The Camino Giveth & the Camino Taketh Away

I was determined to lose things on this Camino pilgrimage, like a few extra pounds to start with, but the Camino had a few tricks up its sneaky sleeve. Instead of losing pounds, I lost my dignity, my will to live, my mobility and my sanity. I was often heard saying any of the following with varying degrees of panic: "I want to quit," "This isn't any fun," "What was I thinking?" and "We're all gonna die!" In the face of near-death, I experienced the Camino's powers, and I was seriously displeased (as Lady Catherine de Bourgh would say).

Instead of my sanity and the will to live, I was hoping to lose several burdens I have carried around in my metaphorical backpack the last 2 years. Burdens such as the need to let sorrow have the last word and the need to hold onto resentment and unforgiveness. My goal on this pilgrimage (which I refuse to call a vacation based on the paragraph above) was to lay down a different burden each day so when I came home my psychological and emotional load would be a lot lighter than before.

But I wasn't expecting that the Camino had things to give me, as well. Somewhere after the initial shock of realizing how hard the pilgrimage was for someone limping the whole way [see my post "Walking with a Limp" for that story] I discovered that in the laying down of my sadness, anger, need for validation, and the temptation to give up, I received treasures I wasn't expecting. Coming home my backpack wasn't lighter, it was full to overflowing.

Yes, the Camino gave me unwanted rewards - like blisters, a stress fracture and a limp. But 'the good way' gave me an awareness of what I need, as well as what I don't need. What's necessary and what's unnecessary in my healing journey. What's essential to life, and what's superfluous. (Bringing a fully stocked first aid kit, as well as enough blister pads to outfit a whole dance troupe was completely superfluous. But toilet paper - 100% NOT superfluous.)

'The good way' gave me understanding of my need for God's daily provision. A common refrain I heard before and after my pilgrimage is that "the Camino provides". People personified the Camino as if it were an ancient grandfatherly deity, ready to hand out blessings and provision to any weary pilgrim. Even though I knew the God of provision wasn't the Camino itself but the God who gave us the Good Way through his Son, I was able to appreciate the sentiment of this expression because I lived it daily.

Each day I confronted the reality that I had no assurance I would have what I needed that day. I wasn't walking through well-stocked cities with 7-11s on every corner and Starbucks' trenta iced teas waiting for me (although, thank the Lord, there were chocolate croissants in abundance, kind of negating the whole 'lose weight' goal). Although there was plenty of sustenance and refreshment on the trail, I never knew when those opportunities would come around the bend. I didn't know what the next corner might reveal: miles of wooded forest trails? a long uphill path littered with boulders and rocks? or a cute cafe with Coca-Cola (but no ice) and a chocolate croissant?

Each day was an exercise of walking by faith trusting God to give, through the Camino experience, what I needed for that day. I found my faith expanding through repeated prayers for help with my pain, for strength to keep moving, for food and rest, for bathrooms (1), and for shelter. And God came through every day. There wasn't even one day that God didn't provide what was needed in the moment. It was a pressure-cooker, abiding-type experience with God seeing him meet every need I had, even through the pain and hardships of walking 146 miles with a stress fracture.

Of all the treasures I  brought home on my Camino pilgrimage, this is probably the one that will most impact my life moving forward. The treasure of knowing God isn't withholding his good gifts to me, but desires to provide abundantly every day--even when I'm hurt, tired, and breathlessly muttering to my companions, "go, save yourselves!" 

Even when the provision doesn't look like provision, but instead feels like disappointment. Even in those discouraging moments, I can see God providing for me through the pain and suffering. 

I lost much on the Camino, but the things I lost were things I needed to lose so I could find freedom and hope again. And what I gained can't even fit into an earthly backpack.

"As I lament what is lost, O Lord, let me savor what is left, still seeing in each good gift some echo of eternity." From Every Moment Holy, Volume 2

The Good Way

Buen Camino--'the

good way"--greeted me each day

with holy teaching.

Lament the loss of 

what was good, but savor the 

gifts in the here and 

now. I'm a student,

listening for the breath of

sacred hope in my 

losses.