I’m currently writing on a subdued but steady adrenaline rush. Paying $35 to go from Corpus Christi, Texas to Madrid, Spain and back could be an influence. Or that I officially got tickets and decided to do this yesterday. And that in less than 2 hours I’m away from internet access and all technology for 2.5 weeks, and I haven’t finished packing. There’s also the whole walk one or two hundred miles on the most famous trekking pilgrimage, The Camino, in the world thing I’ll be starting Friday morning, too. And that I’m carrying everything I need with me, apx 15-20 pounds only. Plus, I’ve never been to Spain, and I’ll be huffing and puffing in spring flowers through villages in the countryside.
This is a rare instance for me- no need to say “long story short,” and then make a long story longer than necessary. I started thinking seriously about doing this trek a week ago, due to hearing stories from a couple folks who’ve done it, watching a movie and doing research. And I leave town today. Ta-da!
The plan: Corpus to Houston to Dallas tonight. Staying with my friend Lauren, whose advice and gear saves me hours and hundreds of dollars. Our only plan for tonight: imparting of wisdom in how to use athletic tape. Leave Wednesday Dallas to Houston to New York to Madrid, arriving Thursday mid-morning. Then a bus to Leòn, where I’ll get my pilgrim’s passport, probably buy and begrudgingly use my first walking stick, and stay at a hostel run by Benedictine nuns. Friday, hit the trail!
Here’s a map: http://images.altiplanobooks.be/images/9783763348350B.jpg
So it’ll take me around 2 weeks to walk to Santiago de Compostella. Look online for details- there is an arguably unreasonable amount of information that will explode across your computer screen with its ancient history and hiking traditions. Hopefully I’ll have the extra 2 days to walk to the ocean!
Expectations: walking 20-30 kilometers per day most days, a body that hates my spirit of adventure, being alone but meeting other pilgrims, varied weather, stumbling through survival Spanish, probably not looking thinner/more muscular afterwards
The only thing I bought specifically for this trip was hiking boots. For a great price :) Yesterday :/
What I’m bringing:
-Bible &
-head lamp, 1 sq. inch
-the most minute size of toiletries known to mankind
-moleskin and themed band-aids of awesomeness, 4 pairs of socks (varying thickness and materials), 2 different kind of insoles (and I’ll still get blisters in spite of it all)
-2 sets of clothes, beanie, hankie, rain jacket
-flip-flops
-decent over-the-counter pill supply
-journal, pen & sharpie
-miniature scissors
-tweezers
-ultra-light (>1 lb), compact sleeping bag
-sham wow compact towel
-foam ear plugs & face mask
-camera & iPod (and their chargers)
-smallest and lightest possible backpack
-water bottle & trail snacks
-a small rock, from the beloved railroad tracks & Oso Bay, a couple miles from the house I grew up in: “In Spain they were called milladoiros, and were placed there by pilgrims to show the route for those following. This practise was thought to have originated with a pagan rite to invoke the protection of pagan spirits who protected travellers. There is a tradition on the Camino to bring a stone from home and rub all your fears, hurts and sorrows into the stone which you can place at the base of the Cruz de Ferro.”
-oyster shell, a half mile from the same house, on the Laguna Madre: http://otherspain.com/pages/writing/scallop.asp
That’s it, no mas! Walking stick aside, this is all that I’m wearing and using and buying for 3 weeks across a foreign land. So excited!!!*
Please pray for:
*my health. 22 was a bad age for my health, and the past couple weeks of being 23 my new chiropractor told me I probably have a pinched nerve(s?) in my lower back. So, lots of walking, carrying my stuff, and sleeping in sub-par hostel bunk beds, it’s not looking too good. And with the varying amounts of rain and temperature extremes, I don’t want to get bronchitis, which I get annoyingly frequently in similar conditions.
*People I’ll meet: that we would be blessings for each other, through sharing guide books, stories, laughing, fatigue, whatever
*Safety: more from myself than any creeper (in human, insect or animal form), and also in traveling
*Whatever it is I’m going to take away from this internally. Also that I would resist the urge to take pieces of nature as souvenirs that are historical/rare and illegal to take (pretty difficult)
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
stop in the name of love
***Disclaimer: Jesus, during the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew 6:16-18, reminds that fasting is a private thing. Only hypocrites play-up sacrifice for admiration from others, and God doesn’t reward this. Psalm 51:17 says that even our best self-inflicted penance doesn’t solve disconnection from God. “You do not desire a sacrifice, or I would offer one. You do not want a burnt offering. The sacrifice you desire is a broken spirit. You will not reject a broken and repentant heart, O God.”
This post is about sacrificing one simple and good thing for about 6 weeks to stimulate reflection and communication with Providence. The goal was to remove something from daily life that forces me to remember where my joy comes from, and how wonderful life is because of this source. It’s not a declaration of my holiness or an assumption that I understand the meaning of life; if anything, it proves the opposite.
This Lent season, for 40 days, I’m not singing.
Which is actually a relief for many around me, who don’t often remind me of my lack of talent (bless my heart, right?). It’s a strange practice to “give up” or “sacrifice” the 40 days before Easter.
On Ash Wednesday I went to Catholic mass with my dad. I’m not Catholic, but Protestant; however, as I’m currently without a church home, it made more sense to experience this service with my father. And with the Roman Catholic international church body, as the same words, rhythms and order of the service is the same in Bolivia, Belgium and Brunei cathedrals.
During mass, the father reminded us that in determining what to do without, it should foremost be about cleansing us of our sins, our simultaneous self-destruction and outward-infliction of decay. After this, the most common mentality towards Lent is penance. For many Americans, this means volunteering up one (or several) of the thousands of privileges we are blessed by.
So, me not-singing came as a wild card, as far as resolutions go. It’s not intrinsically sinful. It’s not a pride problem, as I never sing publically (except with gusto for bi-annual karaoke), and don’t secretly fancy I could be the next American Idol. It’s not something that I can physically remove from my being or household, and it doesn’t impact anyone (except the occasional passerby that gets a startling sneak peak of enthused shouting and dancing through my car windows). Singing is innate joy for me. It is my favorite form of emotional expression when I’m alone or around a couple loved ones.
But this year, I’m appreciating another side of Easter. Longing.
I’m familiar with waiting, and waiting on God (not good, but experienced in it). However, I don’t really yearn for God. More specifically, as someone who believes a guy named Jesus was the ultimate prophet and savior, I don’t much crave his wisdom, encouragement, or humbling. Easter is the celebration of Jesus being this Jewish superhero, rising from the dead, one of religion’s greatest controversies over the last couple millennia…
…but I was born in 1989. The religious services I’ve attended don’t wind up with a “Well, here’s hoping this King of the Jews comes one day. It’s only been several hundred years of waiting for God to fulfill the promise he’s coming, but I guess we’ve got more time to go. Here’s what we think he may be like, but we’re not actually sure.”
I grew up in church. I’ve never had to wait on fulfillment of a promise from God, that this Perfect Person was coming to save me. He left earth a loooong time ago. Not the case for his first followers, who were pretty perplexed, full of doubt and devastated when he was killed/martyred.
I can’t imagine what it would be like. Whether someone had a religious background or didn’t before following this man, they sacrificed life choices, time with family, inheritances, careers, social standing, reputations, financial security, stability, and their souls to a guy who promised the world. Then he died (and relatively young).
What kind of misery and regret, swirling through a haze of confusion and mourning, did they experience? He spoke in riddles about coming back to life, but his followers were just as surprised when he showed up 3 days later in the flesh. Even his bff Thomas- love this and totally relate- didn’t believe his eyes when he saw his formerly-dead Lord, so Jesus invited him to stick his fingers through the crucifixion holes in hands.
So Lent is a time in-between for his followers of old and of present. Jesus was already born, but hadn’t yet championed mortality and came back to earth after 3 days to prove he was 100% human while bring 100% divine. Singing and humming is one the deepest, common joys for me, so for now I’m straining to be silent. Because if Easter represents joy fulfilled, and Lent is anticipating the resurrection, this is one way I can remember the longing.
This post is about sacrificing one simple and good thing for about 6 weeks to stimulate reflection and communication with Providence. The goal was to remove something from daily life that forces me to remember where my joy comes from, and how wonderful life is because of this source. It’s not a declaration of my holiness or an assumption that I understand the meaning of life; if anything, it proves the opposite.
This Lent season, for 40 days, I’m not singing.
Which is actually a relief for many around me, who don’t often remind me of my lack of talent (bless my heart, right?). It’s a strange practice to “give up” or “sacrifice” the 40 days before Easter.
On Ash Wednesday I went to Catholic mass with my dad. I’m not Catholic, but Protestant; however, as I’m currently without a church home, it made more sense to experience this service with my father. And with the Roman Catholic international church body, as the same words, rhythms and order of the service is the same in Bolivia, Belgium and Brunei cathedrals.
During mass, the father reminded us that in determining what to do without, it should foremost be about cleansing us of our sins, our simultaneous self-destruction and outward-infliction of decay. After this, the most common mentality towards Lent is penance. For many Americans, this means volunteering up one (or several) of the thousands of privileges we are blessed by.
So, me not-singing came as a wild card, as far as resolutions go. It’s not intrinsically sinful. It’s not a pride problem, as I never sing publically (except with gusto for bi-annual karaoke), and don’t secretly fancy I could be the next American Idol. It’s not something that I can physically remove from my being or household, and it doesn’t impact anyone (except the occasional passerby that gets a startling sneak peak of enthused shouting and dancing through my car windows). Singing is innate joy for me. It is my favorite form of emotional expression when I’m alone or around a couple loved ones.
But this year, I’m appreciating another side of Easter. Longing.
I’m familiar with waiting, and waiting on God (not good, but experienced in it). However, I don’t really yearn for God. More specifically, as someone who believes a guy named Jesus was the ultimate prophet and savior, I don’t much crave his wisdom, encouragement, or humbling. Easter is the celebration of Jesus being this Jewish superhero, rising from the dead, one of religion’s greatest controversies over the last couple millennia…
…but I was born in 1989. The religious services I’ve attended don’t wind up with a “Well, here’s hoping this King of the Jews comes one day. It’s only been several hundred years of waiting for God to fulfill the promise he’s coming, but I guess we’ve got more time to go. Here’s what we think he may be like, but we’re not actually sure.”
I grew up in church. I’ve never had to wait on fulfillment of a promise from God, that this Perfect Person was coming to save me. He left earth a loooong time ago. Not the case for his first followers, who were pretty perplexed, full of doubt and devastated when he was killed/martyred.
I can’t imagine what it would be like. Whether someone had a religious background or didn’t before following this man, they sacrificed life choices, time with family, inheritances, careers, social standing, reputations, financial security, stability, and their souls to a guy who promised the world. Then he died (and relatively young).
What kind of misery and regret, swirling through a haze of confusion and mourning, did they experience? He spoke in riddles about coming back to life, but his followers were just as surprised when he showed up 3 days later in the flesh. Even his bff Thomas- love this and totally relate- didn’t believe his eyes when he saw his formerly-dead Lord, so Jesus invited him to stick his fingers through the crucifixion holes in hands.
So Lent is a time in-between for his followers of old and of present. Jesus was already born, but hadn’t yet championed mortality and came back to earth after 3 days to prove he was 100% human while bring 100% divine. Singing and humming is one the deepest, common joys for me, so for now I’m straining to be silent. Because if Easter represents joy fulfilled, and Lent is anticipating the resurrection, this is one way I can remember the longing.
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