9 Oct

Good night, Spain!


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Sept 29 Santo Domingo to Villamayor about 18 km Actually, we walked more than 18 km if you count the steps we took walking out of town in the dark with a fellow pilgrim, none of whom saw the sign to the path. We just keep walking along the highway until some kind stranger pulled over and indicated in gestures that we should go back and turn right. A discouraging yet blessed start to the day.  Our trek was punctuated with lovely towns and we stopped short of the guidebook suggestion, having looked ahead and deciding to break up the next few days to make it a bit easier on ourselves. There is no need for us to rush this.  The hills are getting easier and hopefully that's a sign that we're getting a bit stronger.  On the advice of a fellow pilgrim we have found a lovely albergue outside of town. The hostess is in the kitchen cooking our dinner with vegetables she picked out of her garden. It smells delicious. We haven't even been motivated to go into town, ...
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30 Sept  Villamayor to Villafranca About 17 km We've moved out of wine country and into farmland. Mikes and miles of vines have been replaced with dark brown earth freshly tilled with what the nose tells us is pig manure.  Last night the hostess of the albergue cooked us a marvelous dinner of creamed vegetable soup, salad, pork chops, friend potatoes- most of which came from her garden. We ate it around a table with French women who sang to us folk songs of the Camino in beautiful harmony, and friends from Israel, Italy and the US. Amazing conversation all around.  Dad and I started the day before sunrise. This time there was no getting lost although, with it being Saturday, we went through 3 towns before the coffee shops opened for business. The day threatened to rain but held back, thankfully. So that we had a cool trek through peaceful hills and valleys and arrived at our albergue just past noon. Lunch today was provided after a trip to the supermercado ...
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15 Oct.  Rabanal to Acebo. 16.5 km Today our climb took us to the famous Iron Cross where pilgrims pause to leave a token of the burdens they carry. The cross was smaller than I anticipated and the pile of rocks much larger than I had imagined. My congregation gave me a stone to leave at the foot of this cross, but as I reflected on the token I would leave as I walked the previous few days, it seemed inappropriate to leave that stone. It was, to me, a representation of the people God has gifted me to serve. I've loved and cared for them. We have worked side by side for 10 years. They are not a burden to me. They are a gift. And so I still carry that stone for that is not a burden I wish to leave behind. So, what did I leave?  Well, to me a burden is something distracting, bothersome; a hindrance. I carry many burdens constantly--the what ifs and I wish'--the failures that I fear define me. The questions that nag at me as if I had the answers life would be perfect; th...
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