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.

Creating a Home

Randy and I just moved into a place of our own. Yet another adventure!

When I came to visit for the month of September, the primary item on our agenda was to find a new home. Something small and homey, with room for the dog to run. Each week we looked at Craigslist and Zillow, the local newspaper and the Loomis Facebook page. We told everyone we knew and even had a local realtor friend checking on upcoming properties for us.

Finally, on the last day of September, just hours before my return to Ohio, we visited what this week became our new home.

But not without lots of minor hiccups along the way.

The current tenant hadn't yet given her landlord notice, because she was waiting for everything to be finalized with the home she had just purchased. So we didn't actually know if or when we would be moving in.

I had more than one meltdown about where I was going to work and where the dog was going to sleep and how I was going to feel about moving to California in November and living in a place that wasn't ours. Out of suitcases until this place came thru. Which prompted Randy to wonder if this was in fact the place for us, or if he should find us somewhere that we could immediately move into on or around November 10 when we'd be arriving after a 16-day road trip.

But 3 days into our trip, the last week of October while at my grandma's in Arkansas, we got word that the current tenant had given notice. We were then able to speak with the landlord, fill out a rental application, and sign a rental agreement, all over our cell phones. The place would be ours! We just had to wait until December 1.

Meanwhile, Randy had an office all setup for me in the condo he was living in, and a place for the dog to sleep. My clothes found their way into the closet and we enjoyed a comfortable three weeks together, hoping each day that the current tenant would decide to move out early so we could get in and settled.

She didn't.

In fact, she injured herself so she wasn't able to clean the place, an assignment left to her by the landlord who was out of town getting a face lift, having left another one of her tenants in charge of caring for her 35 indoor cats.

So when we finally did get into our new home we found nests of black widow spiders, earthworms creeping along the tile floors, a distinct cat smell, and two days worth of cleaning on our hands.

Nevertheless, we enjoyed cleaning side by side, creating the welcoming environment we had dreamed of.

When the day came to move in our stuff, a mix up meant Randy's suburban was not at our disposal. And there was no way we could move everything in my car.

So we went shopping! Where we found a great deal on a washer and dryer. And my credit card was promptly declined.

99 percent of the time I appreciate Capital One's fraud protection which automatically declines "unusual" purchases. But this was not one of them.

Then, at the same store, while admiring a Charlie Brown Christmas tree, we broke the one ornament that decorated its pitiful branches.

Still determined, we gathered Randy's son and another friend and made our move on Wednesday. Even while the rain poured down and my phone repeatedly alerted us to the flash flood warnings that made our new country living driveway a muddy mess and drew even more earthworms into our living room.

But here we are at last! Happily making a home. Not even letting the mountain lion that lives in our backyard deter us from loving life together!

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.

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!

home at last!

We made it! 16 days, 11 states, 4000 miles... and we're finally home!

I love the motto of my new town: "A Small Town Is Like A Big Family".

It's true of the place that I grew up and it feels true of my new home as well.

It was also true of our journey to get here. Along the way we visited my grandmother in Arkansas, my cousins (even some I'd never met!) in Oklahoma, my brother and sister-in-law and niece in Texas, and Randy's mom in New Mexico.

We are blessed that our family stretches all the way from Ohio to California!

Initially I chose not to write each day of our trip (like I did when we walked across Spain) because all of the last minute arrangements were a little overwhelming, from packing to getting the car and u-haul ready to saying so many goodbyes.

But after a couple of days I began to appreciate being able to be present to our adventure, rather than focusing on what to write and when.

I don't think I'm alone in this challenge. Figuring out how to balance being present to an experience with documenting it -- whether that be in words or selfies or something else entirely.

As a writer I feel I should have written more. But as a partner I'm grateful that my energy was focused on enjoying every moment with Randy and the family and friends and places we visited.

I think I chose the better way.

But we did take lots (lots!) of photos, so perhaps in the coming days I'll share more of our journey, now that we are home!

Do fish listen to iTunes?

Yesterday Randy and I took an early morning walk at the fish hatchery. The fish aren't running yet, but lots of people were out walking, running, and enjoying the bike trail.

We detoured onto the dirt paths to walk closer to the river, and stopped to sit and watch the fishermen throw out their lines while the sun came up.

"There is something so calming about water," Randy said, barely above a whisper so as not to disturb the men at work.

I nodded in agreement. Just as one of the fisherman's cell phones went off.

The man answered it. Chatted for a while. Then pocketed the phone.

"My grandpa would have grabbed that phone right out of his hand and thrown it into the water," I said. Thinking of the man who regularly took my brothers and I fishing.

It wasn't long before another fisherman answered his phone. Rod and reel in one hand, iPhone in the other. And when he hung up he set his iTunes to play. Loud enough that we could make out the words from our seats up the bank.

I found this incredibly disenchanting. I haven't been fishing but once since my grandpa died in 1996. But I assumed this past-time still held on to the sanctity of silence. The appeal of being removed from technology and transported to a simpler time. Where you became one with nature.

Is there no longer anywhere that this generation is allowed, expected, to be quiet and leave the noise behind?

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.

Keep Calm and Fly On

Shortly before leaving for the airport on Tuesday I received notification that my connecting flight in Chicago was delayed half an hour. A few minutes later it was delayed another hour. I only had an hour to make my connection to begin with so there was no way I was going to make my plane to California.

I called the airlines from home and they quickly and efficiently got me on another flight, through Dallas, landing just 45 minutes later than my original flight.

Once in Dayton and safely on the plane, I sat next to a young guy headed to LAX for a morning meeting. The pilot came on over the speaker and shared with us that the auxiliary power wasn't working. We didn't need it to fly, he said. Just to turn the plane on. It should only take about 10 minutes, he concluded.

That 10 minutes soon became 90. Something to do with paperwork and a fax machine. (Who still uses fax machines? we wondered.)

But during that time, sitting on the tarmac waiting for a jump start,  I got to know the guy beside me. Married for 3 years, he was expecting his first child. He was a lawyer, headed to Los Angeles to fix someone else's mistake, and would be on the red eye home the following day.

By the time we finally took flight he knew there was no way he was going to make his connection in Dallas. Which was the last flight out for the night.

But here is the crazy part. He wasn't the least bit angry, frustrated, anxious, or upset about the situation.

"Maybe there will be another flight after all," he said. "Or maybe an early morning one so I can still make the 9 o'clock meeting. If I can't make the meeting, I'll just grab the next flight back to Dayton."

He was so casual about his options. Not the least bit frazzled by his plans not working out, or the idea of making a roundtrip flight to Dallas and never leaving the airport.

It was very comforting to be in his presence. Which helped me relax as my own layover grew shorter and shorter.

As we disembarked in Dallas and everyone ran to make their connection, he was the one who stopped and asked a woman in a wheelchair if he could help her to her gate.

I felt incredibly grateful to have witnessed such kindness, such a peaceful spirit, which is so rare these days. It reminded me that my own attitude can have an affect on others, either positive or negative, depending on how I choose to live and respond to the world.

Apparently a reminder that I needed since I wasn't originally scheduled to be on this flight. In fact, I wasn't even scheduled to sit next to this guy. But someone was sitting in my seat so I took the open one next to him. I love the way God works!

 

Real Friends Say "No"

"When times get rough you'll find out who your real friends are."

I've been thinking about this statement lately. Which implies that your "real friends" are the ones who continue to hang out with you and stand by you during hard times. But I've started to wonder: what if it isn't true?

After all, aren't we all entitled to have boundaries? Boundaries that protect us emotionally and spiritually, physically and relationally. Boundaries that honor our time, our resources, and our hearts.

I am terrible at setting boundaries. In fact, for the few of you who I have ever said "no" to, feel blessed. It means that I love you and I trust you. In Tessa's words: "the most-est."

But not setting boundaries means I can end up feeling resentful and taken advantage of. It means I can get emotionally involved in problems that have nothing to do with me. I can get confused when someone gives me advice that is completely against what God is telling me. Or angry when a person continues to be critical of my choices (because even though I've never asked their opinion, no boundaries means I've also never asked them to keep it to themselves).

Of course we want to be there to support our friends when life is unfair to them, or they have made poor choices and are reaping the consequences. And of course we want our friends to be there for us when it feels like everything and everyone is coming down against us.

But that isn't always the best choice for us or our friendship.

Sometimes the best choice is to give the relationship space. To lean on God instead of one another. Or to label certain subjects of conversation "off limits". To not get emotionally tangled up in someone else's issues, and to not allow them to get tangled up in ours.

Boundaries don't give us permission to talk about people behind their backs while we are giving that relationship space, or to be critical of one another face to face expecting the relationship to bounce back once the crisis is over.

But a true friendship will respect boundaries, and not see them as rejection.

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.

graduation

My nieces graduated from preschool yesterday.

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

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

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

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

two questions

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

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

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

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

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

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

Have a blessed week everyone!!

coincidence

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coincidences? Or God's way of winking?

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 52

Day 52: Bus from Ponferrada forward to Las Herrerias - 45.4 km, followed by a 1 km walk down into the village

I have to admit. Not being able to walk has been a real struggle.

I never thought I would miss staying in albergues with dozens of sweaty, snoring pilgrims who get up at 6 a.m. But being in a hotel off and on for almost 2 weeks has become very isolating. And even though I see pilgrims every day I don't feel I can relate any longer to the struggle of early mornings and long afternoons, the refreshing taste of a cold beer or the stomach that is never quite satisfied.

And the absolute worst thing you can do when you aren't feeling well is to be alone, feeling sorry for yourself.

It is easy to think that the Camino was easier when Randy was here. So to put things in perspective I have tried to think of all the hard times we went through together.

There was the time we were so tired and sore that we walked right past the albergue and wandered around town for several kilometers before some neighborhood kids helped us find our way back.

And the time I was mentally exhausted. To the point that we literally sat on the side of the road. For hours. In silence. Until Randy offered to carry my sleeping bag. And somehow that made everything better.

I can't even begin to describe the emotions the day we thought he was going to have to go home early because of a work conflict.

There were many nights we spent rubbing each others sore feet. Shoulders. Heads.

I had to get used to resting every day with just one kilometer to go, because his toe always let us know we were close. And he avoided looking at me for a week after I busted the blood vessels in my eyes.

We both wanted to give up in the Pyrenees. But luckily we didn't know each other yet. So instead of comforting one another, we only laid down in the snow in defeat when alone, and worked harder when the other was looking.

And to be honest, the littlest things can feel insurmountable when you are tired. Dinner presented to you with head and scales still in tact. Your credit card being declined. Showers on timers. And no butter for your toast.

And this is just a taste of the hardships we endured. Together.

While this trip down memory lane does make me feel better about my circumstances, it is also a reminder that I need to keep moving forward. Rather than dwelling on the past or the vision I had for the future.

Because I can't change any of that. But I can choose to enjoy the rest of my time here. Even if I have to do it on a bus, with crutches instead of hiking poles, and a different kind of boot!

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 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 15

Day 15: Logrono to Navarrete - 13 km

Me: "How long do you have to walk the Camino?"
Vincent from Germany: "I have time enough."

The Way has been slow and steady, but I feel like there is time enough to walk AND enjoy time resting, appreciating, and falling more and more in love with the land and the people and the culture.

Aloys from Holland: "One of the lessons from the Camino is to live in the present, even when you have an end goal."

It is amazing how, in a mere two weeks, the end goal of reaching Santiago is no longer at the forefront of my mind. Instead is getting up each day to spend time deepening relationships, walking together, opening our hearts and minds to all that is available to us.

I do still plan on walking all the way to Santiago. To reach the end goal. But each day, each walk, each conversation is now as much the purpose of the journey as is the end result.

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.