Billowing clouds of incense

What is a pilgrim?

This is the question Nicole asked, as we settled into shaded nooks with a cafe con leche or a cup of tinto with people from every country and from every story.

And it is my question now, as I share a tiny table, two grapefruit, and the ubiquitous cafe con leche with a beautiful German girl who wears her art rather than hang it on the wall. She is in the light now, after we prayed Revelations 3:20 together this morning. Never again alone, always in His love, forever and ever along The Way of life.

And from my seat, with the ever appropriate bar background soundtrack of How Sweet It Is to Be Loved by You, I am watching pilgrim after pilgrim turn the corner into the last little stretch to the Cathedral steps and there is no way to explain the joy radiating from every tired step. A sturdy Asian with his Jack Daniel's t-shirt, an obvious mother and son biking combo, the German with blond dreads, the bearded guy in a red and black plaid shirt, the older woman, sort of my age, leaning heavily on her staff and big bandaged feet, but that same radiance.

A pilgrim is someone who decided that, alone, on his own strength and plans and schedules, I Can't Get No Satisfaction, and he leaves it all, and turns toward Celestial City.

And most of the answers to my question, Why did you decide to walk The Way, are along the lines of, "I just knew I had to do it." There was the Spanish brother and sister whose other sister had been walking El Camino one week at a time, each vacation, and when she died suddenly, they quit their jobs and walked out their doors. As I hugged the sister goodbye, she whispered over and over, "I believe." The young free runner who in one day decided, bought a bike and a pack, and headed up The Way backwards. At the alburgue dinner Nicole had a word for the Dutchman, something about a lighthouse shining strong through the years, who began weeping and said, "because you have said this, I know you know Truth, and I will tell you why I am on this Way.” The cynical businessman next to muttered with an awed whispered, “An angel is here with us,” as every single person at the table filled with bean soup, crusty bread, and tinto bottles, watched this man transform before our eyes, dropping his heavy burden at the cross of Jesus. And in the morning, Nicole flagged a blessing and prayed with him again as he picked up his staff and adjusted his now light pack, and he left, tucking one of my father's little Bibles into his pocket, declaring with peace and joy, "I now know Truth." And the cyclist who rode with us for a morning, on his second Camino to remember how God had met him the first time, a broken drunken lost soul, and given him a wonderful wife. He never wanted to forget Him who he met on this Way.

Now a group of teenagers all wearing matching red shirts has turned the corner, and are soaking their feet in the shell fountain. And there is a kinda crazy looking old lady with a baseball cap hugging a black hipster with tight red pants and a good camera. And the very confident soul striding past with mirrored sunglasses, not even needing to ask directions. But the two Swedish girls pause, just to make sure.

And I, with Nicole's open Bible and journal in front of me was just interrupted in my thoughts by a man from New Zealand with such a thick accent I could barely understand him.

"Excuse me. Do you speak English? May I sit here? I want to tell someone what just happened to me on El Camino. I met God.

And he told me his story, although I couldn't exactly understand everything. And he was one who only believed the material world and his own hard work. He would hear people speak of spiritual things, and he wouldn't understand it, or would think that they were just lazy or weak, incapable of doing life on their own. And just on the top of the last mountain before Santiago, El Monte de Gozo, he met God.

But now what do I do? How can this change my life? How will things not be the same?

And I had the great joy of reading to him the invitation of Jesus: Behold I stand at the door and knock. And a lovely young professional Spanish pilgrim joined in the conversation. Only she only spoke Spanish, and he English, so became focused on the translating, and not the actual ideas, when in the middle of a sentence I realized that she said that my face was so radiant that it was obvious that I had been with Jesus.

And that was my prayer from what seems so long ago, that in spite of my tangled syntax and my clumsy ways, that they might say of me, "She has been with Jesus."

And I found Nicole at the Pilgrim's Mass in the great Cathedral Santiago a Compostela, and somehow the German girl found us as well. And together we worshiped. We asked forgiveness of sins, we greeted one another in peace, thousands from all over the world, and we gave offerings. And we heard that following Jesus is not about saying a few words or a special prayer, but He has called us to be perfect even as He is perfect. And this is not an easy Way, but He is beside us each step. As we live a life of forgiving our enemies, and blessing those who curse us, even as He has forgiven us. And we shared communion, the breaking of the bread and the drinking of the wine, Do this in remembrance of Me.

And the famous incense burner was lifted up by six strong young men, representing our prayers of thanksgiving and worship, and an iridescent glory sifted down through the crowds. A weeping and hugging and radiant crowd.

Holy, holy, Lord God Almighty.
Seraphim and cherubim, all the saints adore Thee
God in three persons
Blessed Trinity

A curious thing is that all of the stop signs are in English

No os amedrenteis por temor de ellos, ni os conturbeis, sino santificado a Dios el Señor en vuestros corazones. 1 Pedro 3,14-15

Cristo esta conmigo, !Que consolacion! Su presencia aleja todo mi temor; tengo la promesas de mi Salvador: no te dejara nunca; siempre contigo estoy.

It really wasn't in our pretty tight scheduled plan to be riding up the biggest mountain on the road in the middle of the day with an empty water bottle under a bright blue sky and a blustery wind that kept blowing off my hat, but it didn't matter. With every pedal stroke I was thinking, "No pain! No pain! No pain!"

In the morning I had made a mild attempt to request a Sabbath rest for my throbbing thighs since nothing else had brought even the slightest relief: the carefully coached stretches, the icy sea baths, the hot, hot showers, ibuprofen in regular doses, nothing. This steel grip was my constant companion. But we decided to try an hour or two and to see how that would go, especially since the first part was along a stunning sea coast.

And things weren't so bad this morning, singing over and over, until I forgot the words, because things hurt pretty much:
Holy, holy, holy
Lord God Almighty
Early in the morning
My song shall rise to Thee

So as we stood at the bottom of a hill staring at yet another long, twisty cobbled stone road to the church, we hesitated. Should we release our plans to try and attend mass, and just stay on El Camino?

But, no in my heart, I knew up that hill we must go, whether it was a dutiful offering of my decimo, or an empty water bottle, or a prodding from the Lord, so up the hill we went. And the gold-covered altarpiece reaching up to the stone arches was a perfect meditation, as I knelt down on the creaking board:
Seraphim and cherubim,
All the saints adore You
God in three persons,
Blessed Trinity

But when we went to the back room, to get our credential stamped, the old, very old priest, fussed at us: you must go the the cathedral. That is where all the pilgrims go, this is nothing, a mere parochial church. And even when I mildly protested that we were very humble pilgrims, and this had been a wonderful place to pray, he shook his trembling finger at us, so we made plans to go down and yet another up, right after a cup of café con leche, right next to the little church and the park.

A man led in his friend into the bar for coffee as well. Actually, he had to heft him up on his shoulder and carry him, because of his leg, which sort of looked like someone had wrung out a twisted wet towel. And my heart knotted up as I watched. And I almost got up to pray for him, but not quite. And as they left, I knew I had to follow them out to in front of the church. "Excuse me. If you don't mind I would like to pray for your leg. The Lord God Almighty would like to show His great love and power by healing you in the name of His son Jesus Christ." They nodded, I knelt down on the stones, prayed, and they smiled and nodded a little teary-eyed, and headed off to church, and I back to my coffee. But a few minutes later, the man rushed in and said over and over, "Thank you, thank you! God bless you." And I smiled and nodded, and we headed over the big cathedral built in the thirteenth century, and there was a fruit stand out front, and a bar, and we decided to split a sausage and potato breakfast before heading on up the fabled hardest climb of El Camino.

And at the table next to us, was a nice man with his wife and son, enjoying the beautiful morning, except he had crutches and a huge ugly red swollen leg. And just before hopped back onto the bikes, I had to once again kneel down at his feet and pray for him. And both he and his wife were teary-eyed and smily at the same time, and we waved good-bye and they said, "Buen Camino," like everyone does.

But after we rode down those cobbled stones, I noticed. No pain. At all. None. And I kept waiting for the clench of death, but no, nothing, no pain. And even though we headed down the wrong path, and ended up doing a huge loop, retracing our route, it did not matter. No pain. No pain.

And as we turned up that great big long mountain, I sang "Holy, holy," and wondered about that kneeling and wondering when it was that God healed me, and "Drats, I should have asked those guys if they were totally healed too," when suddenly a white car drove past us, turned around and stopped, and the nice man with the crutches hopped out of the car, and threw them on the ground and ran across the street, and said, "I had to see you again, and to say thank you!"

And his was a long convoluted story, about spending long years seeking wealth and fame, and then he had this terrible accident, and some disease that left half his body numb, and he had been going to this Hindu master, who had been having him read the Life and Times of Jesus Christ, and had told him that soon two strangers were going to pray for his healing, and when I prayed for him, this huge surge of peace had filled him, and he knew his life was changed forever. And Nicole prophesied over him, that God was going to use him mightily, and there kneeling by the side of the road, we prayed for wisdom and truth to guide him in his path, and I ran across the ancient highway and hugged his wife who was crying happy tears, and I gave her my email, because he wanted to keep us up with all of the changes in his life. And it was his birthday, that day, the fifteenth of June, and this was a wonderful gift from God, a new life.

And as I slid my foot into the toe grip before heading on up the steep incline, I realized that more than just the pain in my body had evaporated like the morning mist. My heart and soul were also soaring free in the breeze.

Holy, holy, Lord God Almighty.

And this is only the first third of our day. The rest, well, was also amazing. More to come.

Holy holy

Holy, Holy, Holy. Lord God Almighty; all of the earth is filled with Your Glory. Isaiah 6,3

Y metere en el fuego a la tercera parte, y los fundire como se funde la plata, y los probare come se prueba el oro. El invocara mi nombre, y yo lo oire. Zacarias 13,9

Pablo escribe: nuestra esperanza respecto de vosostros es firmer pues sabemos que asi como sois companeros en las afflicciones, tambien lo sois en la consolacion. 2 Corintios 1,7

Señor,Te doy gracias porque a traves de las pruebas, Tu me perfeccionas. Soy como el oro que se refina en el ardor de Tu amor, porque solo Tu amor puede buscar perfeccionarme. Solo Te pido, Dios de misericordia, que me des entendimiento para que cuando llluegan las afflicciones, yo sea consolado y al mismo tiempo preprarado a consolar. Marisol Ale Diaz

Yesterday, friend Mary who just finished a week on El Camino marveled that I had any strength left to write. I don't. Mostly I am trying to make it up the next hill with just a trace of praise under my breath. I am grateful for a three-week graduate class in writing at the University of Arizona that starts the day I after I get back, which will give me bunches of time to sort through this experience so that my life may indeed be transformed; may He indeed give me understanding.

And I do know that for one thing, I will be packing away a great deal more compassion and consolation into my backpack home, along with all of my damp, smelly clothes and as yet, hundreds and hundreds of unviewed Go-pro photos and videos. I think I have a much bigger understanding of His beloved world, and the tenderness with which He holds each one of His children. We have received so much unmerited mercy.

And this is our last night on the coast. And the surf is surging outside our open window, which of course is such a timeless reminder of history, His story. Today, as we turn south into the plains, we have our last two biggest mountains to climb. But that last little lady who gave us directions told us over and over about Playa de Catedral, and how people really liked it, even on the internet, and it was only two kilometers off our path, about.

It is a good thing. The ocean always reminds me of His strong presence that surrounds me and holds me up. Yesterday, when Nicole was asking an Italian guy why he was doing the Camino, it said that it was freedom, freedom from everything that distracts me from His love.

Holy, Holy, Holy. Lord God Almighty; all of the earth is filled with Your Glory. Isaiah 6,3

The refreshing fog is of His hand as well.

Nor grumble, as some of them did and were destroyed by the Destroyer. 1 Corinthians 10

Because of the tender mercy of our God, whereby the sunrise shall visit us from on high to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the Way.
Luke 1:79

Jehova hace a los vientos sus mensajeros, y a las flamas de fuego sus ministros. Salmos 104,4

Y siendo arrebatado la nave, y no pudiendo poner proa al viento, nos abandonamos a el, y nos dejamos llevar. Hechos 27, 15

?Sopla el viento en contra nuestra o hacen cortapisas en nuestro Camino? A veces Dios nos pone obstaculos para mostrarnos un mejor Camino, un Camino de bendicion que nos lleva a El.

Yikes.

Yesterday we crossed the halfway point of our Camino, as well as multiple mountains, again and again, the rhythm of patient overcoming up, and the delight of sweeping down through speckled light drifting through ancient trees, or past rolling vineyards or overlooking sparkling beaches. Yesterday was the Northern California costal day.

And when we limped into Santa Marina last night, everyone was impressed and shook their heads with wonder that we had made it from Ovieda, and they didn't even know the half of it, all the yellow arrow paths we took, winding hither and thither along cow paths for two hours to come out only 2 km further along in our journey. And two flat tires. I hope this destroyed ship is not my bicycle, which has overall proven very faithful, but, well, we've had some bang-ups as well.

But it doesn't matter, really, because He is faithful through the winds and the flames. And I have committed to follow Him. No matter what the cost. Which is a scary thing to say, as I have lived and learned in the past.

And today may my eyes be fixed on Jesus, and not distracted by the waves.

Last night, I was a little teary, walking that old flat-tired bike up the last steep hill: Dear Lord God Almighty, be my provision.

And I rounded the bend, and Nicole was chatting with an old guy by the side of the road, Enrique. And later she told me that God told her to stop, that he was our angel. And he started the conversation, "You must stay in Santa Maria." And we did.

We are alone in this massive silent pension, in sharp contrast to the minimalist stop last night, quietly slipping into a dark room of sleeping bodies. Across the street we were served and served food and drink: a bottle of water, a bottle of wine, a tuna and apple and fake crab meat salad, fried ham slices, mounds of salty French fries, and chocolate torte, and we ate it all, after nice hot showers, and went to bed.

And we are planning an early start, with our breakfast already to carry with us, but it is still dark outside, the fog has rolled in again.

Dear Lord, I lay this day before You. Carry us through, sheltered in Your wings, through wind and fire, I trust You. A road of blessing, because You are the One who carries us.

The church bells are ringing just as we head up the next mountain

Si es que habeis gustado la benignidad del Señor. 1 Pedro 2:3

Sacareis con gozo aguas de las fuentes de la salvacion. Isaias 12:3

Y el que tiene sed, venga, y el que queria, tome del agua de la gratuitamente. Apocalipsis 22:17

Indeed yesterday we enjoyed the benevolence of The Lord. So much of our time is spent wandering around in circles, seeking the Way. Around the ever-so-simple convent breakfast of cafe con leche and pound cake, a Spaniard with a guidebook offered to go with us. And while I did leave an armload of pretty important stuff unpacked, it was a benevolent day of rolling hills and trees overarching and more little gardens than Heather and Alan could ever dream of.

And late that night, although it is still light at ten, when Nicole and I unloaded off of the train at Ovieda without a clue, a second guide stepped in, Joe who left the Bronx twenty years ago to teach in this undiscovered paradise, also left his conversation, and hopped on his bicycle and led us through yet more winding cobblestoned streets to the pilgrim hostel that locks its doors at ten, but didn't.

And yesterday noonish we made our way up to the top of yet another steep hill, and were welcomed to the hostel of well, Drats, I forgot its name, but it is legendary on the Way of the North, yet another rose-draped farmhouse where we were greeted with pitchers of chilled water and loaves of bread and peach jam and cafe con leche for Nicole and me, and diet Coke for Ishmael, and a priestly blessing for all of us, and last night steamy hot water washed away the sticky soreness of the day, and once again, I experienced the free grace of God, with joy.

A pilgrimage is not about giving, but humbly receiving, again and again.

Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.

Even if you leave your jacket, the bag of toiletries and your water bottle in the dining room, having made a quick sprint up the stairs up to leave little Bibles on the table.

The sunrise cannot push its way through a thick wet mist that should make for a refreshing ride.

Sometimes the Way is smooth and delightful

Este con nosotros Jehovah nuestro Dios, como estuvo con nuestros padres. 1 Reyes 8, 57

A fin de que no os hagais perezosos, sino imitadores de aquellos que por la fe y la paciencia heredan las promesas. Hereros 6, 12

Ven, Señor Jesucristo,  prepara nuestro Camino, las puertas nos ha abierto ya.

Whether I am curving up or down the road, the one clear thing is that I have absolutely no idea what lies ahead, except for His presence.

And He is revealed and glorified, whether it is the creation declaring His power, creativity and beauty, whether it is the abundantly kind image-bearer offering a fill-up of the water bottle and some directions, or whether it is His comfort and peace and strength to head up yet another steep incline.

Well...not so much time for writing, eh?

But we are filled with joy that we have this opportunity to experience Him in ways never imagined...we had no previous understanding of this stretch of Spain beyond the imagination, the kind sacrifice of each person we meet on the way, and a peace that passes understanding.

Last night, Nicole and I hunkered down in our monastery cell after a meal of sausage, cheese, bread and wine, and tried to track the details of the past three days so it doesn't blur into blazing smear of color, but it sort of already has.

I imagine we will be doing more hostels, and not camping, which is good because we hope to have conversations with these people from France and Belgium and Hungary and Yugoslavia and Spain and Ireland. And, well, our little tent from Deniz was stolen from our bags from the first hostel. Someone must have needed it more than us. Or, perhaps it was an answer to Nicole's request to have lighter bags.

Just yesterday we wove through the morning traffic of Bilboa after spending the night in a hostel way way way on top of the mountain, crossed the river on a hanging bridge, road along the water on sort of flat terrain as a gift to momma for 10 km, climbed up and up the highway for another 20 km, then cut off onto the Pilgrims' Way, a slightly paved path through ancient farming villages up and down, until we took a small break in heaps of flowers. Then, well, down, down, down into a beautiful beach town and we swam in the icy waves. Next we did a bout of mountain biking along a grassy path along the cliffs, cut back at last to the main highway up and down, up and down, up and down, and into beautiful Toredo. We are going to try and find a bus or train here, and cut a few days off our trip; I will do better in the long run with 50 or 60 km a day rather than the 80 or 90 projected. These twelve hour days, well, are a lot. A  great deal of time is spent back and forth, seeking the Way.

Those little yellow arrows are such an encouragement. Someone has also traveled this path.

The sisters are here with breakfast.

So..we ended up riding with a Spanish guy with great maps...58 km pretty much downhill...to Santander...going to take a train to cut 100 km off the Way... So it becomes more how we do it instead of that we do it. 

The first jaunt is straight up through verdant park and overlooks the sea

Then he said to me, "This is what the LORD says to Zerubbabel: It is not by force nor by strength, but by my Spirit, says the LORD of Heaven's Armies. Zechariah 4:6

So it was way dark and dank this dawn when we unloaded off at the park. And we were quite beyond tired. There was a lot of hysteria on the bus that night on the part of our fellow travelers, particularly the woman who kept announcing in front of all these witnesses that she was going to get our bus driver arrested the moment they arrived in Portugal. And I am pretty sure that both Nicole and I were wondering What the blazes we were doing. Nicole had told Ander that we would meet him at the bike shop at eleven this morning, and that felt like a long time away. A few drunks sidled up to us and whispered how beautiful we were. I hefted the pack and sort of started circling, like a tired old dog sniffing out a place to curl up and die.

Christy?

Ander?

Yes, Ander was there and swept us up into sweet hospitality, the whole deal: bed, showers and croissants and coffee and poetic wanders throughout beautiful San Sebastián with lots of the sorts of historical details I love and plate after plate of tapas and ensalada. Yes, Anders was the gentle touch of the promise that He will be in our suffering and pain with kind favor. And bike guy was amazingly kind as well, fiddling to make everything absolutely strong and smooth. He told us stories of his immigration from Honduras, how he made his way up through Mexico, but when he got to the border and stared across, he decided that it was way too difficult, so he turned himself in, and applied to Spain. And his little girl with curls was there as well, and she is learning English, and I gave her on of my Dad's little bibles, and he made her promise to learn the whole thing.

But most of all, the wildly pealing bells of the Church of the Good Shepherd reminded me that I shall not want. And we joined a mass welcoming the Presence of the Holy Spirit on this Day of Pentecost. And we ate this bread and drank this cup in remembrance of Me, and behold I am with you even until the ends of the earth.

And last night Nicole mapped out a tentative schedule of each day's ride, of course with the understanding that it will be full of changes, and we might not actually make it to Fisterra, the "ends of the earth," because the extra 88 km doesn't fit into our schedule, unless we are much better or much worse (and end up taking a little scooting ahead bus ride with the bikes) than predicted.

But if I do make to the big cliff and the sea for a mighty cleansing plunge, where the Romans thought the world ended, He is with me.

Omnipotence Padre Dios, danos la fe del Salvador, que a nuestros padres fue sosten en los momentos de dolor. !Hasta la muerte, en Cristo eaten nuestra Esperanza y nuestra fe! Himnario  Bautista