10 May 2013
Terradillos de Temlarios, just outside of Sahagun
Sahagun is the official halfway city to Santiago
Soul Music
Buen Camino
Today was a 30km+ walk. We intended to walk a longer one today, but an inviting side trip through the countryside led us down a long path with all kinds of possibilities of getting lost. No yellow arrow signs anywhere. We abandoned the adventure and backtracked which added several kms.
The trail today was level and easy travel. A simple, gravel, bike tail-type walk with an erie feel of traveling to Champain-Urbana. Nothing but flat farm fields everywhere. One could strain out in the distance and see a snowy mt peak poke up. It was very peaceful and inviting for and inward journey, for which I so definitely was.
First, a little background. I am so aware of so, so many family and friends who support me on this pilgrimage. I fear someone might be slighted by highlighting one over another. But for today's reflection, it behooves me to drawn attention to one gift-giver in particular. It was my very special friend, Dave Womac. For those who don't know him, he has a profound humility and an immense compassion for service. Nonetheless, he initiated a solicitation of anyone from church who would like to offer a digital copy of a spiritual/inspirational song for me to listen to while walking the camino. I have just now started to find a spot on the camino where I could listen to this overwhelmingly beautiful playlist. So much love in each song selection.
One in particular, God used to bless me today. An additional short intro. will help to clarify.
One thing da Mayor and I committed to, as parents, while raising the kids was that they would be required to learn to play the piano. Someone once said that "it puts music into your soul." The jury is still out as to whether we enriched or punished them with all that practice.
Each of children submitted, and they can all play, even today. How wonderful. Tony, in particular, found his gift in music. As an adult he could compose while he was playing. His mom and I would sit in arm chairs in the living room listening to him play on and on and on. We'd ask him, " What was the name of that one?" He'd respond, "I don't know. I made it up as I went." I know, Dad bragging, but, truthfully, he could effortlessly play for 45+ minutes with a melody that drifted from dramatic to a feel of gentle rain falling to a peace-filled relaxation. To say that he had a gift is an understatement.
When he passed away, the music died. The little, baby grand in our home does nothing but collect dust. All the music is piled up around the bench, and his music went silent.
Until today. One of the songs donated by the efforts of my friend, Dave, was by Philip Chapman, Keeper of Dreams, called Wisdom. The songs on that playlist, the melody, the deeply instilled emotion in that music, brought me back to the armchair concert of my sorely missed son. I was at one of his concerts again. This is the kind of music he would play for us. Of course, he played many others. But this was the genre of what he could compose while he played.
Praise God, today, his music was reborn in my soul. The silence I have had imprisoned caught a full wind of sail and filled me. The emptiness of his songs was consumed by this wonderful, wonderful 'soul music.'
This energized some deep emotion within me. I walked the camino crying uncontrollably as I took on a breath I haven't felt for 53 months. My glasses fogged, my breathing was like a whimpering baby, and my heart overflowing. It was all so life-giving and long overdue for healing.
Not to over think this experience, I wondered how this personal experience could help others. This thought surfaced: Everyone has their own special song. Call it the Song of their Soul. Admit it. Some melody, some particular words to a song are endearing to you. The song is a reflection of something you find dear deep within, dare I say, 'your soul.'
This led me to think. If the path 'to' the soul of a person is through their song. Then, the path back to a person is 'from' their song.
For me, I reentered our son's beautiful soul, through the melody of music he would play. The music carried his soul back to his dad's heart.
Here's a suggestion: Consider someone whom you love who has passed. Recollect what their favorite song was. I'm suggesting that if you were to listen to that song intently and repeatedly, I mean, really study it for why/what your loved one might have deeply connected within it, you'd re experience his/her soul again through their 'soul' music.
Memories of loved ones fade all to quickly. Items left behind help, somewhat. I found a deeper connection today in my son's music.
Heart-hungry for a connection with a loved-one who has passed? Grab a box of kleenex and their soul music favorite. It was life-giving for me. I pray it will be for you.
And, if you haven't made a final choice of a soul music favorite, choose one soon and share it with a loved one. If their ears can stand it, sing it to them and tell them why you chose it. On my short list is the song from our wedding, "What the World Need Now, Is Love Sweet Love."
I left today's insight gifts with some of Tony's favorites:
What's Goin' On and
Piano Man
His soul music filled an empty part of my soul.
Upcoming:
Sahagun and beyond?
Sinus infection is back, ah
Knees and feet managing- Praise God
Carionsamente,
Deacon Willie
Friday, May 10, 2013
9 May 2013
Carrion de las Condes
20k
Uncomfortable
Buen Camino
We left our wonderful albergue early this morning for what we thought would be a simple descent through more meseta. It started out in a heavy mist, turned to heavy, cold drizzle, then spent the day as a long, cold, steady rain. There were no places open for a stop for coffee or even to sit for a rest. We had to hoof it nonstop all 20k to the town.
I was accustom to the distance, but it was a challenge to walk that nonstop in such rain. I found myself doing some self talk to move ahead. I kept saying,"Just one more step. Just one more step. One more. One more."
I arrived at the town well before the good bishop and Joyce. Waited an hour in the rain for them under the first canopy available. No luck. On I went to where I remember there was a convent of nuns who run an albergue. Luck had it this is where I landed. Minutes later, Eric and Joyce arrived. This place has a great reputation because the nuns, in their habits, are particularly kind, AND they do a singing performance for the pilgrims. It was grt fun.
As I talked myself forward today, the "one more step" idea intrigued me. I kept rethinking it. "That's what it takes to grow faith. Just taking, "one more step." To go beyond what's comfortable, what I'm certain I can do, what I've agreed I could do and should do. No. To step beyond what's comfortable. If I only do what is in my abilities and comforts, what do I need God for? Then I'm playing God.
Just one more step. One more. One more. One more.
It's that easy, and it's that rewarding. One more step closer to peace. One more step closer to His purpose. One more step for His glory.
I've had good conversations as spiritual director and in counsel with some who are not sure if they can or are ready to embrace a bigger belief in God. "I don't know if I'm ready. Don't know if I'm ready to give up what I really like to do. I'm still young. Maybe when I'm older. I don't want to be like "him" or "her" if that's what following God is all about. Or, the ugly: I don't like 'this' or 'that' about the church or what it stands for.
Some have said, "I just don't 'feel' it.
For all who have mind wrestled some of these thoughts, I'd suggest these thoughts given to me today.
1. Don't try to take it all in at once. So many of the "I don't knows" are part of any relationship. We don't need to know all about God to enjoy a bigger embrace with God. We're still his kids, yes. Kids learn about their parents love over a lifetime. Give it time.
2. I've heard some who are attentive to not "feeling" the faith. Some are concerned that they'd be acting like a hypocrite. Better to hide in doubt in faith than to be discovered as a cheat or imposter. This is logical, but leaves one empty. It is like having one foot in two different canoes. Indecision is a decision without rewards.
I'd suggest acting on the faith that you do have. However, take just "one more step" into the uncomfortable. You'll be surprised. One more step will open up more faith, and you'll be surprised. The feelings will come. Much later in faith, you'll realize that feelings are not needed at all. Just Him.
For those open for a challenge and treat, I listened to Rich Mullin's song, "Sometimes, step by step." I had to listen to it twice to let it penetrate. I walked along in rain and dreary weather on a level gravel path with my arms outstretched, raised to heaven, singing my lungs out to God. Try it. It is a glorious prayer time. However, pick a sunny day.
Carinos, my insight today was this: it's never uncomfortable if it's "just one more step"closer to Him.
Upcoming:
28K walk on level elevation
So grateful for the sinus infection relief. Prayers work.
Carinosamente,
Deacon Willie
Carrion de las Condes
20k
Uncomfortable
Buen Camino
We left our wonderful albergue early this morning for what we thought would be a simple descent through more meseta. It started out in a heavy mist, turned to heavy, cold drizzle, then spent the day as a long, cold, steady rain. There were no places open for a stop for coffee or even to sit for a rest. We had to hoof it nonstop all 20k to the town.
I was accustom to the distance, but it was a challenge to walk that nonstop in such rain. I found myself doing some self talk to move ahead. I kept saying,"Just one more step. Just one more step. One more. One more."
I arrived at the town well before the good bishop and Joyce. Waited an hour in the rain for them under the first canopy available. No luck. On I went to where I remember there was a convent of nuns who run an albergue. Luck had it this is where I landed. Minutes later, Eric and Joyce arrived. This place has a great reputation because the nuns, in their habits, are particularly kind, AND they do a singing performance for the pilgrims. It was grt fun.
As I talked myself forward today, the "one more step" idea intrigued me. I kept rethinking it. "That's what it takes to grow faith. Just taking, "one more step." To go beyond what's comfortable, what I'm certain I can do, what I've agreed I could do and should do. No. To step beyond what's comfortable. If I only do what is in my abilities and comforts, what do I need God for? Then I'm playing God.
Just one more step. One more. One more. One more.
It's that easy, and it's that rewarding. One more step closer to peace. One more step closer to His purpose. One more step for His glory.
I've had good conversations as spiritual director and in counsel with some who are not sure if they can or are ready to embrace a bigger belief in God. "I don't know if I'm ready. Don't know if I'm ready to give up what I really like to do. I'm still young. Maybe when I'm older. I don't want to be like "him" or "her" if that's what following God is all about. Or, the ugly: I don't like 'this' or 'that' about the church or what it stands for.
Some have said, "I just don't 'feel' it.
For all who have mind wrestled some of these thoughts, I'd suggest these thoughts given to me today.
1. Don't try to take it all in at once. So many of the "I don't knows" are part of any relationship. We don't need to know all about God to enjoy a bigger embrace with God. We're still his kids, yes. Kids learn about their parents love over a lifetime. Give it time.
2. I've heard some who are attentive to not "feeling" the faith. Some are concerned that they'd be acting like a hypocrite. Better to hide in doubt in faith than to be discovered as a cheat or imposter. This is logical, but leaves one empty. It is like having one foot in two different canoes. Indecision is a decision without rewards.
I'd suggest acting on the faith that you do have. However, take just "one more step" into the uncomfortable. You'll be surprised. One more step will open up more faith, and you'll be surprised. The feelings will come. Much later in faith, you'll realize that feelings are not needed at all. Just Him.
For those open for a challenge and treat, I listened to Rich Mullin's song, "Sometimes, step by step." I had to listen to it twice to let it penetrate. I walked along in rain and dreary weather on a level gravel path with my arms outstretched, raised to heaven, singing my lungs out to God. Try it. It is a glorious prayer time. However, pick a sunny day.
Carinos, my insight today was this: it's never uncomfortable if it's "just one more step"closer to Him.
Upcoming:
28K walk on level elevation
So grateful for the sinus infection relief. Prayers work.
Carinosamente,
Deacon Willie
Thursday, May 9, 2013
9 May 2013
Carrion de las Condes
20k
Uncomfortable
Buen Camino
We left our wonderful albergue early this morning for what we thought would be a simple descent through more meseta. It started out in a heavy mist, turned to heavy, cold drizzle, then spent the day as a long, cold, steady rain. There were no places open for a stop for coffee or even to sit for a rest. We had to hoof it nonstop all 20k to the town.
I was accustom to the distance, but it was a challenge to walk that nonstop in such rain. I found myself doing some self talk to move ahead. I kept saying,"Just one more step. Just one more step. One more. One more."
I arrived at the town well before the good bishop and Joyce. Waited an hour in the rain for them under the first canopy available. No luck. On I went to where I remember there was a convent of nuns who run an albergue. Luck had it this is where I landed. Minutes later, Eric and Joyce arrived. This place has a great reputation because the nuns, in their habits, are particularly kind, AND they do a singing performance for the pilgrims. It was grt fun.
As I talked myself forward today, the "one more step" idea intrigued me. I kept rethinking it. "That's what it takes to grow faith. Just taking, "one more step." To go beyond what's comfortable, what I'm certain I can do, what I've agreed I could do and should do. No. To step beyond what's comfortable. If I only do what is in my abilities and comforts, what do I need God for? Then I'm playing God.
Just one more step. One more. One more. One more.
It's that easy, and it's that rewarding. One more step closer to peace. One more step closer to His purpose. One more step for His glory.
I've had good conversations as spiritual director and in counsel with some who are not sure if they can or are ready to embrace a bigger belief in God. "I don't know if I'm ready. Don't know if I'm ready to give up what I really like to do. I'm still young. Maybe when I'm older. I don't want to be like "him" or "her" if that's what following God is all about. Or, the ugly: I don't like 'this' or 'that' about the church or what it stands for.
Some have said, "I just don't 'feel' it.
For all who have mind wrestled some of these thoughts, I'd suggest these thoughts given to me today.
1. Don't try to take it all in at once. So many of the "I don't knows" are part of any relationship. We don't need to know all about God to enjoy a bigger embrace with God. We're still his kids, yes. Kids learn about their parents love over a lifetime. Give it time.
2. I've heard some who are attentive to not "feeling" the faith. Some are concerned that they'd be acting like a hypocrite. Better to hide in doubt in faith than to be discovered as a cheat or imposter. This is logical, but leaves one empty. It is like having one foot in two different canoes. Indecision is a decision without rewards.
I'd suggest acting on the faith that you do have. However, take just "one more step" into the uncomfortable. You'll be surprised. One more step will open up more faith, and you'll be surprised. The feelings will come. Much later in faith, you'll realize that feelings are not needed at all. Just Him.
For those open for a challenge and treat, I listened to Rich Mullin's song, "Sometimes, step by step." I had to listen to it twice to let it penetrate. I walked along in rain and dreary weather on a level gravel path with my arms outstretched, raised to heaven, singing my lungs out to God. Try it. It is a glorious prayer time. However, pick a sunny day.
Carinos, my insight today was this: it's never uncomfortable if it's "just one more step"closer to Him.
Upcoming:
28K walk on level elevation
So grateful for the sinus infection relief. Prayers work.
Carinosamente,
Deacon Willie
Carrion de las Condes
20k
Uncomfortable
Buen Camino
We left our wonderful albergue early this morning for what we thought would be a simple descent through more meseta. It started out in a heavy mist, turned to heavy, cold drizzle, then spent the day as a long, cold, steady rain. There were no places open for a stop for coffee or even to sit for a rest. We had to hoof it nonstop all 20k to the town.
I was accustom to the distance, but it was a challenge to walk that nonstop in such rain. I found myself doing some self talk to move ahead. I kept saying,"Just one more step. Just one more step. One more. One more."
I arrived at the town well before the good bishop and Joyce. Waited an hour in the rain for them under the first canopy available. No luck. On I went to where I remember there was a convent of nuns who run an albergue. Luck had it this is where I landed. Minutes later, Eric and Joyce arrived. This place has a great reputation because the nuns, in their habits, are particularly kind, AND they do a singing performance for the pilgrims. It was grt fun.
As I talked myself forward today, the "one more step" idea intrigued me. I kept rethinking it. "That's what it takes to grow faith. Just taking, "one more step." To go beyond what's comfortable, what I'm certain I can do, what I've agreed I could do and should do. No. To step beyond what's comfortable. If I only do what is in my abilities and comforts, what do I need God for? Then I'm playing God.
Just one more step. One more. One more. One more.
It's that easy, and it's that rewarding. One more step closer to peace. One more step closer to His purpose. One more step for His glory.
I've had good conversations as spiritual director and in counsel with some who are not sure if they can or are ready to embrace a bigger belief in God. "I don't know if I'm ready. Don't know if I'm ready to give up what I really like to do. I'm still young. Maybe when I'm older. I don't want to be like "him" or "her" if that's what following God is all about. Or, the ugly: I don't like 'this' or 'that' about the church or what it stands for.
Some have said, "I just don't 'feel' it.
For all who have mind wrestled some of these thoughts, I'd suggest these thoughts given to me today.
1. Don't try to take it all in at once. So many of the "I don't knows" are part of any relationship. We don't need to know all about God to enjoy a bigger embrace with God. We're still his kids, yes. Kids learn about their parents love over a lifetime. Give it time.
2. I've heard some who are attentive to not "feeling" the faith. Some are concerned that they'd be acting like a hypocrite. Better to hide in doubt in faith than to be discovered as a cheat or imposter. This is logical, but leaves one empty. It is like having one foot in two different canoes. Indecision is a decision without rewards.
I'd suggest acting on the faith that you do have. However, take just "one more step" into the uncomfortable. You'll be surprised. One more step will open up more faith, and you'll be surprised. The feelings will come. Much later in faith, you'll realize that feelings are not needed at all. Just Him.
For those open for a challenge and treat, I listened to Rich Mullin's song, "Sometimes, step by step." I had to listen to it twice to let it penetrate. I walked along in rain and dreary weather on a level gravel path with my arms outstretched, raised to heaven, singing my lungs out to God. Try it. It is a glorious prayer time. However, pick a sunny day.
Carinos, my insight today was this: it's never uncomfortable if it's "just one more step"closer to Him.
Upcoming:
28K walk on level elevation
So grateful for the sinus infection relief. Prayers work.
Carinosamente,
Deacon Willie
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
8 May 2013
Fomista, 25k walk
His Steady Hand
Buen Camino
We left today into a steady drizzle for the first km. This led us to a strong ascent up to the Mesata again. It was a breath-stealer of 100+m within 2km. The reward at the top was wonderful, especially because it was the reward of a long walk on the level, wide expanse of the Meseta. How I enjoy the walk along gently rolling hills with relatively even terrain. This part was covered in a gravely trail, much easier walking and less concern about footing and falling. However, once we reached the top of the summit, we headed into a strong, cold windy mist for about 7km. So unpleasant and a strain with this persistent sinus infection.
Enough of that.
A recollection was presented to me that played like that song one hears in the morning and you just can't get it out of your head. The kind that keeps repeating and repeating.
This was mine. It was a strong memory of when I was a little boy, about 2nd grade. I had just gotten out of recovery from an appendicitis that had burst. It was painful, and I remember that it took a long time to get the infection to be arrested. The reward my parents offered for my efforts to get well was a new bike. Yep, my first real bike.
It was late spring, and Dad took me down to a local bike store and told me to pick out ANY bike I wanted. I chose a candy-apple red Schwinn with polished chrome fenders and plastic streamers coming off the backs of the handlebar grips. Later my friends and I would destroy invaluable baseball cards by clothespinning the card from the frame to the spokes. Poor Lou Gerig.
My challenge was that I didn't know how to ride yet. My friends learned while I was recovering, and I was not the free spirit terror they had become as experienced bike riders.
I started with the training wheels. This was only a teaser to what thrill would be in store if I could only learn to ride myself.
This was the old, childhood movie played so vivid in my head today: it was of my dad helping me learn to ride a bike. He would put a hand on the back of the seat, wrap around my back, and place the other hand on my hand-both of us gripping the handle bar.
He would run alongside while I tried with all my will to keep the whole process working simultaneously. Watch the front wheel, keep the pedals going front to back, watch where I was going, move the handlebars in the right direction. All so many things to coordinate. All along, Dad was racing alongside.
I know this sounds weird, but for a time today I could swear I could remember the details so vividly I could recall the feel of his arm up my back, I could feel his stubbly bearded chin on the back of my neck and even the smell of his Old Spice after shave lotion. What a precious memory.
As the memory continued, I recall catching some speed and that devilish front wheel doing it's unpredictable, uncontrollable zigzag wobble. Turn one way, then too much, then the other, too much. Back and forth. Eyes bugged out, goosebumpy and scared. I'm gonna fall. Pain coming. "Daddy help meeeeeeeeee!
I recall a little chuckle and an "I got ya. I got ya." There his hand would be on the back of my seat and his arm drapped around with his other hand now clasped on my hand on the handlebar. Funny, as I recalled the story I could swear that I saw his black dress shoes clomping along just behind me all the while I pedaled along.
A few attempts and off I finally went pedaling like an Olympian and shouting, " Look mom! I'm riding. I'm riding!!!!"
Funny, either they told me and I was too intent on all the riding instructions, I soon discovered that I was clueless about how to stop this sporty Schwin beauty. I thought it was revealing how just when you think you get life rolling, and you're consumed in the joy of it all, you can't find a way to stop yourself from getting hurt. There's a metaphor in there, friends.
Of course, I fell. Probably skinned a knee. Put right back up for another running exercise for my dad and an illusion of how great I was/ would be as a a free-spirit bike rider.
My reflection led me to another time when I got to relive this same experience as the running dad behind the bike for my 5 children as they learned to ride. Same joy. Dad runs along and your little one assumes he/she did it all himself/herself. Afterwards, they get the glory, encouragement, and affirmation for their courage and new skill. "I did it all by myself!"
You can probably guess where God took me today with this memory. How often I/we have our heavenly dad who places his strong arm to brace us up and another to grasp over our hand to help us steer. In too many events, I get so excited by the new freedom I have felt with new experience, new skill, new talent, new potential with all its new opportunities. I/we don't openly say it, but the tendency is to talk about it as - "Look at me! Look at what I can do! What I know!" Just big kids still shouting "Watch me mom/dad!!!
All the while, if I'm/we're ever so observant, I/we might recognize His shoes running along side. Feel his strength holding us up, His hand firmly planted on our hand while helping us guide in His righteous directions. Not sure what His aftershave would smell like, but if the fragrance had a name I'd guess it'd be MERCY. What a sweet fragrance!
I love, loved the imagery God instilled in me today. I could even relate events in life when I got consumed in the pleasure of life's ride and lost control. It's so easy to do. God's creations are for our pleasure. When I get overly consumed by them, place too much importance on them, or worse yet, begin to let them become centerpieces of too much of my time/attention/desire-then I'm headed for an uncontrollable crash.
Fortunately for us, we share a religion where our God cares for us in a crash. No other religion worships a God of compassion for the sinful. Check it out. None do. None, but our God.
Sadly, there are some broken souls who have not been the source of a crash in life. They've done it right. Done the kind and loving thing ,and they end up in the painful tumble. I feel so deeply for them. It's not fair. It's not right. And it hurts so painfully. I am crying now for these dear ones. You know who you are.
No words of advice can salve the pain for you. All I can say with confidence is to be that little kid scared to death and cry out, "Daddy help meeeeeeee! " Our daddy hears our every cry. He cares deeply for us. He counts our every tear. He loves us. He loves you, precious one. He does. Their is no ache in your heart that He doesn't know. Keep crying out to Him, "Daddy, help meeeee!"
And He will. He will. He will. He will. Grip the handlebars with all your might. His arms are around you.
His steady hand is there.
I will try to stop my crybaby tears now, my carinos.
Upcoming:
Carrion de las Condes
A long, gentle downslope
Please pray that God would have mercy on me for this sinus infection. I drain pounds of infectious junk from my nose all day which makes it such a challenge to walk and climb.
Carinosamente,
Deacon Willie
Fomista, 25k walk
His Steady Hand
Buen Camino
We left today into a steady drizzle for the first km. This led us to a strong ascent up to the Mesata again. It was a breath-stealer of 100+m within 2km. The reward at the top was wonderful, especially because it was the reward of a long walk on the level, wide expanse of the Meseta. How I enjoy the walk along gently rolling hills with relatively even terrain. This part was covered in a gravely trail, much easier walking and less concern about footing and falling. However, once we reached the top of the summit, we headed into a strong, cold windy mist for about 7km. So unpleasant and a strain with this persistent sinus infection.
Enough of that.
A recollection was presented to me that played like that song one hears in the morning and you just can't get it out of your head. The kind that keeps repeating and repeating.
This was mine. It was a strong memory of when I was a little boy, about 2nd grade. I had just gotten out of recovery from an appendicitis that had burst. It was painful, and I remember that it took a long time to get the infection to be arrested. The reward my parents offered for my efforts to get well was a new bike. Yep, my first real bike.
It was late spring, and Dad took me down to a local bike store and told me to pick out ANY bike I wanted. I chose a candy-apple red Schwinn with polished chrome fenders and plastic streamers coming off the backs of the handlebar grips. Later my friends and I would destroy invaluable baseball cards by clothespinning the card from the frame to the spokes. Poor Lou Gerig.
My challenge was that I didn't know how to ride yet. My friends learned while I was recovering, and I was not the free spirit terror they had become as experienced bike riders.
I started with the training wheels. This was only a teaser to what thrill would be in store if I could only learn to ride myself.
This was the old, childhood movie played so vivid in my head today: it was of my dad helping me learn to ride a bike. He would put a hand on the back of the seat, wrap around my back, and place the other hand on my hand-both of us gripping the handle bar.
He would run alongside while I tried with all my will to keep the whole process working simultaneously. Watch the front wheel, keep the pedals going front to back, watch where I was going, move the handlebars in the right direction. All so many things to coordinate. All along, Dad was racing alongside.
I know this sounds weird, but for a time today I could swear I could remember the details so vividly I could recall the feel of his arm up my back, I could feel his stubbly bearded chin on the back of my neck and even the smell of his Old Spice after shave lotion. What a precious memory.
As the memory continued, I recall catching some speed and that devilish front wheel doing it's unpredictable, uncontrollable zigzag wobble. Turn one way, then too much, then the other, too much. Back and forth. Eyes bugged out, goosebumpy and scared. I'm gonna fall. Pain coming. "Daddy help meeeeeeeeee!
I recall a little chuckle and an "I got ya. I got ya." There his hand would be on the back of my seat and his arm drapped around with his other hand now clasped on my hand on the handlebar. Funny, as I recalled the story I could swear that I saw his black dress shoes clomping along just behind me all the while I pedaled along.
A few attempts and off I finally went pedaling like an Olympian and shouting, " Look mom! I'm riding. I'm riding!!!!"
Funny, either they told me and I was too intent on all the riding instructions, I soon discovered that I was clueless about how to stop this sporty Schwin beauty. I thought it was revealing how just when you think you get life rolling, and you're consumed in the joy of it all, you can't find a way to stop yourself from getting hurt. There's a metaphor in there, friends.
Of course, I fell. Probably skinned a knee. Put right back up for another running exercise for my dad and an illusion of how great I was/ would be as a a free-spirit bike rider.
My reflection led me to another time when I got to relive this same experience as the running dad behind the bike for my 5 children as they learned to ride. Same joy. Dad runs along and your little one assumes he/she did it all himself/herself. Afterwards, they get the glory, encouragement, and affirmation for their courage and new skill. "I did it all by myself!"
You can probably guess where God took me today with this memory. How often I/we have our heavenly dad who places his strong arm to brace us up and another to grasp over our hand to help us steer. In too many events, I get so excited by the new freedom I have felt with new experience, new skill, new talent, new potential with all its new opportunities. I/we don't openly say it, but the tendency is to talk about it as - "Look at me! Look at what I can do! What I know!" Just big kids still shouting "Watch me mom/dad!!!
All the while, if I'm/we're ever so observant, I/we might recognize His shoes running along side. Feel his strength holding us up, His hand firmly planted on our hand while helping us guide in His righteous directions. Not sure what His aftershave would smell like, but if the fragrance had a name I'd guess it'd be MERCY. What a sweet fragrance!
I love, loved the imagery God instilled in me today. I could even relate events in life when I got consumed in the pleasure of life's ride and lost control. It's so easy to do. God's creations are for our pleasure. When I get overly consumed by them, place too much importance on them, or worse yet, begin to let them become centerpieces of too much of my time/attention/desire-then I'm headed for an uncontrollable crash.
Fortunately for us, we share a religion where our God cares for us in a crash. No other religion worships a God of compassion for the sinful. Check it out. None do. None, but our God.
Sadly, there are some broken souls who have not been the source of a crash in life. They've done it right. Done the kind and loving thing ,and they end up in the painful tumble. I feel so deeply for them. It's not fair. It's not right. And it hurts so painfully. I am crying now for these dear ones. You know who you are.
No words of advice can salve the pain for you. All I can say with confidence is to be that little kid scared to death and cry out, "Daddy help meeeeeeee! " Our daddy hears our every cry. He cares deeply for us. He counts our every tear. He loves us. He loves you, precious one. He does. Their is no ache in your heart that He doesn't know. Keep crying out to Him, "Daddy, help meeeee!"
And He will. He will. He will. He will. Grip the handlebars with all your might. His arms are around you.
His steady hand is there.
I will try to stop my crybaby tears now, my carinos.
Upcoming:
Carrion de las Condes
A long, gentle downslope
Please pray that God would have mercy on me for this sinus infection. I drain pounds of infectious junk from my nose all day which makes it such a challenge to walk and climb.
Carinosamente,
Deacon Willie
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Castojeriz
7 May 2013
Privileged
Buen Camino,
Today we walked 30.6 km. The albergue we intended to stay at was not open which pushed us on another 6k. This extra was a struggle. The sinus infection I fight takes my breath away and my stuffy nose running with green junk is so hampering. Well, there are problems and there are inconveniences. This is the latter.
The walk today was overcast with a cool nip in the air. It was the Meseta, a rolling plateau of relatively unchanging landscape. Some claim this is boring. I found it a gift. Because of the lack of elevations, I was able to walk without as much worry of falling or tripping on stones and rocks. It became a clean canvass for the artwork God would paint on my heart today. I don't know why I/we crave all the drama of striking landscapes in our life. Boring is good. This was a potent day of listening.
The good bishop and I had a wonderful conversation the other day about the imagery in John's gospel. He pointed to an example, the discussion of which, stirred me today.
He referenced a line in John that jdescribes that 'Nicodemus came to Jesus 'in the night.' Also that 'Judas left Jesus 'in the night.' One may dwell on the thought that John was merely pointing out the time of day these events occurred. I never contemplated it beyond that thought either. Eric suggested that for Nicodemus, he was trying to leave his darkness and enter into the light of Jesus. In Judas' case, he was leaving the light of Jesus and entering a place of darkness and sin. You see, one trying to shed darkness, one trying to flee the light into the darkness of sin.
The camino offers long periods of reflection. Mine today was in the company of Nicodemus. It began with my contemplation of what darkness still lingered within me. I was led to recall times I was playing God of my life. That is, the times I held on to the notion that if I did 'this' or accomplished 'this' and behaved like 'this' I deserved or earned the reward that I was aiming toward. It was a notion of a classic cause and effect relationship. I worked for it, I want it, I deserve it. Whatever the 'what' is.
In uglier moments, I recalled the moments during life when I was that spoiled little brat demanding my way because 'I want it.' Times when I insisted that I deserve it. Times when I was jaded or so full of myself or so consumed with what I want, and what I want because, after all, that's what's 'fair.' Yea, it was an ugly picture of a spoiled little boy always wanting and, dare I say, demanding his way because he believed he 'earned' it. I was full of all of the classic excuses and 'yes, but' and rationalizations of 'well the thing is.' As if I was Perry Mason presenting a law argument to God. Hilarious.
You can see now how Nicodemus wanted to flee the darkness. A few km of those recollections and how I wanted to shed the darkness and run to Jesus.
Gratefully, Jesus gave me a new insight today. That is, that I am 'privileged.'
Privileged. Then He rolled a slide show in my mind of the privileges in my life. It was like the movie, A Wonderful Life, and I just discovered Zuzu's pedals. Privileges of all the undeserved privileges/graces in my life.
It was a privilege to be Ray and Mickey's boy. My mom and dad were fiercely hard working blue collar workers. I recall an awareness moment when learning the reason my dad wore the same dress shoes, year after year, was because of a sacrifice he made to keep us kids in shoes we kept outgrowing.
It was a privilege to have the college education I had and ministry training in the church. My mom, grandma, my sweet Aunt Jen and Uncle Len were/are radiant examples of Catholic worship.
It was a privilege marry so well and into such a powerful Amore family of laughter-loving, faith-filled, and fiercely loyal family to one another. Not sure about your in-laws. When death invades your life, my in-laws were bulwarks of support and love. Being in their family is a privilege.
It is a privilege to have the bride I do. Her loyalty and pride in me is enormous, not to mention our love for each other.
It was a privilege to have our first born son for 28 years. The memory of his death is still like putting my heart through a shredder. What a privilege to have had his love. I recall the pleasure it gave me to stroke his chin as a sign of affection.
It is a privilege to see my children, as adults, who genuinely love one another. They call on one another and take pleasure in being together. It is a special privilege to see my sons grow into loving husbands and tenderly loving dads. With confidence, I look forward to the noble, loving man my daughter will one day marry and the proud Pop I'll be to walk her down the aisle.
It is a privilege to have great friends at our church. So many powerhouse men of faith who support men's ministry. The privilege of a great church community to worship with.
It is a privilege to serve and be a part of the Prince Ind family. Oh what a dear privilege to be invited into the good n difficult, the joyful n sorrowful, the confusion n clarity of God's working in their lives. Oh so privileged.
I keep rattling on, but you can make your own list of God-ordained privileges. Contemplate them. The reflection shouts away anxiety, it scares away the energy vampires that steal joy, it grows peace, a delicious peace in one's soul.
The supreme privilege in this reflection is that Jesus would consider me/you/us worthy enough to know him, love him, and serve him.
There is nothing I/we can earn to force true gifts in life. The rich ones are mere privileges granted my him.
I/we are all just beggars of his mercy and love. Supreme privileges given to his brothers and sisters.
How rich we are. This says it all:
"His grace alone is sufficient"
Upcoming:
Formista
Carinosamente,
Deacon Willie
Privileged
Buen Camino,
Today we walked 30.6 km. The albergue we intended to stay at was not open which pushed us on another 6k. This extra was a struggle. The sinus infection I fight takes my breath away and my stuffy nose running with green junk is so hampering. Well, there are problems and there are inconveniences. This is the latter.
The walk today was overcast with a cool nip in the air. It was the Meseta, a rolling plateau of relatively unchanging landscape. Some claim this is boring. I found it a gift. Because of the lack of elevations, I was able to walk without as much worry of falling or tripping on stones and rocks. It became a clean canvass for the artwork God would paint on my heart today. I don't know why I/we crave all the drama of striking landscapes in our life. Boring is good. This was a potent day of listening.
The good bishop and I had a wonderful conversation the other day about the imagery in John's gospel. He pointed to an example, the discussion of which, stirred me today.
He referenced a line in John that jdescribes that 'Nicodemus came to Jesus 'in the night.' Also that 'Judas left Jesus 'in the night.' One may dwell on the thought that John was merely pointing out the time of day these events occurred. I never contemplated it beyond that thought either. Eric suggested that for Nicodemus, he was trying to leave his darkness and enter into the light of Jesus. In Judas' case, he was leaving the light of Jesus and entering a place of darkness and sin. You see, one trying to shed darkness, one trying to flee the light into the darkness of sin.
The camino offers long periods of reflection. Mine today was in the company of Nicodemus. It began with my contemplation of what darkness still lingered within me. I was led to recall times I was playing God of my life. That is, the times I held on to the notion that if I did 'this' or accomplished 'this' and behaved like 'this' I deserved or earned the reward that I was aiming toward. It was a notion of a classic cause and effect relationship. I worked for it, I want it, I deserve it. Whatever the 'what' is.
In uglier moments, I recalled the moments during life when I was that spoiled little brat demanding my way because 'I want it.' Times when I insisted that I deserve it. Times when I was jaded or so full of myself or so consumed with what I want, and what I want because, after all, that's what's 'fair.' Yea, it was an ugly picture of a spoiled little boy always wanting and, dare I say, demanding his way because he believed he 'earned' it. I was full of all of the classic excuses and 'yes, but' and rationalizations of 'well the thing is.' As if I was Perry Mason presenting a law argument to God. Hilarious.
You can see now how Nicodemus wanted to flee the darkness. A few km of those recollections and how I wanted to shed the darkness and run to Jesus.
Gratefully, Jesus gave me a new insight today. That is, that I am 'privileged.'
Privileged. Then He rolled a slide show in my mind of the privileges in my life. It was like the movie, A Wonderful Life, and I just discovered Zuzu's pedals. Privileges of all the undeserved privileges/graces in my life.
It was a privilege to be Ray and Mickey's boy. My mom and dad were fiercely hard working blue collar workers. I recall an awareness moment when learning the reason my dad wore the same dress shoes, year after year, was because of a sacrifice he made to keep us kids in shoes we kept outgrowing.
It was a privilege to have the college education I had and ministry training in the church. My mom, grandma, my sweet Aunt Jen and Uncle Len were/are radiant examples of Catholic worship.
It was a privilege marry so well and into such a powerful Amore family of laughter-loving, faith-filled, and fiercely loyal family to one another. Not sure about your in-laws. When death invades your life, my in-laws were bulwarks of support and love. Being in their family is a privilege.
It is a privilege to have the bride I do. Her loyalty and pride in me is enormous, not to mention our love for each other.
It was a privilege to have our first born son for 28 years. The memory of his death is still like putting my heart through a shredder. What a privilege to have had his love. I recall the pleasure it gave me to stroke his chin as a sign of affection.
It is a privilege to see my children, as adults, who genuinely love one another. They call on one another and take pleasure in being together. It is a special privilege to see my sons grow into loving husbands and tenderly loving dads. With confidence, I look forward to the noble, loving man my daughter will one day marry and the proud Pop I'll be to walk her down the aisle.
It is a privilege to have great friends at our church. So many powerhouse men of faith who support men's ministry. The privilege of a great church community to worship with.
It is a privilege to serve and be a part of the Prince Ind family. Oh what a dear privilege to be invited into the good n difficult, the joyful n sorrowful, the confusion n clarity of God's working in their lives. Oh so privileged.
I keep rattling on, but you can make your own list of God-ordained privileges. Contemplate them. The reflection shouts away anxiety, it scares away the energy vampires that steal joy, it grows peace, a delicious peace in one's soul.
The supreme privilege in this reflection is that Jesus would consider me/you/us worthy enough to know him, love him, and serve him.
There is nothing I/we can earn to force true gifts in life. The rich ones are mere privileges granted my him.
I/we are all just beggars of his mercy and love. Supreme privileges given to his brothers and sisters.
How rich we are. This says it all:
"His grace alone is sufficient"
Upcoming:
Formista
Carinosamente,
Deacon Willie
Monday, May 6, 2013
6 May 2013
Tardajos, east of Hornillos
Fortitude
Buen Camino,
Yesterday I awoke to a full blown sinus infection. There was no way I could have taken on the steep climbs and descents. I joined other pilgrims who took the bus into Burgos, a large industrial city. The centerpiece to the city was the gothic cathedral. It was my first rest day, and I enjoyed taking the tour of all of the altars dedicated to the saints. Some of them had been created in 1496, just after Columbus sailed. They were magnificently detailed works of art.
Many of past pilgrims I thought I lost days ago arrived to my surprise. It was a great reunion.
The next day I had just enough recovery to be able to breathe and tame some of the coughing up junk. I met with the good bishop and Joyce by mid day to do this simple 10k walk.
Along the way, Bishop Pike, aka Eric, and I discussed the legend of a city we visited many days ago- Santa Domingo de la Calzada. There is a beautiful legend credited to this place.
Sometime around 1100, a German family was on pilgrimage to Santiago. They had their young teen son on the journey. They decided to stop at an inn along the way when the owner's daughter took a strong liking to the son. She wanted a romantic relation with the son. He was dedicated to his pilgrimage and discouraged her. This angered the girl who chose to smuggle a silver cup into his belongings as a revenge. She reported him and, as was the law, any pilgrim caught stealing was to be hanged. The parents' pleas were useless. The boy was hanged.
The parents, though saddened, continued the pilgrimage all the way to Santiago. There, they had a vision that convinced them that their son was still alive. Some versions of the legend are that Santiago was kneeling beneath the boy holding his feet up to prevent the strangulation.
The parents walked back to the inn to discover, in fact, that the son was alive. They ran to the local mayor and pleaded that they be permitted to cut their son down from the gallows. The mayor was having dinner with his family. His reply, "Your son is as dead as these two cooked chickens." At that, the chickens grew feathers and wings and beak and flew off.
To this day, statues of Santo Domingo are with chickens. The church of his name has s small coup to the rear of the church and the roosters crow like crazy within the church. (That's all true, saw it myself.)
I realize there might well be some who dismiss this as yet another fun legend. What became the discussion and reflection I enjoyed today is much deeper.
For one, God still calls us on journeys of faith, just like this family. Along our journeys, there are those who will tempt us to be unfaithful. To abandon the journey. In fact, the temptations are great and so pleasurable. Even being faithful and resisting temptation does not guarantee a reward of a trouble-free life.
Nonetheless, God does still intervene in our life with loving messengers of care and protection. Miraculous things still do happen.
What I took out of the story is the importance of fortitude for the journey. That is, to be strong while following what God has called for me to do. Right now, it is to be strong for this last half of the camino. Pilgrims are dropping out and some too injured and pained to continue. Some have no more endurance for the inconveniences and long roads ahead.
So it is with us too. I have counseled and been spiritual director for many who often say, " I'm not sure this is what God wants me to do. or I'm not enjoying 'this' and I know God wants me to be happy, so He must be calling me to something else. Some lose strength and talk as if he/she deserves a diversion./an indulgence into some shady pleasure because they've worked SO hard, SO long that they deserve ' a little sinful pleasure once in a while.'
Diversion, yes, sinful indulgence- wow!
We need fortitude to continue the course we're on. After all, many believe that it was God who started them on it. When the journey is difficult and sacrificial, it is us who are trying to rewrite the journey's trail. Probably not God at all.
And not only the activities on the trail, but more importantly who they're journeying with. Some, no all too many, have raised the banner of their self happiness to include dumping their covenant relationships. The wake of agony of this causes me such deep grief. My love for me sweetheart is so precious I could never be the source of such torment. Besides, she would hunt me down like Sacajewa with a GPS.
Friends, the call for fortitude was strong for me today.
Stay the course.
Romans 5:1-10?ish articulates it well.
Upcoming:
Good walk toward Hornillas.
Carinosamente,
Deacon Willie
Tardajos, east of Hornillos
Fortitude
Buen Camino,
Yesterday I awoke to a full blown sinus infection. There was no way I could have taken on the steep climbs and descents. I joined other pilgrims who took the bus into Burgos, a large industrial city. The centerpiece to the city was the gothic cathedral. It was my first rest day, and I enjoyed taking the tour of all of the altars dedicated to the saints. Some of them had been created in 1496, just after Columbus sailed. They were magnificently detailed works of art.
Many of past pilgrims I thought I lost days ago arrived to my surprise. It was a great reunion.
The next day I had just enough recovery to be able to breathe and tame some of the coughing up junk. I met with the good bishop and Joyce by mid day to do this simple 10k walk.
Along the way, Bishop Pike, aka Eric, and I discussed the legend of a city we visited many days ago- Santa Domingo de la Calzada. There is a beautiful legend credited to this place.
Sometime around 1100, a German family was on pilgrimage to Santiago. They had their young teen son on the journey. They decided to stop at an inn along the way when the owner's daughter took a strong liking to the son. She wanted a romantic relation with the son. He was dedicated to his pilgrimage and discouraged her. This angered the girl who chose to smuggle a silver cup into his belongings as a revenge. She reported him and, as was the law, any pilgrim caught stealing was to be hanged. The parents' pleas were useless. The boy was hanged.
The parents, though saddened, continued the pilgrimage all the way to Santiago. There, they had a vision that convinced them that their son was still alive. Some versions of the legend are that Santiago was kneeling beneath the boy holding his feet up to prevent the strangulation.
The parents walked back to the inn to discover, in fact, that the son was alive. They ran to the local mayor and pleaded that they be permitted to cut their son down from the gallows. The mayor was having dinner with his family. His reply, "Your son is as dead as these two cooked chickens." At that, the chickens grew feathers and wings and beak and flew off.
To this day, statues of Santo Domingo are with chickens. The church of his name has s small coup to the rear of the church and the roosters crow like crazy within the church. (That's all true, saw it myself.)
I realize there might well be some who dismiss this as yet another fun legend. What became the discussion and reflection I enjoyed today is much deeper.
For one, God still calls us on journeys of faith, just like this family. Along our journeys, there are those who will tempt us to be unfaithful. To abandon the journey. In fact, the temptations are great and so pleasurable. Even being faithful and resisting temptation does not guarantee a reward of a trouble-free life.
Nonetheless, God does still intervene in our life with loving messengers of care and protection. Miraculous things still do happen.
What I took out of the story is the importance of fortitude for the journey. That is, to be strong while following what God has called for me to do. Right now, it is to be strong for this last half of the camino. Pilgrims are dropping out and some too injured and pained to continue. Some have no more endurance for the inconveniences and long roads ahead.
So it is with us too. I have counseled and been spiritual director for many who often say, " I'm not sure this is what God wants me to do. or I'm not enjoying 'this' and I know God wants me to be happy, so He must be calling me to something else. Some lose strength and talk as if he/she deserves a diversion./an indulgence into some shady pleasure because they've worked SO hard, SO long that they deserve ' a little sinful pleasure once in a while.'
Diversion, yes, sinful indulgence- wow!
We need fortitude to continue the course we're on. After all, many believe that it was God who started them on it. When the journey is difficult and sacrificial, it is us who are trying to rewrite the journey's trail. Probably not God at all.
And not only the activities on the trail, but more importantly who they're journeying with. Some, no all too many, have raised the banner of their self happiness to include dumping their covenant relationships. The wake of agony of this causes me such deep grief. My love for me sweetheart is so precious I could never be the source of such torment. Besides, she would hunt me down like Sacajewa with a GPS.
Friends, the call for fortitude was strong for me today.
Stay the course.
Romans 5:1-10?ish articulates it well.
Upcoming:
Good walk toward Hornillas.
Carinosamente,
Deacon Willie
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