A Story of dark and light

     My brother and I use to spend lots of time in the car traveling with our parents.  They thought nothing of traveling hundreds of miles for the two weeks of vacation each summer.  We'd drive from Kansas to Utah, from Denver to Texas, from Louisiana to Kansas.  So many relatives to see and so many stories to share.  Sometimes the stories emerged from the traveling itself - like the time we visited New Orleans in the mid-1950's.  My brother and I were jumping up and down on the bed (one of the few times we were at a motel instead of staying with relatives or friends) and I managed to crack my head on the foot board.  I remember my dad carrying me to the car to head to the hospital while mom stayed with John.  I also remember sitting at the hospital listening to my dad and the doctor talk away as he stitched my head.  The whole time I was thinking, "Why doesn't this hurt?"  Guess I was oblivious when the pain-killer was injected.  I'm pretty sure there was lots of crying and chaos before the calm memory of the stitches.  A new family story emerged.
    Last Tuesday I returned from a 9-day journey to Morgan City LA for my high school reunion.  It was a great road trip.  One of the short stories that is staying with me is my visit with our youngest daughter's college roommate at the Atlanta Aquarium.  I hadn't called Emmy in advance as I wasn't certain I'd have time to get there.   I was staying over with a friend north of Atlanta and after a certain time I WAS NOT going to mess with Atlanta traffic.  But I realized mid-day that I could get there by 2PM so I called Emmy and made arrangements to see her.
    She was busy with a dolphin show when I arrived so I got to visit quite a bit of the aquarium.  It's amazing!  Emmy later told me that she's worked there for 8 years and I noticed that she didn't stop smiling when talking about her work at the aquarium.  I can see why.  It is truly a place of wonder.  I stopped and watch jellyfish glowing - looking like works of art as they softly floated along.  I got to see sea otter and dolphins, a huge variety of fish in so many colors, sting rays, sharks and beluga whales.
   She took me to see the area where they have the beluga whales.  I had seen them earlier from below the water, but now we traveled to the employee area where Emmy's co-workers feed the whales and monitor them.   What struck me immediately was how dark the water looked.  I had seen the whales from below and the water was illuminated with light making it easy to make out not only the whales, but all of the sea creatures.  From the top however, the water was dark.  I mentioned this and she pointed up to the large sky light above the water - light was pouring in - yet the water looked dark.  It was only as the whales approached the surface that I saw the white of them
finally reflecting the light.
    As I left the aquarium and drove to my friend's home I thought about this, about the light, and about the dark.  The next day in the quiet of the car I continued my pondering.  How interesting that the water appeared dark, but because I could see it from below - from deep in the water thanks to the aquarium's clear-walled tanks - I knew the sunshine from the sky light was filling the water with light.
   So I wondered, is that how we human beings are?  Are we filled with light even when we are at our darkest?  If I truly believe that God's light fills each and every one, perhaps this is how it looks.  Perhaps it is like the light in the ocean, God's light fills us, but it does not always remove the darkness.  On the surface we may feel darkness, we may show darkness through our fears, our weaknesses, our temptations, our illnesses, our prejudices, our judgements, our disappointments.  God's love fills us with light in spite of the darkness.  On the surface we may see the darkness of others, but God's love fills them with light.
    Every time I passed by a TV last week the George Zimmerman trial seemed to be on.  The prosecution is trying to show the darkness of George Zimmerman, yet  doesn't he too have the light deep within him.  The defense is trying to show the darkness of Treyvon Martin, yet he too had God's light deep within him.  What a different world we would live in if we took the time to go deeper than just a glance at the darkness at the top of the water.  What brilliant color and fascinating parts of lives we would find if we truly believed that God's light is shining within every one of us, whether or not we feel it, and whether or not we see it in others.
   I'm trying to pay more attention to how I respond to others I meet, see, walk by...  I'm trying to keep in my mind the wonderful image of light pouring through the aquarium water - making it possible to see the beauty beneath the dark surface.  May God's light in you shine so fully that you have to acknowledge it; and may you find the glow of God's light in each person you meet.

The Landscape of a Pilgrimage

    
    When I lived in Great Bend Kansas I longed for curved streets.  Our streets, like most in the midwest, were in a fairly rigid grid.  You could ALWAYS go around the block.  Even though I didn't drive, I always knew where I was.  I found that when I returned to Great Bend later in life (having moved away when I was 10), I could drive drive around the town (admittedly, it's not that big) and knew I would not get lost.
   When we went on vacation we would sometimes end up in areas where the streets had these beautiful curves and you didn't know what would be around the next one.   Very different from Kansas (especially where I was and in western KS) where you could see the next town's water tower while miles away.  Now there's something very reassuring and helpful in knowing that you could easily locate yourself in a well-laid out town.  But I still wanted to have some mystery.
    So imagine my delight when I moved to New England.  Things got very interesting.  I quickly learned that driving in Boston did not mean a few streets curving into mystery - my entire driving experience in Boston was a submersion in mystery!  But still, I love the curving highways, the neighborhoods that might have a way out, might not.  I enjoyed the changing landscape, the adventure of not always knowing where I was.
    I wonder if my desire for a little mystery might have been the beginning of my longing for pilgrimage.  A large part of pilgrimage is going to a place that is unfamiliar.  On the Camino I went from one landscape to the next:  mountains, rolling hills, plains, mesatas (flat land with tabletop like hills).  Each day included mystery as I walked new paths.  I relied on the yellow arrows and the scallop shells-- signs showing me the way as as the landscape changed and I appreciated their guidance.  But I also enjoyed waking up each morning wondering what I would see that day.
    The interesting thing is that the landscape has also changed on my accidental pilgrimage.  At first my world was smaller as I spent day after day in a short cycle between the bed and the bathroom.  I had time to pay attention to how the sunlight struck the walls differently during the day.  I noticed how the snow collected in our garden out the window.  As I figured out how to move around the landscape of our living room it changed with the addition of a TV tray to hold my laptop and my husband was bumped from his side of the couch to the other side so I could keep my left leg elevated.  The landscape of our house continued to change as I went from walker to crutches and from cast to walking boot to brace.  The landscape changed again when I borrowed a knee scooter and was able to be a little helpful in the kitchen.  It changed still again when I could put weight on my left foot and was finally able to walk across the street to my office.  These changes were also shrouded in mystery as I learned early on not to anticipate what was on the path ahead.
    But I think our internal landscape also changes as we continue on a pilgrimage.  I think of when I was walking the last week of the Camino.  I was doing many things differently having left behind some of my fears along the way, having learned to trust God more deeply.  In my accidental pilgrimage it wasn't so clear when I was nearing the end, until my doctor appointment in May.  When he told me to give the ultra sound six more weeks and to keep walking - changing to a brace in a few weeks, I knew I was coming to the end.  Though the June appointment might carry the news of my needing a bone graft, fear and disappointment did not rise up in me.  Rather I knew I could leave this with God.   I knew deep inside of me that I had once again left behind fears and continued (continue) to trust God more deeply.  With the end of this pilgrimage my inner landscape has once again changed.
   So last Friday, June 21st, my accidental pilgrimage ended.  The bone is not healing, but I was told to keep walking on it as long as there is no pain (using the brace).  I can even start hiking.  I'll go back in two months and we'll see... we'll see.   But as the muscles and tendons in my ankle and foot strengthen, my faith in God strengthens also.  Healing may not come the way I expected back at the beginning in January, but it will come.  Maybe healing has already come to other parts of my life thanks to this accidental pilgrimage.  I still have much to think about, to be grateful for, to look forward to.  
   I believe these smaller pilgrimages help us on the larger pilgrimage of life itself.  Each time our inner landscape changes, each time we accept God's love, move beyond fear and put our trust in God, we come closer to living deeply with the mystery that comes with the landscape of God.  Maybe the mystery I sought in a winding road as a child was the beginning of my search for God.  
     May God be with you and the landscape of your pilgrimage through life.  And may each curve in the road bring you surprises from the Great Mystery and closer to the landscape of God.

The Peace of God

    Last Saturday I was at the Preachers' Aid Society's annual meeting at the Londonderry NH United Methodist Church.  As I washed my hands in the restroom I looked to my left and read words from  Philippians: 4:6 (NIV) painted on the wall:  "Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."  They were just the words that I needed.  This coming Friday, May 10th, is my next doctor appointment and I've found that for the first time I am anxious.
    I was surprised to realize that.  But after seeing x-rays at my last two appointments not showing new growth in my bones , I am finding it harder too have "hope" as I go to this appointment.  And without hope, anxiety is happy to fill the void.  The answer to this is in the passage from Philippians - turn to prayer... present your requests to God. 
    Ah yes, prayer.  Well, I (and others) have been praying for my healing, but it just isn't happening.  At least not the way I expected.  Of course, "my" expectations are more closely connected to my anxiety than to my prayer life.  My orthopedic surgeon has been very upfront all along about how long this recovery might take.  Yet all along I have been expecting things to move more quickly.  My expectations connect me to the chronos time that governs my life.  My prayers have the potential to connect me to God's time - and God has all the time in the world (literally).  Have you noticed that God is never in a hurry?
   As I reflect on this, I realize that prayers are being answered.  People keep asking me how I'm doing or how can I stand it not being able to use both legs equally.  Well, I've been held in prayer and I've known God is with me in this journey.  I guess that's how I do it.  That doesn't mean it isn't frustrating, it doesn't mean I get a little overwhelmed at this at times, but it does mean that I'm able to wake up in the morning and smile, knowing I can make the choice to live each day as fully as possible.  My prayer to God is that I can hand off this anxiety about my next appointment.  My prayer is that no matter what I learn about my bones healing, I will learn more about myself.  God has given me a glimpse into God's time, no hurry, no deadline.   And through my continued prayers I know I will also make room for the peace of God.  For "the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard [my heart and] your hearts and [my mind and] your minds in Christ Jesus."  May the Peace of God be with you all.

A Wilderness Funk

    I haven't been able to write.  It's as though all my words have dried up.  Certain topics were coming to mind, excitement about some books I've read, reflection on conversations.  But when I thought of signing into this blog and writing I felt empty.  I'm still feeling that way and am kind of wondering why I'm even writing today.
    But it's the Saturday between Good Friday and Easter and that just seems like a good time to think about those times when the world as we know it disappears and a world we would never have expected might start to take shape.  I haven't written since the beginning of Lent.  I was truly thrown off by the words of my doctor telling me he needed to see more healing so I should stay off the leg another six weeks.  For seven weeks I had let people help me out, I'd given up trying to get to my office, given up trying to be productive, given up trying to do any of the household chores.  People reworked schedules and provided rides and fixed meals in order to accommodate me.  It seemed like it was time for me to start stepping up and carrying my part.  But no, I was sentenced to another six weeks.
    Maybe part of the reason I haven't written was due to being tired.  A lady loaned me her "knee scooter" and that gave me much more stability and maneuverability in getting around, so I felt I could take on a bit more.  I could make the bed, help with the dishes, bring in the mail... I could also move around better so I spread out from my "couch office" and set up shop in the dining room.  What a luxury to spend time sitting in the dining room while working and using the living room as... well, a living room!  However, in doing more, I've also experienced more frustration with the time and effort needed to do each of these extra things.
    So I've felt scattered, tired, ineffective.  Reminds me a little of walking on the Meseta during my Camino pilgrimage.  However, there I knew it would end.  In fact for many days I could see the mountains in the distance with their guaranty that the climate would change, trees would reappear, and water would flow.  I didn't know exactly how that would look, but I knew it was coming.  Meanwhile, in the Meseta I walked in the dryness, carried extra water, wilted in the sun.
   Yesterday, Good Friday, our pastor asked, What is it you thirst for?  I'm still thinking about that question.  I thirst on so many different levels.  On Thursday the doctor said I could put weight on my left leg, but that is not the same as walking and I thirst for walking.  I hear about N. Korean threats and Iran, and terrorists and I thirst for peace.  I thirst for the living water that Jesus promised which seems to have eluded me during Lent.  I thirst for facilities that will let me enter and move around them easily, whether in a wheelchair, or on crutches.  Yes, I thirst.
    I need Easter.  Easter is for me as the mountains in the distance were for me on the Camino.  Easter brings with it hope, the hope that can only come through God.  The hope that is as steadfast as a mountain range.  Hope that takes the place of needing all the answers.  Easter is my reminder that God is with each of us, even when we travel in the Meseta, the wilderness, the dark places... especially when we travel in those places.  Easter is my reminder that one day I will not thirst - but with God that day may not come as I expect.
    Today, on Holy Saturday, I see Easter and somehow I know my thirst will be quenched.  Not instantly, but it will.  May the hope of the resurrection, and the eternal love of God help to quench your thirst this Easter.  Blessings on your journey.

Beads, Ashes, Hearts & a Walking Boot

    Interesting week.  Tuesday was the celebration of Mardi Gras, the last day before Lent begins.  I have fond memories of spending the day on St. Charles Ave. in New Orleans, catching beads from the endless line of floats.
    On Wednesday I made it to the church for the morning prayer time when ashes would also be offered.  I'm so glad there was this alternative as it would be difficult for me to negotiate our chapel with crutches at the evening service.  Plus I've missed making it to this weekly prayer time.
    Thursday was the celebration of Valentine's Day.  I found it interesting on facebook how many friends shared "larger ways" of celebrating beyond just couples sharing their love for one another.  Considering that St. Valentine was a Christian priest who helped Christians escape the persecution, it seems like a holiday named in his honor should encourage the deeper (and perhaps more dangerous) love that was central to Jesus' ministry.
    Today is Friday.  The day of my Dr. appointment.  Four weeks ago he told me that if the x-rays looked good I might get a walking cast today.  Well, they took off my cast, took the x-rays, I got a walking boot, but I'm still not walking.  I'm to continue with no weight on the left leg for another six weeks! To the end of March!  That will be three months since my slip on the ice.  I tried to think good thoughts as I walked out with my new boot.  After all, it will be great to be able to take it off and move my toes and ankles.  I'm already thinking  of the ease of showering without having to put plastic around a cast.  Hopefully I'll sleep better taking off the boot and not having a cast on my leg any longer.  But my mind continues to return to SIX more weeks hobbling precariously on crutches.  This is a Lenten journey I hadn't expected.
    But I should have expected it.  At my first follow-up appointment back in January I asked him about a trip I had planned to New Orleans in March.  He pointed out I could be still hobbling on one foot, so I cancelled the trip.  At my last appointment he did say, "if the x-rays look good."  My mind heard, "the x-rays will look good."  This morning I learned that everything is healing well except the bone has not regenerated enough around the lower screws to allow moving to a weight-bearing stage.
    As I was thinking to myself, how can I get through another 6 weeks, I remembered the article I read last week about the Iraq soldier who lost both legs and both arms in an armored vehicle explosion.  He was in the news after receiving two arm transplants.  As I read the article I thought how does one deal with that - with the fact that it won't be healed in 7 weeks or 13 weeks, or any number of weeks: the arms and legs are gone.  It's pretty sobering and I give this young man lots of credit for his outlook on his future.  He was glad to be alive.  Since the explosion in 2009 he has moved forward with his life.  He learned to walk on prosthetic legs.  And now he hand arms and hands.  I loved his comment that was something like, "I can live without my legs, but hands, I need them for so many things - even talking!  It's hard for me to imagine ever saying "I can live without my legs."  I have a feeling this young man has loving, supportive people in his life.  We all need loving, supportive people in our lives to help us through the difficult times, whether they are for weeks, months, or however long.
    I have been surrounded by such a community, but among everyone else my husband, Richard, has stood out.  Tonight as he hands me a glass of wine then heads back to the kitchen to finish up dinner, I will say a little prayer of thanks (this is the only part of my recovery that I will miss).  I'm not yet to to the place that I can put both feet on the ground and help out in the kitchen, but I am firmly grounded in gratitude and humbled by those who help others each and every day. Thank you!
    

A little stability... Please?

If you stand, stand.

    If you sit, sit.

But don't wobble!

     ----  Zen Master Ummon 

(quoted from The Art of Pilgrimage by Phil Cousineau)

     I've been thinking about stability.  My mind turns easily to the word as I catch myself leaning precariously in one direction or another  or as I look at the crutches propped up on a wall just beyond me and wonder if I can make one hop over to them.  Before I left the hospital I was visited by a physical therapist.  First she showed me how to use a walker to move around.  She thought it would be best because of its stability.  Now you would think that with the four legs of a walker plus my one usable leg I'd have lots of stability.  Yet I found out quickly that it's not good to lean on just one side, and it is not helpful to try to reach too far for it (as I did the first evening home and ended up on the floor).
     However, the walker is starting to really hurt my hands.  There is no cushion to the handles of where the walker is  grasped so I got a soft winter scarf, cut it lengthwise down the middle and wrapped half of it on each grip.  That helped for a while, but my wrists still need a break.  So now I'm trying to use my crutches more often.  Again, you would think that two crutches plus one good leg would equal some stability -- but give me two legs any day!  I've been practicing with the crutches more often the past couple of days, but they are still a bit elusive, and again I've ended up on the floor.  I have no idea what happened when I went down the other morning!
     So it was interesting to read the words of Zen Master Ummon today as I contemplate stability.  When I stand, I can stand.  When I sit, I can sit.  When I try to move?  ...Unfortunately, "wobbly" is probably the best word.
      As I think about it, pilgrimage seems to be connected to stability.  We go on pilgrimage and are changed slowly but certainly inside.  We get stronger physically (and perhaps improve with walkers and crutches as we [I] practice).  But the real work is going on inside. 
      One thing that keeps us unstable is to follow another person's dream.  Often our parents think we will be more stable if we are in a well-paying position as a lawyer, doctor, banker, etc.  But it will only bring stability if it is our calling, our dream, our deep desire. 
     I remember the evening I told my parents that I was answering a call to diaconal ministry in the United Methodist Church.  My mom wouldn't talk to me the rest of the night.  She had never interfered with the variety of jobs I had held, but as we talked the next day I learned that she could tolerate them because they allowed me to pay my bills, to keep my life stable in her eyes.  My mom had been raised as the youngest of 8 children by a single mother who divorced when mom was 3 years old.  Mom was 7 when the depression hit and she knew first-hand the terror of my grandmother not having enough house-cleaning jobs, wall-papering opportunities, laundry to take care of.  She knew the fear that my grandmother felt as my mother waded through flood water in the root cellar to rescue the jar with the "tax money" in it - the money gradually being set aside for taxes on the house so it would not be lost.
     So when my mom heard me talk about ministry, she pictured poverty and instability.  It took quite a bit to assure her that I would be okay (though I have to say, I was not really certain).  I couldn't explain it to her then, I was still learning about trusting God (and of course, still am), but as I have moved through the years I have found that it is when I move towards instability, which requires more trusting in God, I have actually ended up with more stability.  Of course it's that way... God just loves a paradox.  Perhaps this journey with God provides a stability similar to walking on two legs.  Doesn't seem like it should be more stable than a leg and a walker, or a leg and two crutches - but it is.  Of course, I've practiced walking on two legs much longer than using a walker or crutches.   Likewise, I continue to practice trusting in God, to feel more familiar with hearing God's call, to pray unceasingly so all in my life will be made more stable by my relationship with God.  I may be "wobbly" in my standing on one leg with crutches, but hopefully I will not be "wobbly" in my relationship with God.
     So if you find yourself drawn towards a instability, ask if it might not be God messing with you.  May God be with you in the journey.
     ^"So then, just as you received Christ Jesus as Lord, continue to live your lives in him, rooted and built up in him, strengthened in the faith as you were taught, and overflowing with thankfulness."  

Colossians 2:6&7

Confessions of a Gun Buyer

    I used to buy guns.  Lots of them.  As the hunting buyer for a wholesaler in Denver I bought everything from reloading equipment to Remingtons, bright orange hunting vests to Savage Arms, Smith & Wessons to binoculars. It didn't seem strange to be in the business; my dad had given me a 28 gauge shotgun years before and I enjoyed shooting trap and skeet with it.  My dad and brother both hunted.  When not using the shotguns or rifles they were stored way in the back of a hall closet.
    I've been thinking about that time in my life as I hear many sides of the gun debate.  I used to be a member of the NRA, but let my membership expire.  Thirty years ago they seemed to be taking the same stand as today - any type of gun control might mean that individuals would no longer have the right to own guns.  I never did and still do not understand that kind of thinking.  It seems rather paranoid.
    You can google "gun control" and get a timeline of legislation that has placed restrictions on owning guns.  We've had restrictions on automatic weapons like machine guns since the 1930s.  In 1968 the Gun Control Act was passed that limited who could purchase a gun and required any business selling firearms to keep records of the serial numbers of guns sold.  We've had gun control for years, and as far as I can tell people can still own guns.  In fact, unlike when I was in the business, most states now allow people to carry concealed weapons.  Concealed weapons can even be carried into our National Parks in those states where they are legal.
    I remember the moment when I knew I needed to get out of the "gun" business.  I had moved to MA to head a wholesale buying co-operative (a group of 18 hunting distributors who pooled their orders so they could compete with the "big-box" retailers like Wal-Mart).  One day I was proof-reading a flyer and my eye stopped on the ad for Colt AR-15s.  I knew that the AR-15 was the civilian version of the M16 used by the military and for the first time I started to wonder why anyone would need or want a military-type gun.  And I realized I didn't want to be part of the industry that provided these guns to individuals.
    Interestingly enough, it was the hunting business that brought me out to New England, and it was in New England that God and I were reacquainted.  I had been raised in the church, baptized and confirmed, but after college I drifted away from attending worship regularly.  But as I was driving to Massachusetts from Colorado I heard a voice saying, "Get thee to a church."  It was God, of course.  I know this because the voice actually spoke in God's language, King James English.  I knew it was time and found Trinity United Methodist Church in Springfield.  I started to participate in Bible Studies and prayer groups.  I listened to the sermons and participated in discussions.  The steady work of prayer and scripture and the Holy Spirit showed itself the day I read that flyer.  I had crossed a point and saw there was no turning back.  It was time for me to leave.
     But it was hard.  I had many friends in the business; I'm still in touch with some.  They were good people.  They are good people.  I told the buying co-operative members that I felt I was being called into ministry.  One of them asked if they couldn't be my ministry.  I think of the people I know who own guns.  The guns are not an obsession with them, but simply a means by which they go hunting, or enjoy target shooting.  It's interesting... what I don't know is which of my friends own guns for protection.  Maybe they've told me and I just didn't want to know.
     So I confess, I used to buy guns.  I'm sure the Second Amendment will continue to protect the right to own guns.  But I am 100% FOR banning automatic and semi-automatic weapons along with clips and magazines that hold more than 10 rounds.  I believe there should be a waiting period so background checks can be completed and I think that there should be some definite restrictions on who can buy a gun. 
     Jesus did not live in a time of guns, but as I read the Gospel stories I notice something about him.  Here he is living in an occupied country.  I don't know for a fact, but I have a feeling the Jews are not allowed to arm themselves. But not once do I hear Jesus say, "let's work for the right to carry a sword."  Or "If only we had weapons, then things would be good."   Instead Jesus reminds us of the most important commandment: You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your mind, all your strength, and your neighbor as yourself.  Loving God, loving others.  In no way will an AR-15 help me to love others.  Can we possibly live in a world without them?  I can.
   

Remember your baptism

   Do you remember your baptism?  I've been thinking about this since worship Sunday morning.  We read the story in Mark of Jesus' baptism.  Heard a great sermon, then the congregation had the opportunity to come forward to the baptismal font and take up water as they remembered their baptism.  I was unable to go forward, but my friend David picked up a handful of water and tossed it back 3 rows, spraying my face with God's cleansing grace (and a few of my neighbors also). 
    I have a sketchy memory of my own baptism.  My brother was born in October 1952 and was probably 3 or 4 months old which means I was about two.  I think this must be one of my earliest memories.  I don't remember the water of baptism - what I remember is holding onto the rail that surrounded the altar - maybe even swinging on it a little bit?  All the attention seemed to be on my brother as far as I can remember.
   My baptism is my first memory of church.  I was baptized at First United Methodist Church in Great Bend Kansas.  We had moved to Great Bend from Casper WY the summer of 1951.  I remember the building with its center dome high above the sanctuary.  A number of years ago my husband Richard and I were driving home from visiting my parents in Texas and went through Great Bend.  We attended an Ash Wednesday service in the chapel.  As I walked through the sanctuary (which I had not seen since I was 10 years old) it had a familiar feel to it.  I saw the rail around the large altar area and the memory of my baptism returned.  I went to Sunday School, worshiped, & attended Vacation Bible School at First UMC.  It is a part of my spiritual family tree.
   Last Sunday our pastor pointed out the paradox that we consider Jesus to be without sin, pure and divine, yet he steps forward and insists that John baptize him.  Jesus enters into this ritual of repentance and cleansing; perhaps a reminder to us that Jesus is fully Divine, but also fully human, and in being fully human with us he too receives his baptism.  I am always moved by the final verses of this story when the dove descends and a voice from heaven says, "You are my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased."  I believe God says that to all of us, baptized or not:  "You are my beloved son or daughter." 
    I felt tears rising as I watched the members of our congregation walk down the aisle to remember their baptism, to remember that God loves each one of them.  They were invited to come forward, whether or not they had actually been baptized,  whether or not they were Christian.  They were invited to come forward and receive this reminder that each one is a beloved son or daughter of God.  And then, towards the end, water splashed upon my all face and I felt that glorious cleansing power of the Holy Spirit.  The water that is so necessary for life reminds me of how I thirst for God's love, and how God's love never goes away - I just need to turn my face to God. 
      Do you remember your baptism?  Whether you do or not, whether you were baptized or not, I hope you will remember that you are God's beloved daughter, God's beloved son.  May God's blessings be with you on the journey.
   

Going deeper, reaching farther

    It's a little odd to be using a technology that I don't completely understand.  For instance, when I started this blog up again I thought I'd write a couple of entries, then let people know I was writing again.  I was so surprised to start hearing from people.  Someone emailed me and a copy of the "Accidental Pilgrim" was in the body of the email - that's when I realized that it was being sent out automatically to those who had signed up.  Someday I might learn how to change the subject line of the emails so it doesn't continue to read "Camino..."
     I remember when I was planning for the Camino and the first few days of walking;  I was going to memorize some of the Psalms.  Well, that required pulling my attention away from the walk itself and that wasn't working.  I really wanted to be present to everything I was seeing, hearing, smelling, and feeling, as I walked.
     It's different when you're sitting in one place.  I do try to take the time to stare out the window.  In the mornings I have some quiet time looking out our bedroom window at the garden - which is beautiful when it's covered with snow.  But spending all day on the couch with my computer and books and the remotes does not lend itself to being present in the same way.  Instead my presence is with the book I am reading, or the person who is visiting, or the program I'm watching or the music I'm listening to -- all happening from my same seat in the living room.  So I continue to practice being present, even in these new circumstances.
    Last Thursday night I had my first outing - to see the dress rehearsal for the Boar's Head Festival at our church (you can see pictures and a short video at the Trinity UMC website: http://trinityspringfield.org.)  It was so great to get out!  On Friday morning I had another outing - to see the orthopedic surgeon for a follow-up.  Staples were taken out of incisions, a new, lighter splint was put on, swelling was down - all good things.  We were talking, trying to get a better sense of how this recuperation would go.  Finally I asked about a trip I was planning to New Orleans in March.  I wanted to hear that my ankle might be painful as I worked at walking, but it would be fine to travel.  What I was actually told was that yes, I could travel, if I didn't mind using the walker, or wheelchair, and or crutches.  When I asked if I would be using these aids while walking on one foot or both the Dr. told me I'd still be on one foot.  Ouch!!  He went on to say it was more realistic that I'd start gradually putting weight on the ankle and walking again in during the month of April.
    That was a setback!  I felt the same fear I'd felt at the beginning of the Camino - what if I can't really do this?   As we headed home my mind started working actively:  you need to start exercising again, work on strength so you can get out more and get around more easily; plan some projects; start this, start that.  Oh, my mind really misses its "to do" list.  We came to an agreement (my mind and I) that there are some things I can do that will help with these next months, but by the time I got home, I knew there was one thing, just one thing I needed to do with this: take it to God.  For God isn't looking at just the next 3 months, God knows my whole life.  God isn't counting the days until I get around again, God is asking me to live fully in every day.  God doesn't really care about my time "laid up" --God just cares about me "period".  God isn't about chronological time, God is about creation, being, loving.  The news from the Dr. reminded me that indeed I am on a pilgrimage.  There will be obstacles, but each is an opportunity to return once more to God, to trust in God, to live more deeply in God's love.
    So God - I'm in your hands.  Help me to go deeper that I might see how to live more fully during this chapter of my life.  And in going deeper, may I learn to reach farther as I learn more about myself, about the world and about You.  Amen.
   

A Quieter Pilgrimage

   
    I slept well that first night out of the hospital.  Though I came home on New Year's Eve I didn't stay up long, and I'm sure the pain pill I took helped.  A couple of trips to the bathroom using my new "push the walker, hop on right foot" technique made it clear that this was going to be a very long six weeks.  Actually, I'm hoping it's only going to be six weeks - the orthopedic surgeon had mentioned being laid up that long, but another time he was talking about 3-4 months.  I checked with Richard and yes, he heard the same thing.  We are both hoping the longer period is just a time line for gradually adding weight to my left leg and getting back on track.
    New Year's Day was nice - watched the parade, family came by the visit, watched football games.  But then came Wednesday.  I had a terrible night's sleep and this "push the walker, hop on right foot" thing was really getting old.  I couldn't believe how tired I was arriving at the couch or back on my bed!  Oh yes, this was going to be a long six weeks.  I don't know how this popped into my mind, but I started looking at the similarities of this time to my pilgrimage on the Camino:  I had only two changes of clothes in Spain, now I have two pair of flannel pants that will fit over the splint; I had to pack very lightly in order to carry everything with me, I can't carry anything with me as the walker is so awkward (I do now have a light pack that I use); there's lots of time set aside to think, or just be while walking, there's lots of time set aside to think, or just be while sitting; having the support of friends and family meant a lot while I was in Spain, having the support of friends and family means a lot as I heal; my feet were often burning and aching so badly, now my hands are burning and aching from pushing on the walker.
    There are some big differences also: no walking, of course, and also no nightly dinner meeting new people from other countries around the world, reunions with people met earlier on the way, seeing new geography along the way.  But I started to think about what made the Camino a pilgrimage -- it had everything to do with how I intentional responded to each situation.  By making the decision to be on a pilgrimage, I decided to do some things differently.  I tried to recognize when I was falling into my fears, not trusting God, limiting myself.  As I set in my living room last week I decided that I wanted to approach this six weeks of healing as a pilgrimage also - being intentional in how I responded to my situation.
    For you see, a part of me really wanted to throw a big pity party.  I was so irritated with myself for having this accident and changing everything for this winter.  I was so tired, uncomfortable, still with a little pain, and more than a little anxious about having day in/day out of sitting for weeks to come.  When I stopped and decided to turn it over to God in prayer, I had that final connection to my pilgrimage in Spain.  I realized that once again this would be a time to trust in God, stay in prayer, and make the best of this new reality.
    So here I am on a pilgrimage with absolutely no planning at all!  I didn't have to purchase a lot of gear (though Richard did pick up a wonderful "convoluted seat cushion" for me which is giving relief to my rather sore bum.  I'm trying to keep up with the work items I can do from my lap top, but I also have copious amounts of time to read and look out the window - because I can't really do much else.
   The irony is not lost on me that I went on my Camino pilgrimage to sort of lay the ground work for entering the final third of my life.  I have to say I did not expect to be laid up so completely less than 2 years later and I'm thankful that it is only temporary.  No, I won't be walking on this Camino, and in the shelter of my home it is much quieter.  This pilgrimage will be one that includes silence in some new ways.   I'm looking forward to finding out what else is in store for this accidental pilgrim!

Ooops! Ouch! Pilgrimage.

Well, it was a week ago today that I had my accident.  One minute I'm walking to church; one second later I'm sitting on my bum with the realization that my left ankle is hurt... badly.  I love walking to church.  While I was completing my pilgrimage in Spain in 2011 my mind turned to home and how I could continue the experience.  I decided I would start walking to church every Sunday.
    Now I'd walked to church often over the years.  Richard and I would walk with Darcie and Gabrielle when they were kids.  In the summer months I would get back into the routine for a while.  But in October 2011 I decided to be very intentional about my walk.  I love it!  My worship begins when I say "goodbye" and walk out the back door.  Sometimes it's enriched by one or more of my grandchildren joining me.   Sometimes it meant really bundling up last winter.  There were Sundays when my face hurt where my cold sunglasses touched my skin.  On many Sundays I walked along with my scarf pulled up over my nose and hat down over my forehead.  I always had a choice as to whether or not I would walk, but it did not take long to notice that others had no choice and were often out in the frigid air with minimal protection.
    So last Sunday I looked outside.  We'd had a fresh snowfall and it was a beautiful world of white.  That was the initial enticement.  I thought about ice, yeah, there will be some ice.  But I figured my snow boots would help with traction.  I also thought about the fact that I was preaching - not a time to take chances.  But again, I thought of how I walked all last winter... what could happen?   I didn't want to lose my rhythm of walking this early in the winter.
    I do have to say that I was thoroughly enjoying my walk when I went down.  It caught me by surprise and as I sat there it occurred to me (finally) that there was ice already under the snow from rain freezing earlier in the week.  I sat there and begged my leg to not be broken - maybe just a bad ankle sprain?  After unsuccessfully engaging the guy 3 houses down trying to start his snow blower (he looked at me, then went back to his snow blower), I got on all fours and headed to the little ledge around the shop and sat down.  As I looked up I saw the guy behind me who had been snow blowing the business on the other side of the street.  He had stopped and was looking at me.  I waved at him and he came over and let me use his phone (yes, I forgot to put mine in my pack). 

   As I sat there for the few minutes it took for Richard to come over, I started letting things go: no, there was no way I was going to preach, no way I'd be able to participate in the Boar's Head Festival, and on and on.  If I hadn't been in such pain I would have noticed the beginning of a pilgrimage right then... for much of my Camino experience was about letting go.  But after a trip to the brand new E.R. at Baystate (which was so quiet!), surgery, pain meds, and finally a return home, I got around to reflecting about pilgrimage and realized that accidentally, I had become a pilgrim. 

The Handkerchief

   One of the decisions made as I prepared for the Camino was around blowing my nose.  Every morning I have to blow my nose.  I've assumed it's my sinuses draining, and that's a good thing, so I always try to have a tissue in my pocket.  Cold weather also activates my nose, and I knew there was a possibility of some cold mornings and nights in Spain.  I was going to have to take tissues with me - lots of them.
   But one day I noticed my husband pulling out his handkerchief.  The light went on and I saw a better solution:  take two handkerchiefs so I could wash one each day: a simple but great solution. 
    A couple of weeks before I made it to Santiago I fell into step with three pilgrims from Vancouver Canada.  One of them, Gail, noticed me hanging out my handkerchief one day and commented that she had brought her husband's handkerchief and thought of him each time she pulled it out of her pocket.  I realized I was doing the same thing only I thought of Richard as I blew my nose.  It sounded more romantic to say I thought of him as I went for my handkerchief, or as I pulled it from my pocket. 
    Now that I am home, I have made a change based on this Camino experience.  After my mom died I tucked away a large collection of handkerchiefs.  I think they came from at least of three of her four sisters from my grandmother also.  Now I have them out and am using them.  It's great!  They work better than tissue, never falling apart on me.  If I forget one in a pocket it does not make a mess of my wash.  My use of tissues is greatly reduced, and hopefully that will save some trees along the way.   And best of all, I carry wonderful memories of my Grandmother, Mom, and Aunts with me as I carry their handkerchiefs in my pocket.
     I've mentioned that part of my fascination with the Camino was walking a path that thousands have walked before me.  Now, a very ordinary part of my daily routine, putting a handkerchief in my pocket, connects me with some strong women who also walked before me.  Only they knew me, laughed with me, corrected me, sang to and with me and prayed for me.  May you be blessed by the memory of people who have enriched your life.  Buen Camino!

Sophia

    I'm going through my journal to see what stories did not get into the blog.  I wrote quite a bit about the ruins of the Convent of San Anton (shooting stars and hospitality), but did not share about a little girl I met.  She arrived with her father that evening.  I don't know if they drove or walked over, but he settled on a bench and was trying to get his young daughter (about 4?) to eat.  She was much more interested in everything else.  She had big blue eyes and a beautiful round face surrounded by black curls.  And she smiled constantly.  I asked her father her name.  He answered, "Sophia."
     I was sitting on a bench on the other side of the courtyard and she made her way to me.  She spoke to me in Spanish, then I told her "No hablo Espanol."  That didn't phase her.  I told her "Hablo Inglese."  She continued to talk away in Spanish.  I would love to have known what she was telling me as she turned around and began to look around among the rocks on the grounds.  She spied a feather and brought it over to me.  She made it very clear that she was giving it to me and I told her "Gracias."  She looked more and found another feather, and another.  I realized that a pigeon had probably met its end in this courtyard and wasn't sure I wanted all of the remaining feathers, but Sophia continued to gather and bring them over to me - always accompanied by a lovely string of explanation, narration, or maybe exhortation.  I continued to smile, tell her "Gracias" and every so often remind her that I didn't speak Spanish.
    It is a lovely experience to receive the gifts of a child.  She did not need a mall or a large department store.  She didn't have to know me really well.  She saw something that to her was special, and she saw someone she could give it to.  It was great for me to practice just receiving without feeling I had to give her something also.  It seemed that all she needed or wanted was my acceptance of her gift.   I don't know if Sophia's father takes her to San Anton often, or if they were traveling that night and he knew it was a good place to stop, but I am grateful for that short time with this lovely little girl and her gifts.
    May you cherish the simple gifts in your life.  Buen Camino!

The Good Shepherd

        I am still making the transition from the Camino, but I do finally have my photos dowloaded from my camera (Thank you, Jim!).   I think I mentioned that one of the computers I used in Spain fried the USB adapter that I put the memory card in.  Well, when I returned home I found that the memory card itself must have been damaged as I could not get my photos to download.   A friend who is a photographer was able to find the right piece of equipment to get the pictures out of the camera.  

    So I've added some of the pictures I had wanted to put in originally.   One blog I never wrote, but thought about often, was about sheep.  About 10 days into the Camino I was walking along and all of a sudden a bunch of sheep were moving in front of me- or I should say they moved in front of me, blocked the road, and stopped.  Their shepherd was in the place where they no doubt lived (a stable?  barn?).  He was yelling at them and dogs were barking at them as he tried to get them to move across the Camino path and into the field beyond.  But they weren't moving.  The ones in the front came to a dead stop rather than move beyond the path. 

   Now my friend Kelly tells me that sheep are stupid.  I didn't get to watch them long enough to confirm, but I certainly saw that they were completely unmotivated.  Or maybe they were just afraid about what was ahead in that field - was fear holding them back?  Whatever it was, the shepherd sounded very frustrated and was yelling loudly.  I wondered how often this routine was repeated - daily?  Had the shepherd not found a better way to deal with the sheep?  They did finally start to move forward and once one did they all followed, but it took a lot of shoving from the back and barking by the dogs.

     Less than a week later I saw another shepherd.  This time the shepherd was quietly walking along, the sheep following.  There were a couple of dogs, but they stayed towards the back and were quietly walking also.  Maybe the sheep were use to this routine.  Maybe it had been difficult getting them started in the morning, but it struck me as a different kind of shepherding.  He walked first, quietly and confidently, and the sheep seemed to be fine with following.

    After seeing the first shepherd I had started thinking about Psalm 23 with God described as "The Lord is my shepherd...".    Jesus is also seen as the good shepherd and we are to be the sheep.  I didn't like the idea of a shepherd yelling at me: pushy and noisy.  I was more inclined toward the shepherd who simply led the way.  But then, on the Meseta, when there were days that I had to keep walking even though my feet hurt, I was hot, I was tired...  well, maybe a shepherd yelling at me to keep moving might have been helpful.  I was certainly talking to God quite a bit at those times.  So I continued to think about these two shepherds.

    Then I saw still another one.  This time he was at the top of a slope, just sitting and watching as his dogs moved the sheep up the slope to the drinking troughs.

   





    Now that was an image.  I could picture God the Shepherd as the one with the big picture - the overview.  From the shepherd's place he would be able to see if any sheep went in the wrong direction and the dogs missed them.  If they did I'm sure the shepherd would be the one to go after that one sheep.  But here the dogs really had a significant role.  They were in charge of getting the sheep to move, of getting them to the goal.  And I tell you, they were working hard.   Besides the one that jumped into the trough the other one walked up behind the shepherd and just flopped on the ground covered with sweat and panting.  Hard work bringing sheep to water.

    Well, finally, towards the end of the Camino I saw my last shepherd - this time a woman.  I was on the side of the road resting when I saw her walking with the sheep.  I expected them to continue right by me, but instead she headed them into the woods.   That surprised me - both that they were going that way, and that the sheep actually turned and went!  I wondered how this shepherdess worked with the sheep to get them to head into the woods.  Was there something very familiar just beyond that I didn't see?  Were they smarter sheep?  Better trained? 

     While in Spain, where shepherding is a real occupation, I had the chance to see better why God might be called our Shepherd - why Jesus would be the Good Shepherd.  May the love of the Shepherd be present in your life today.  Bueno Camino!

Thinking about prayer

    I was going to call this a post script, but on second thought, I think I will continue writing for a while.  I'd like to share some of the things that were going around in my mind, but couldn't find a computer and by the time I did I was on to something else.  Also, I have pictures I'd like to share, but I'm still having some technical troubles in that area so that is yet to come.  So... if you like, you can continue to check this blog.  If you are having emails sent automatically and no longer want to follow the blog, well... good luck with that.  I have no idea how to get you off.  But I promise I will check on that at some point.  I'm still learning my way around this thing and at least I don't have to insert euros or hold up others waiting for the internet anymore.
    I've been thinking about prayer since I saw my friends John, Pat and Russell (from Australia) in Santiago.  Back on Sept 23 I had dinner with them.  We had been meeting off and on since we entered the region of Castilla y Leon early in the Camino.  John and Pat are married and their friend Russell had heard of the Camino years ago and felt drawn to it.  Russell had a lot of problems with blisters, but she was doing well since Leon.  Pat, though, had a knee that was causing her a lot of trouble.
   The morning after our dinner I walked four miles to Villafranca, then stopped for some breakfast.  There I ran into my three Aussie friends again.  At this point we could take the more scenic but difficult route over the mountain, or walk closer to the road on an easier route.  All four of us had decided to go over the mountain - the one I wrote about a while back that nearly did me in.  As I told them good-bye and headed out, Pat asked me to pray for her as she wasn't sure how her knee would do. 
   So I did, in fact as I realized what a long sharp incline I was on I prayed even harder for Pat.  I was throwing in some prayers for myself also.  On the descent I started to pray more fervently for both of us, but as I prayed I just couldn't imagine how this could go well for Pat.  I knew my own knees were feeling the stress of the constant downward movement-- how was Pat's bad knee going to manage?  What could God possibly do for her?
   It's interesting, I had no problem praying for Pat... for myself, for Russell and John also.  But I also have a feeling that God really has more to do than look out for a few people on one mountain on a particular day.  I pray though I just don't always know how all this works; why should God be involved in the small details of my everyday life?
    I heard from mutual friends that they saw John, Pat and Russell at O'Cebreiro the next day, so I knew they had made it that day, but I was very curious about how it had gone.  Finally, a couple of days after I had arrived in Santiago I saw them in the plaza outside the cathedral.  We had a joyful reunion, then I told Pat that I had been praying for her that day in September.  She said, "You did?  You really did?  Guess what happened?"  Then she told me about how John as their navigator led them onto what he thought was the turn for the mountain.  But he had made an error and too late they realized they were on the eaiser road route.  Pat gave me a big grin and said she did fine on that day and was ready the next day to go up O'Cebreiro.
   So did God listen to me and then micro-manage John so he missed the turn?  I doubt it.  (And besides, why didn't God make that descent easier for me if God really was listening to my prayer!)   But maybe God doesn't have to hear our particular requests - just the act of praying is important because we're connecting with our Creator and also with one another.  And maybe that opens the door for good things to happen:  people with weak knees take the wrong route, and other people tackle difficult mountains -obstacles they had thought impossible.
      My Pilgrim's Credential includes some short suggestions under the heading "Spirit of the Camino."  One says, "Sense the prayers of those who have gone before you, leave good will behind for those who will come after you, appreciate your companions who walk with you."  Another notes, "Give thanks at the end of each day."  The Camino had a spirit about it in which I truly felt the prayers of all those who had gone before in addition to those carrying me in prayer as I walked.   Early in this blog I mentioned a Korean woman that I met, Maria, and asked for prayers for her.  I never did see her again.  But I have a sense that the spirit of the Camino and all the prayers before have helped her in her own pilgrimage.  May our conversations with God continue and deepen as well as our concerns for one another.  Bueno Camino! 
  

Finistierre: The end of the world, and the beginning of new worlds

Looking out from Finisterre

   So yesterday I visited the end of the world: Finistierre.  It was a 2 and 1-2 hour bus ride from Santiago.  I must have taken the local coming back as it was even longer, but we followed the coast all but the last 30-40 minutes... a beautiful ride!

    Finistierre is a lovely town on the coast - beautiful ocean, beaches, fishing boats, piers...   After we got off the bus some of the pilgrims who were staying went off to settle into an alberque.  Since mine was a day trip I started following the signs for "Faro", the lighthouse and the true end.  It was a 2-1/2km trek uphill with grand views back to Finistierre, down at the ocean breaking into rocks, and to the mountains at our side.  Finally we reached the end.

Almost to the end

   I´m not certain if the lighthouse is still in service.  We weren´t allowed to walk around much there.  But we could climb onto the large boulders and rocks and sit and look out at the ocean.   I was at the farthest out point of land and all I could see was the blue of the sea mixing with the blue mist of the sky to the point that I could not tell one from another on the horizon.  I sat there and could easily see why it was thought that this was the end of the earth.  There was no telling from my view what might happen farther out in the ocean.

THE END

   

So as I thought about this I thought about sailors.  I personally would not head out into the ocean beyond where I could see land - and I know that even when I see land I get confused about what I am looking at from out on water.  Things just look differently.  I use land and landmarks for guidance, but sailors use stars and a larger picture for guidance.  It is the sailors from the norse country that made it to North America.  It was the sailors that helped Paul to set out to cover a larger area as he evangelized.  It was a sailor, Christopher Columbus, who finally broke the stalemate of living with what was known at one time and set out on an adventure to see if there might be a different answer.

     Edwin Friedman writes about this significant event that broke open a medieval world and pushed the world into the renaissance, new understandings about our universe and world, and a new age of learning.  It certainly meant adjustments for the church also as it tried to remain rigid with its teachings.  And then we have the peregrinos who for hundreds of years had been traveling to Santiago de Compostela, which could not have been anything but an adventure with that same possibility of death that Columbus and his crew faced.   All along the way we have seen ancient cemeteries for the burial of pilgrims.  But we have also seen crosses all along the way commemorating the death of modern pilgrims who died on their journey.   What was it like for those peregrinos - what courage they had but there must have been many fears.  But just as now, death can come at anytime, not just on a pilgrimage.

    In that way I guess I´ve always thought of life itself as a journey.  I don´t know when mine will end, but I can make choices about how I will live within this life.  Along the Camino I have learned a lot about what I can tolerate (cleanliness is greatly overrated), I learned about my own impatience and the great blessing of those days when I remembered to be patient with others.   I have learned that each person has a story - a reason for the fear, sadness, joy, peace in their face.  I have learned that the aches and pains of one day can heal with a good night´s sleep.  I have learned that we can communicate with others in many more ways than language.  As I continue to process my five-week Camino I continue to harvest other lessons.   I´m sure they will continue to come throughout the following months.

    So how shall I live in the years remaining?  I hope that I will look for and find the blessings in each day.  I seek to be patient with others and to encourage rather than criticize.  I hope to be one who will listen to the stories of others, walk with them in times of happiness and sorrow.  I seek the courage to speak out when I see injustice.  I pray that love and joy will lace through each of my days - and I know that it will be my own choices that will help to make that happen.  I will seek other adventures, pilgrimages, ways to break myself from my own routines, fears... those things that might keep me from changing and growing. 
   I´ve been to the end of the world, and I´ve returned.  The Camino is finished, and now I begin.  Thank you so much for traveling with me, I can not express how much it has meant to me to be held in your thoughts and prayers.  May your own Camino be a very special story - I know it already is for it is yours.  May God´s peace and grace go with you until we meet again.  Bueno Camino!

For Whom the Bell Tolls

Holding my Compostela, safe in its tube

   I write today from Santiago - finally found a bar with a computer.  Last Friday as I continued to get closer to Santiago de Compostela I heard a church bell tolling in the distance - someone had died.  I would not have known this, but the night before I heard a slow mournful tolling of the bell from the church in the little village where I was staying.  It would ring low twice, then a high, minor bell.  Low...      Low...   Higher...  Over and over for about 1-2 hour, very, very slowly.  It drew me to the church - but just as I arrived the tolling stopped.  When I walked into the church a young man came down from the balcony and though he spoke in Spanish I knew he was telling me that I needed to leave.  Sure enough, as I was walking past the graves in the cemetery outside the church I saw a car arrive, then another, and another.  The tolling was calling mourners to gather for a funeral.

   So as I walked on Friday I heard this bell in the distance ringing for over 45 minutes.  It did not have the low, low, high, but rather just one bell, over and over, and again... very slowly.  I wondered if it was calling people to a  funeral.  It was around noontime and I thought that was an odd time in Spain to schedule something.  It also went on for such a long time...  I started to wonder if it was just acknowledging that someone had died, or maybe it was a special person in the community?

   So as I was walking I was thinking about death.  I remember about 7 or 8 months before my dad died he told me he´d had a dream.  He walked into a room and the lights were low, but when his eyes adjusted he saw his brothers John and Roy (both deceased).  He looked around and then saw his dad and others.  Then he woke up just as his mother entered the room.  I asked him how it felt to be in that room.  He said "It was good."
   I don´t know what heaven or eternal life is like.  We certainly like to think that we will see our loved ones once again.  But it occurred to me that on Sunday when I enter Santiago I will experience a bit of heaven.  I was thinking, really hoping, that I would see people I have not see for a long time in my walking - people who were important to me on this Camino.  I had a preview of that on Friday night.  I was staying in Arzua and had just asked at the tourist kiosk how to get to the church.  As I walked down the street I glanced to my right and there was Leif (from Sweden) with some woman I didn´t recognize.  I hadn´t seen Leif and his wife Karin for at least two weeks or more.  I immediately crossed the street and we joyfully greeted one another.  He was having a glass of wine with Margit from Finland - another friend of theirs who they had not seen for sometime until that night.  So he took both of us back to their room in a hostel to see Karin who had been taking a nap (she had an encounter with many bedbugs and had an allergic reaction and the med made her sleepy). 
    We had a joyful reunion then went out to dinner together (and this time exchanged email addresses before separating again).  It was wonderful.  This lovely couple and I had been the only ones at a new alberque weeks earlier and had shared a dinner together that night.  We then saw each other twice again as we were visiting churches, then they disappeared.  I started to wonder who else I would get to see again.

    Saturday I walked 19 miles.  The guide suggested stopping in Arco but I arrived there at noon - to early to even go to the alberque.  I kept walking.  I stopped in a field and spread my poncho and ate cheese and bread.  Walked more.   Stopped again when I saw a woman sitting on a stone bridge with a lovely river underneath and nice shade.  She was  from Austria but now lives in Sacramento CA.  Soon Jean came by, from Los Angeles CA.   We talked about how unusual to have three people from the states together on the camino.

   Jean and I continued to walk together the rest of the afternoon.  It was hot and we kept looking for a place to stay.  In Lavacolla there is an airport so we checked at one of the hotels along the Camino.  They told us "NO ROOMS!"   We continued walking and when we saw a little bar in Vilamaior we decided to take a break - but wait!  There was a sign that they had rooms.  Jean and I shared a room that night, then the next morning we walked the final 7 miles into Santiago.

    There have been some reunions, but also there are those I have missed.  I never saw Cathy from Canda (who shares a birthday with me).  I know she had to leave October 3, so she is gone.  I will never see her again, but I share the memory of a lovely day walking with her as we went through Pamplona then headed up a mountain.   I didn´t think to say good-bye way back when - I didn´t realize we´d never see each other again.

A medieval festival is in Santiago the day we arrive

   So now that the Camino is over and I´m making the transition to prepare to return home.  Today I went to the end of the world.  I have some thoughts about that - I hope to share tomorrow.  (By the way, I think the last computer I used not only would not upload my pictures, but fried my adapter- hopefully I can add more when I get home).  Until then, Bueno Camino!

Having coffee with Jean and Ann Marie

Judgement Day

     A few days ago I went through Sarria.  Many people begin the Camino there as you must walk at least 100km to qualify for a Compostela and it is about 118-120km from Santiago.  The guidebook warns that it might be tempting to pass judgement on these new walkers.  Oh, he was so right.
    So as I sat in a town today eating lunch I noticed all the walkers going by with just day packs.  That means they are either on a tour and the bus will drop off there packs at the next lodging for the evening, or they have paid a service to send their packs ahead.  I look out and think, "Yeah you´re walking easily along... try it with a pa...  oh right, no judgement." 
    I´m walking along enjoying the quiet of the path when I hear lots of voices.  Another group with day packs, all excited, walking along and passing me, "Please, this isn´t another tourist attractions - I´m on a pilgrim... oh,  no judgement."
    I´m seeing new walkers with packs -- "They probably just started in Sarria, maybe back in Leon... either way... again I remember, no judgement"   It is very easy to judge others and note how they have taken the easy way - but I really don´t know that, do I?
   So I finally talk with one of the new faces - a young lady all in black including a jacket (how hard a walk could she be having if she still has on her jac... - no judgement).  I ask her where she´s from.  She answers Bogata Columbia.  Well, this isn´t just a day trip.  We talk a little more.  She does massage therapy, acupuncture and other alternative healing methods.  She was going to be in Santiago (she spoke english well, but I didn´t understand exactly why she was going there), so she decided she would take an extra week of vacation and walk from Sarria.  Her name is Carmen.  It´s really hard to pass judgement on someone when you talk with them a short while.  I liked Carmen.  I understood why she was taking this opportunity to experience what she could of the Camino.  Perhaps she will come back another time and walk more.
    Closely related to judgement is pride.  Someone passed me and asked where I started from.  I said Roncesvalles and the response was Ahhh! You could see my status rising in his eyes.  But claiming the pride of how far I walked seemed to be a judgement on his short walk.  As I finish this walk into Santiago I hope I can take personal satisfaction in knowing I have done well on my Camino, but not boast.  And may I look at each Peregrino as someone who is walking the Camino for their own reasons.  And who am I to judge?
Bueno Camino!

More Walking in Darkness

   When I left this morning the stars were shinging once again - what a difference!  Instead of feeling claustrophobia from the blackness it felt as if the stars were the doorways to the universe.  So as I walked this morning I thought about my other senses, how I use them while walking in the dark.
  There are smells.  So many lovely smells from the plants and trees growing on the side of the path.  Garden smells, herb smells...  But because there is so much farming in the area there is also the lovely smell of manure - a sign that I am approaching one of the small dairy farms along the way, the stable in the middle of a village, or the corn field that has apparently now been fertilized in preparation for next year´s planting.
    This morning I noticed how the temperature of the air continued to change from time to time, the way many lakes in New England have cold spots and warm spots. When I first left the air was chilly, but I took one turn and it was as though heat had been stored in this place throughout the night and it was now emitted from the brush along the road. A little farther and it was colder once again.
    And I hear the breeze.  One sound if there are trees nearby - the rustle tells me about the trees.  Or if it picks up more like a wind there´s the soft roar in my ears.  Every so often I will also hear water and know that there is a little mountain stream or possibly a fountain nearby. Sometimes I also hear other pilgrims.  This is a nice sound as it confirms for me that I haven´t missed a turn - others are on the path also.  In fact, the other morning I walked by two pilgrims having breakfast outside of a bar.  Just beyond them I heard a whistle.  I went back and they told me that the bartender had pointed them in the other direction to catch the Camino.  I went back to the turn and with more searching with my flashlight I found the yellow arrow.  I was thankful for there help.
   Other sounds include roosters crowing, cows mooing, dogs barking (many dogs barking), sometimes a lone cat´s meow.   A couple of times I´ve heard owls.  Bianca who I met a few nights ago said she heard the howling of a wolf one morning - I haven´t heard that yet, and that´s okay!
   I will miss the sounds, smells, sensations of walking in the dark on the Camino.  The time leading up to sunset approaches a certain reverence and the sunrise itself is the beginning of worship.  May the sun rise on a good day for you.  Bueno Camino!

Walking in Darkness

   I left the alberque about 6:45 this morning.  It was the darkest morning yet.  I was very thankful that I had purchased a new flashlight yesterday in Sarria to replace the one I dropped and broke.  The darkness is interesting.  I used my flashlight at first to see where I was walking and to follow the yellow arrows.  Then on the Meseta with its endless horizon I found all the stars, the Milky Way and the full moon.  The brightness of the full moon combined with the white stone of the path made it possible to follow my way with no flashlight (except when paths intersected and I needed to find arrows.
   But the moon has been waning over the past 10 days or so.  A couple of days ago it was just a sliver in the morning sky.  No more moon to guide.  And this morning there was cloud cover - no stars, simply pitch black as I stepped out of the light surrounding the alberque.  My flashlight on, I noticed a few things.  First, I could see nothing beyond the two feet in front of the circle made by my light.  I really had no idea what was ahead... and I didn´t really like that.
   Secondly, I couldn´t tell if the path was inclining up or down by my eyesight.  I could tell be the sensation of walking on it.  Now this was okay, I couldn´t glance ahead and see if it was going to be straight up for a long time, short time, or however it might change.
   Thirdly, I was very glad to have my little flashlight.  When I turned it off so I could check and see if there might be a star somewhere in the sky, I could see nothing... nothing!  I was so glad to have that light.
   But the night doesn´t last forever.  The first light finally came.  That´s the light that allowed me to make out the dark form of trees against the sky.  But the path itself was still dark.  Then the earth rolled a little more towards the sun and I found that I could see the path when it wasn´t covered by limbs of trees.  When it was, it disappeared once more.  The earth rolled a little more and at last...  I could make out the path even when under the trees and more importantly, I could see the dark mounds of manure (lots of cows in this area) enough to avoid them.  That´s when I turned my flashlight off.
    No wonder there are so many references to the "light of God" in scripture.  The darkness isn´t bad, its just...dark.  Nothing can be distinguished from something else and even after letting eyes adjust, things are still just different shades of dark.  But with light, even the soft light of the moon, forms start to appear and with the light of the sun we can distinguish objects from one another and see colors.  The light helps us to live together. 
    Yes, the sun came up this morning on a cloudy day on the Camino.  It´s been raining lightly all morning so I´m going to try to push forward a little more and take advantage of the coolness.  May the light of God shine throughout your day, rain or shine!  Bueno Camino!