We have been back for two weeks, but it feels like a year. Trudging up steep hills, wandering through vineyards full of fat grapes, the astonishment of the wayside chapels and shrines, and the easy chatter of complete strangers seems almost like another life.
I think I had hoped for some grand revelation. The past two years have been a moving battlefront and I have to believe there was purpose to it all. I thought the answer might lie on a dirt trail in Spain.
The only thing that really struck me was how very human we all are, even as we strive to great spiritual heights. Starting the day with prayer contrasted with small arguments. Praying the rosary while hiking contrasted with the final few miles of every day just wanting to be done, feet pounding to the beat of "this sucks. this sucks. this sucks." Embracing simplicity contrasted with a grimace at yet another bocadilla, jamón y queso, gracias. Great intentions met pneumonia and ugly blisters.
Perhaps that is the message, everything gets dragged down by the mundane.
But there is more.
I saw my niece, (who was, frankly, thoroughly unprepared to walk across the countryside of a foreign land) lift her chin and walk alone, and learn that she is far more capable than she really knew. I experienced the kindness of complete strangers when we needed help. We saw the faith of people who had just walked 300 miles to kneel on the stone floor of the cathedral to thank God for the blessing of this experience. I saw the piles of small slips of paper like hopeful snow in the crypt of St. James, as pilgrims from all over the world carried their intentions to this holy place.
And somewhere along The Way, I felt fully heard, fully loved and fully known.
photo of La Virgen Peregrina, Pontevedra, Galicia, España.
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