And then I have the choice of whether or not to add a second long-sleeve shirt before putting on my one vest. I put on a clean pair of socks, and my one pair of boots. In the evening I have the choice between pants or a dress, and either way I wear sandals. Which is the totality of the wardrobe that I carry.

At breakfast I have the choice of bread, a Spanish omelet, or a Spanish omelet on bread. At lunch I have the choice of a Spanish omelet on bread or ham and cheese on bread. And at dinner I have the choice of soup or salad for my first course, chicken or beef or fish for my second, and yogurt or flan or ice cream for my third.

When we go to the bar and order beer, we aren't asked what kind. We are given the one beer that is on tap. When we order red wine, we are given a bottle of the local red.

There are sometimes 3 or 4 different places I could sleep at night. A municipal albergue (20 people in bunk beds in one room for 5 euros or less), a private albergue (2-6 people in bunks per room, up to 10 euros), a convent or monastery (by donation, with a communal meal included), or a hotel (60-70 euros, includes breakfast). But often, in the smaller towns, these options too are limited to the one or two that happen to be open this early in the season.

Occasionally while walking we have the option of a scenic detour, but more often than not there is only one way to the next town and bar and bed.

We regularly reflect on how nice it is to not have the overwhelming amount of options that we do in the U.S. Helping us realize that we don't need all those choices in clothing, food, beer, or beds.

The simplicity of choice allows us to appreciate and focus on the more important things. Conversation. Community. Beauty. And grace.

Not to say that we are living meager lives.

In fact, Randy and I call ourselves the "pampered pilgrims". Always getting more than enough to eat. Taking our time to appreciate the art of the world and the wine. Staying in hotels on occasion to appreciate the tiny bottles of shampoo, bathtubs, and the absence of snoring pilgrims.

And we aren't the only ones.

We met a man from Indonesia this week who booked hotels in advance for all 32 nights of his Camino. Many others use a courier service to carry their backpacks from one town to the next. And there are some who refuse the "pilgrim's menu" in favor of tapas and drinks and a more local dietary flair.

The Camino is a personal experience. As frugal or as pampered as you want it to be. About food and hotels, or bunk beds and communal meals. Or, like mine, a beautiful mixture of both.

Day 25

Day 25: Burgos to Rabe de las Calzadas – 13.3 km

As we entered the “moderately” sized town of Rabe (population 190), a man stepped out of an albergue and flagged us down with a cheerful “buenas tardes” and “venga”. Good afternoon. Come.

Within the hour we were seated around a dining table with five other pilgrims who had also elected to stay here because of the hospitality. Some were told of the albergue by passing motorists. One had a guidebook in which this was the only albergue on the whole Camino that received a positive recommendation. Another was simply glad to have companionship, after spending the previous night alone in a room with 50 bunks.

We were from Holland, Denmark, England, Germany, and the U.S.

“Why are you doing the Camino?” became the order of business, during our primero (first) course of noodle soup and pasta salad. We could hear our hostess working on our segundo course (spanish omelet adorned with pimientos) across the hall, next to the bathroom, laundry, and our bunk rooms.

One of the men from Denmark had too much stress in his life from work. He is an intermediary in the field of agriculture, as well as a journalist. And was thoroughly enjoying a month without e-mail. Though stressing a bit about being home in time for Easter with his family.

Keld, the other man from Denmark, is on his third Camino. This time walking the latter half, from Leon to Santiago, with his youngest daughter. We were delighted to find out this old man was a former hippie!

Dirk, from Germany, quit his job in February and decided to walk the Camino before applying for another job. He works in the IT field. His biggest challenge has been to enjoy the journey. Because it is his nature to race to the finish, check Santiago off his “list”, and then feel free to vacation. “But this IS the vacation,” he was working on reminding himself.

Even though my journey has been slow, I completely relate to this need to reach the end goal and then let myself relax.

The woman from Holland is walking simply because she has today. Two years ago she had a brain tumor. And while she is seemingly healthy now, she is more aware than ever that we may not have tomorrow.

Simon, from England, was recently forced to retire from the military where he served as a lieutenant colonel. In essence, he walks because he is bored. And he feels a bit “lame” for it. Meeting along the way people who have “real” reasons for walking. One man he met had literally lost everything. His job. His girlfriend. His home.

I pray that Simon will find his purpose along The Way. As I can surely liken my own journey to his.

Why is it that I walk? To be changed. To encounter Christ in the people I meet. To be open-hearted to whatever experience I am meant to have. To share the journey with you.

Not because I have lost it all. But because I hope to gain more of what the world has to offer. So that I in turn have more to give.

Perhaps not the most exciting of reasons. The most dramatic of stories. But I still came for the same reason that everyone else did. To walk.  

During our second course we dug deeper. Sharing about the relationships we had developed on the Camino. “Saying goodbye is the hardest thing,” one said. “Especially to those first persons you walked with,” said another. 

By the time we finished dessert (yogurt), we were more than friends. We were family. And set off to the bar together for a round of pacheron (the regional liquor) and even deeper conversations that led late into the night.

The time changed while we slept, springing forward, but we still all rose together in the morning to wish each other a good walk. Buen camino!

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 9

Day 9: Uterga to Puente la Reina via Eunate - 9.5 km

Today I experienced an unexpected sadness when my group of friends started to part ways. There have been a few people I have met, or walked a short time with, who I have wished a "buen camino" - good journey - and simply been grateful for our chance meeting. But four of us - Jeff from North Dakota, Alois from Holland, Randy from California, and I from Ohio - have been together since day 5.

Granted that is only four days. But four days of walking together on the Camino is enough to develop friendships for a lifetime.

Leaving Uterga late morning, after a traditional Spanish omelet (eggs, potatoes, and onions) and espresso, the four of us, plus Sylvie from Paris and Fred from Ireland, set off together. Though twice my age, Fred quickly pulled ahead of the pack, not to be seen again this day.

After 2.5 kilometers we came to a crossroads where we had to decide to take the traditional route or detour to Eunate, where we could visit a 12th century Romanesque church, built in an octagonal form. It was 2.8 kilometers out of the way, but what are we here to do but walk?

Everyone but Alois decided to take the detour. We briefly discussed our next stops on the way so that we could chance running into each other again, at an albergue or cafe. And off he went, alone on The Way.

The church at Eunate was gorgeous. Well worth the extra kilometers.

We each took a moment to sit alone in the chapel. I could say nothing more than "thank you" for this incredible journey. Thank you for new friendships. Thank you for all the support I have back home. Thank you for all I have yet to experience on The Way.

Earlier in the morning I overheard Jeff and Alois talking and saying to one another, "We are on the Camino!" It is still just as incredible to us that we are walking as it was 9 days ago.

Church of Santa Maria de Eunate

Leaving the church we walked alongside cornfields on a gravel road until reconnecting with the Camino. We ended up in Puente la Reina where we stopped for a late lunch. Arthur from Poland joined us and said he had just run into our friend from Holland. That he was here in town staying at the monastery. We were thrilled to know we hadn't lost him.

After lunch Randy and I decided to stay in Puente la Reina too. To take time to look at the map and figure out our next steps. How far we should actually be walking each day. And to empty our packs of some weight.

I have a pair of shoes I plan to leave behind. And half a book (the other half we burned in the Pyrenees to get a fire going).

But Sylvie and Jeff decided to press on. To put in another 5k while the days are sunny and warm. As early as next week we could be walking daily in rain.

Watching Jeff and his pack with its USA and North Dakota flags attached walk off into the distance without us made me surprisingly emotional. I guess I had begun to envision the four of us entering Santiago. Celebrating what we had accomplished. Together.

But we each have our own journey. Our own timeline. Our own purpose and calling.

Learning to let go is just one of the many lessons we have to learn on The Way.