update: Its the Journey

But its great to finish too.

   By the long lapse after the last post if you weren't following the Facebook journey photos you might assume I stopped there with crippling feet issues.  I just felt like facebooking rather than blogging here because that's where i uploaded photos. I finished a little over a month ago.
    I soldiered on, and made it to Santiago. I powered through to Burgos, which has a magnificent Cathedral, then bused through the Messeta to Leon (another classic beautiful massive Cathedral)  then decided to start shipping my back pack every stop to the end. My feet by Leon did not want to be connected to me so I had to start lightening the load or they would protest like a stubborn horse and simply not move.
For those wishing to do it who see no spiritual merit in holding on your back what Mary likely got to put on a donkey, the Comodo Camino and Jacobo services that pick up your back pack from one place to another delivering it before you get to the next alberge ten miles away is well worth the five Euros. The innkeepers at the alberges were very helpful in arranging this. This method however forces you to plan better and make daily reservations in advance (in my case in broken pidgeon spanish) to reserve a bed and guarantee that the place will receive and hold your back pack for you. I should note that this takes considerable trust - which was never violated as nothing was ever stolen or even late in arriving. The apps come in extremely handy (essential even) in finding the alberges in the town the projected distance away to where you wish to walk.
   To get the official Camino certificate you only need to walk the last 100 kilometers, so many people start there around the town Sarria. At Sarria the mass of crowds picks up with more of a tourist than athletic flair with everything from singing groups of pilgrimming geriatrics doing little more than five miles a day for two weeks sipping Spanish wine along the way to the people who started in San Jean in France.
     I decided to stop in Santiago de Compostelle while others continued to the "end of the world" as it was once believed to be in "Finistere." Its also a good excuse to get a good view of the Atlantic Ocean and a swim in. I joked that as New Jersey is the end of the world I didn't have to keep walking. That was my excuse for heading  for a few days to a beach town instead.
    I was fortunate enough to be able to avail of the various ointment treatments and medications that the pharmacy and other pilgrims recommended. A particularly kind woman from Santa Cruz California told me about Cyprus essence oil which did work magic in toning down inflammation of feet and legs. I had to reluctantly pop a few ibupophrin.
     This was one of the most rewarding trips I have ever forced myself to do- it is sort of a calling. You cannot finish unless you know God wants you there.
I experienced all sorts of things coming against me-  a near fatal fall nearly down a cliff trapped in place by bramble bush thorns that had me bleeding, second degree sun burn that required cremes and bandage dressings, feet that wouldn't cooperate in going one after the other, attacks of swarming flies, and heat in Spanish July and August that had me at the point of nearly passing out-but for the town fountains that popped up miraculously out of nowhere as if they anticipated you would be drop dead thirsty by then.
    I felt Jesus showing me what "I thirst" means, what it means to carry a load so heavy you drop, what blood dripping down your forehead from piercing thorns felt like and how lonely it can get in a desert. I also felt incredible joy at the fellowship and communion with believers, joy at learning how far I can push my body and how it heals, joy at finishing a goal set, joy and thanksgiving for all the beautiful encounters with local people, joy and thanksgiving for the great Spanish food (and wine!) and joy at marveling daily at all the natural wonders and beauty everywhere around, in corn fields, in sunflower fields, in woods with streams and mountaintops.
  I was an immigrant, a visitor in the country where the hosts had Spanish accents. They could have been mean or nice. They were uniformly without exception spectacularly nice. It helps you see life differently from the immigrant perspective. Immigrants are at the mercy of their hosts in a lot of ways. The hosts can be welcoming and they have the power to make you sick. Its pretty clear that the Holy Spirit has no interest in making anyone sick.


This was the summer of my content- a bliss born of the Peace of Christ, who walks with us and meets our every need.
   I hope you go on this journey one day. You will never forget it.