everything is beautiful

Seven months ago Rand and I stayed at this very bare bones albergue. Which was as stark on the inside as it was the outside. The beds were barely as wide as my hips.

But what I remember most about this stay is not the lack of luxury. What I remember is that as we prepared to leave in the morning Rand said, "Love makes everything more beautiful, doesn't it?" And when I looked at him like he was crazy he pointed at the yellow (flowers? plant? bush?) growing out of a rock pile across the street.

This memory came to me today as I was thinking about how beautiful Ohio is right now. How yellow. And orange, red, and green.

I'll miss Ohio's colorful seasons. (California was already brown when I visited in September.) But I'm looking forward to the challenge of looking with new eyes. Eyes that see -- that know to look for -- beauty in all things!

"Well done, good and faithful servant."

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

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

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

It reads, in part:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

do 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.  

 

Realizing A Dream

My crazy beautiful friend Colette got married last Thursday and is now on her honeymoon in Israel. She's been praying hard for months that they would feel safe enough to go through with this adventure in the midst of all the violence in the Holy Land. And their faith has proven strong. They even got baptized in the Jordan River earlier this week, just like Jesus once did.

So many things struck me during their wedding, which was personally and uniquely designed.

The very first charge that the pastor gave was not to the bride and groom, but to the guests. About our role in supporting and nurturing this young couple. And when asked who gives this bride the response was, "We all do."

Often times we go to weddings because they are beautiful and filled with an as-yet-untainted love that inspires us. We get a chance to dress up and dance and eat delicious food. And we know one, or sometimes both, parties. But we should take seriously what it means to be present when vows are shared. It means we believe in this couple, that God has brought the two together, and we are willing to be encouraging and supportive to them in their lives together. And if necessary remind them when they are veering off course.

Quakers emphasize this role by having the entire guest list sign the marriage certificate, not just the officiant.

Colette, as I mentioned a few weeks ago, is from Ferguson, Missouri. She is African American. And her new husband is Caucasian. The couple decided they wanted to end their wedding ceremony with a video of Martin Luther King Jr. reciting his "I Have a Dream" speech. They didn't know when they picked their wedding date that it would be the 50th anniversary, to the day, of this speech. And people all over the world, as if in solidarity with this newly married couple, were listening to the same speech while we were.

The "icing on the cake" as it were, was two sided. Vanilla frosting down one side of the cake and chocolate down the other. But when the cake was finally cut we realized that the diversity was merely superficial. On the inside the cake was ALL red velvet.  

I believe a lasting impression was made on the hearts of those present that day. Because John and Colette were faithful to who they are as individuals and the life they want to live together, witnesses to the unity that is possible as long as we continue to have a dream.

married in McDonalds

One of the many life lessons that I took away from my time in Spain is that we can't confine God to a "box" (ie., a church building).

I expected to come to know and love the Lord better in churches and cathedrals, through prayer and walking meditation, learning to recite the 23rd Psalm in Spanish, and honoring the Sabbath. But, in retrospect, I spent very little time doing any of those things.

And yet, I still came away feeling closer to God.

Because I encountered God in the people I walked with, the hospitality shown to me when I was tired and hungry, conversations over bread and wine, tending to one another's feet. Rainbows and snow covered mountains, watching shepherds tend their sheep.

Which shouldn't be surprising. After all, Jesus spent way more time outside the church -- on mountain tops, beside the sea, in gardens and other people's homes -- than he did inside.

And while I still think it is important to have a church home where we regularly attend, we shouldn't think that God can only be experienced within those walls.

I was reminded of this yesterday when I shared this picture on my Facebook page, asking friends if they would marry their partners where they first met:

As I read through their responses: French class, 4-H camp, BP gas station, church, square dance, martini bar, football stadium... I couldn't help but think that these are all perfect places to get married. On the travel channel this week I even saw a wedding in McDonalds. And that seemed perfect too.

Because they are places of significance to the couple. Maybe where they fell in love at first site. Or at least the place where the energy of one first encountered the energy of the other. A reminder of how and why they came together.

Not long ago I would have told you that church was the best place to get married. I might have gone so far as to say the only place for a Christian couple. Symbolizing the importance of God's role as the One holding it all together.

But God has been working in my heart to get me to lighten up. To remind me that nothing can separate us from his love -- not a gas station or a fast food drive-thru, not an elementary school hallway or Ohio stadium when Ohio State and Michigan are playing.

And if God is in all those places he can certainly honor commitments we make in those places. After all, it's the commitment that is important, not the place.

Perfect peace

I went to a baseball game this week. It was scheduled to start at 7 pm. At 10 minutes till it started to rain. Hard. And it didn't let up for over an hour. The entire backstop was under water. Once the rain let up it took another hour to prepare the field for play. The start time ended up being 9:05 pm. And the game went into extra innings. Resulting in a loss for the home team. Well after midnight.

But the most amazing thing happened that night.

So amazing it is hard to believe.

While we sought shelter with 5000 fans as our seats gathered rain, I didn't hear a single person complain. No one seemed angry or put out. People chatted. Kids played. The ball players from both teams danced in the rain and entertained us with skits made up on the spot. We pointed out the rainbow to one another and shared towels and sweatshirts to dry our waiting seats.

It was the best experience of waiting I have ever had.

A little glimpse of heaven. An evening that proves peace is possible!

an ant is a bug

Tessa: Aunt Katie, are you a mom or a dad?
Me: Neither.
Tessa: You are a mom AND a dad!
Me: No. "Neither" means I'm not a mom and I'm not a dad.
Tessa: Then what are you?
Me: I'm an aunt.
Tessa: An ant is a bug.

To the kids, "aunt" is not a title, like mom or dad or grandma or grandpa. To them, I don't have an "other name", like dad whose other name is Tim, or grandpa whose other name is Tom. To the kids, "aunt" does not define my relationship with their father. It's simply my name. Aunt Katie. Not Katie. Not Katie Terrell. But Aunt Katie. (And "ant" also happens to be a bug.)

Our society is such that titles are important. The world tells us they give us value. And without them we can feel as insignificant as Tessa's ant.

I've held the title of Mrs. and Mom and Editor. But through change and circumstance I can no longer claim these. To the world I'm simply Katie. To the kids I'm simply Aunt Katie. And sometimes that is a hard thing to be.

It's not the life God wants for us. God doesn't want us to get our value from titles or roles or corner offices. He wants us to know we are worthy without any of those things. That the title "child of God", which we can all claim, is the only one that matters.

But it can be a real challenge. When the world says otherwise. And you feel more like an ordinary ant than a child of the King.

celebrating the ordinary

Watching my nieces "play" this week has reminded me that there are many ordinary, daily tasks in my "normal" life that I didn't think about while walking the Camino... 

I only did dishes once in Spain. 

I haven't vacuumed in two months.

Music was church bells and bird calls, not filling up my i-pod and turning on the car stereo. 

By the end of the journey I could go several days without ever looking in the mirror. And "fixing" my hair meant putting on a hat. 

Watching the kids celebrate these activities, as if rites of passage, reminds me that I can celebrate them too. I can be grateful to have dishes to wash, because I'm home where I can make healthy food choices. I can be grateful to vacuum, because I like carpet and they don't have much of that in Spain. I can be grateful for bird calls AND car stereos, because music is how I connect with the Creator. And I am certainly grateful for shampoo, because using the same soap for my hair, body, dishes, and clothes is not a trend I want to continue.

Thank you girls for the reminder that all of life is worth celebrating!

Day 60

Day 60: Saying Goodbye

After Saturday's sunrise in Finisterre, a traditional cleansing dip in the sea (full body for Viktor, just feet for me), and a couple breakfasts (I've finally met someone whose appetite matches mine!), Viktor and I and several others took the bus back to Santiago.

Where I bought another bus ticket to go to Madrid later that night.

Meanwhile, we had the entire afternoon free in Santiago.

Immediately upon finding our way back to the cathedral plaza, we bumped into Teresa. From America. Who Viktor had spent a couple days walking with, and who I had met my first day back on the trail and celebrated with at the 100 kilometer mark.

She had just reached Santiago and was taking in the cathedral, as well as lots of chocolate and cheese (she doesn't eat bread and says she has nearly starved because of it on the Camino!). And was finding herself a bit disillusioned by the whole thing.

"Maybe I need to keep walking. To Finisterre," she said. "I have time."

"It worked for us," we told her.

Soon Teresa and Viktor were off to find a place to stay for the evening.

"Goodbyes are the worst part of the Camino," Viktor said, grabbing me into a brotherly hug.

"Thank you for walking into Santiago with me," I said. "For helping bring my Camino to its perfect end."

That was all.

No tears. No exchanging phone numbers or emails. No promises to meet up in 2 years to do it all again.

Because the thing that made our relationship work was that it was purely spirit-led. From the moment Viktor saw me on the trail he said he knew he was meant to walk with me. We were meant to walk with each other. Into Santiago. And again we followed our hearts to Finisterre. Without feeling the least bit guilty about saving our feet by taking a taxi there and a bus back. To watch the sun go down on one journey. And come up on another.

And we wouldn't be honoring that spirit if we promised to write or to call. Because our time to walk came. And went. With a hug and a wave and a high-five. And fuller hearts.

I had time for dinner before my 21:30 bus departure, and ended up at a cafe where I bumped into Tony. He told me about his experience entering the cathedral plaza. Overcome by emotion. Tears rolling. Kneeling with his hiking poles in gratitude for such an amazing experience. Entering alone. Exactly how he was meant to.

For him, Santiago was the end of his Camino. His perfect ending.

I had given Tony my email address right before I met Viktor and walked through the night to Santiago. And we will keep in touch. With sincere promises that our homes and hearts are always open.

It was this goodbye that had me in tears. Even though we walked far fewer kilometers together than I did with Viktor. Because just like every Camino is different. So is every relationship. Every connection.

"See you," Tony said. And I hope, some day, he will.

I wondered if I could find that same reverence in Santiago that Tony did. So before heading to the bus station I stood in one corner of the plaza. Where I could see the cathedral and all the people celebrating. And a calm came over me. An invitation to be grateful for all that I have experienced in these 60 days. Learned. Fought against. Been opened to. For all those I have met. For all who cheered me along. For all who suffered alongside of me. And celebrated our victories. For all who I carried in my prayers. And for all who carried me in theirs. And to God for being with me every step of the Way.

Coming back to Santiago, it seems, was also important in bringing closure to my Camino. To take time to pause and give thanks. It's been quite a 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 36

Day 36: Arcahueja to Leon - 10.5 km

Today was my last day walking with Randy. His flight home is quickly approaching, so tomorrow he will take the bus to Santiago.

I can't even begin to describe the joy it has been to walk 468+ kilometers with this man!

We met on the first 50 meters of the journey. And I haven't spent a moment walking without him since.

We tackled the Pyrenees, even camping on the mountain top!

We've walked through snow, rain, heat, and wind. Over the Meseta (barrenness) and along the Senda (path right alongside the highway).

Attended Mass and visited Cathedrals.

Eaten every meal together for the past 35 days. And slept in the same tent, hotel, apartment, hostel, monastery, or albergue every night.

I've witnessed his generosity every single day. From giving Tuscany his belt and New Zealand his sleeping bag. To taking time to listen to people's stories, even if he has to stand in the cold and rain or drink another bottle of wine to do it. He makes people feel at home, even if he doesn't speak their language. And today he stopped traffic so an old lady could cross the street.

He has heard me laugh and heard me snore. Popped my blisters and shown me which muscles to stretch so I'll stop being sore. Carried food for us both (okay for me, but sometimes I share!) and taken weight out of my pack. Allowed me to cry when I need to and taught me to rest.

I can't imagine walking without him.

But one of the many things I love about Randy is that he believes in me. No matter how much I have relied on him over the past 5 weeks, he has never once doubted that I could make it to Santiago. That I will.

I am equally proud of him and his Camino. The way he has stayed true to his path. And all that it has brought him.

Someday we will meet again in Leon and finish "our" Camino together. I'm sure of it.

But for tomorrow, at least, we venture on our own.  

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.

Days 27 & 28

Day 27: Hontanas to Castrojeriz - 9.4 km
Day 28: Castrojeriz to Boadilla del Camino - 19.2 km

As we continued and completed our walk across the vast and isolated meseta these last two days, I found a new appreciation for the hospitality bestowed upon us pilgrims.

Entering the unique town of Castrojeriz, with its churches and hilltop castle, Randy and I stopped at an albergue to inquire where we could get a late lunch. The woman running the albergue offered to cook for us, and showed us to the dining room.

Within 20 minutes we had a platter of salad and another of chicken, a bowl of chips and another of bread, a pitcher of sangria, and an assortment of yogurts set before us (without ever being asked what we wanted to eat).  

After this feast, and jovial conversations with two men from Holland who were staying at this albergue, we too were ready to call it a day. Appreciating immensely this woman who took us in.

The next day, again traveling the meseta with towns few and far between, we happened upon a man who had set up a fruit stand, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Randy professed his love for the man and his offering of bananas and oranges, asking for only a "donativo" (donation) in return if we had one to offer.

What a great ministry! I thought. To offer nourishment to weary travelers on The Way.

At the next town we came to we stopped at a cafe for a sandwich and soda. Two men on bicycles stopped also. And even though they spoke no English, they chatted with us, quickly and at length.

I've heard that there can be animosity between walking pilgrims and bicycling pilgrims. But I am completely in awe of the bicycling pilgrims. The hills they have to climb and the weather they have to face may be the same as ours, but certainly take a different kind of strength.

Of the bicycling pilgrims I have conversed with, however, they all say it is easier than walking. That we who walk are taking the more difficult path. Simply because it takes half, or less, the time to get across the country on bike.

The two Spaniards I met today are averaging 100 kilometers a day! One called the other "loco" because of it, particularly in today's high winds ("muy malo" - very bad), but they pressed on together.

I think it is the hospitality that everyone shows me that makes me want to return the favor. To embrace others on The Way, no matter what path they choose. On foot or on bike. Going 10 kilometers a day or 30 or 100. Sleeping in hostels or hotels. Cooking their own food or allowing others to cook for them.

We are here to care for one another, after all. To love. And what better way than to show hospitality.

 

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.

giving keys

My sister-in-law Kari gave me the coolest birthday gift: a giving key.

The idea behind the key is that I'm supposed to "pay it forward", to give the key away to someone who needs the word inscribed on it. My key word, naturally, is "EMBRACE".

Immediately upon receiving the gift I had a vision of Walking With the key across Spain and laying it at the foot of the iron cross--Cruz de Ferro--which I will reach approximately 5 weeks into my journey. It's where others leave rocks from home, rings from failed engagements, and other "stones" to symbolize a shedding of burdens and leaving behind of what no longer serves you, in order to be open to new life and the last part of the journey.

The thing about "EMBRACE", my word of the year in 2013, is that I began to feel possessive of it after 365 days of carrying it around in the forefront of my mind. So any time it appeared in a book or a movie, a blog or conversation, it was as if I had been the impetus. As if the word had not even been called into existence prior to my declaring it "my" word of 2013.

And so the shedding of this layer/key/burden that I carry would be a symbol of letting go of this singular vision. In favor of Walking With all the other words and books, opportunities and acquaintances who share this journey with me. Leaving the past where it belongs in favor of all that makes up my future.

Instead of giving the key to one person, I would symbolically be giving it to all persons. Inviting each and every one to join me in laying down selfishness in favor of community.

And maybe this is exactly how it will play out. Or maybe there is ONE who needs this word-key for him or herself and I'll know it immediately. Time will tell.

As I said yesterday, it is good to have visions and expectations. AND to be able to lay them down if life has other plans.

journey, take 2

Carol, who does baking and crafting with my nieces once a week, pointed out to me that Tysen draws her stick people from the feet up. 

While my grandmother is a very gifted artist, I got the short end of that paintbrush. So I've been paying attention to Tysen's creative expression ever since, totally jealous and inspired by the way she grounds her people and builds them from the earth up.

While the end result may not be that much different than any her sisters draw (from the head down), it's the journey--the process of getting there, the way she progresses--that makes Tysen unique.

The same can be said of life. While life inevitably ends in death, the life we live, the journey we take, the unique plan and purpose of our lives, makes each of us distinct, special, irreplaceable.

So, while my journey may look vastly different from yours, it doesn't make mine better, or worse. It simply makes it mine.