That's right, it might sound a little more "gangster" than I typically aim for, but that's a phrase our group developed early on in our pilgrimage and thought it might be worthwhile to share with y'all. Essentially, walking the Camino de Santiago is more than just simply getting from point A to point B each day (although that certainly does motivate one to continue putting one foot in front of the other), it also consists of the journey to get there, and the adventures along the way. We realized early on how important it is to enjoy the walk rather than spending the entire time wishing you have already arrived, which, believe me, is a huge temptation.
Reading from St. Josemaría along "The Way"
In case you're wondering, I was blessed to have very few blisters coupled with a fairly high pain tolerance. Needless to say, the pain I experienced from the blisters was mild in comparison to the interior battles I fought each day.
At one point one of the students made a side comment, "the mind
quits before the body does," and she didn't realize this at the time,
but those words spoke directly to my heart. While I was doing pretty
well physically, on the inside I was struggling. I felt spiritually dry,
far from the Lord, and as though I were doing this walk for the
complete wrong reasons. I later on realized that although I felt that way, that was by no means the indicator of the actual truth of the matter. It wasn't until one of the final days that I finally named the spirit of entitlement I experienced. I felt entitled to "feel God" as though I deserved all sorts of good feelings for doing this walk "for him." But that sort of attitude doesn't really reflect one who is doing something entirely for the Lord...it sounds to me a bit like I was actually doing this for myself and any side effects were just an added bonus.
And then it dawned on me, the mochilas, the backpacks on our backs. Those mochilas represented more than just a convenient arrangement of materials to lug our possessions from place to place. Rather, the backpacks we carried represented, in a much more tangible way for some than others, Jesus' cross, as well as our own personal crosses. I can't speak for the whole group, but after thinking of it in that light, I was reminded that I didn't come all the way here to hike nearly 200 miles for me. I came here to do this for Jesus, so if He allows me to experience no good feelings the entire time I really can't be too upset. The feelings and/or lack thereof do not validate nor negate an experience from happening and even radically transforming us. I would love to share with you all of the little stories and details... but I don't know how to do that. For now, please allow me share a few of the main takeaways from the trip for me:
God provided exactly what each person needed, at every point throughout the trip. Levi and I were in charge of food, and let's be real, even when it looked like all places would be closed for dinner, or nobody would accept a group of 14 hungry Americans, someone would walk by and overhear us and magically make us a paella. It was delightful. And that really happened.
Everything I needed for almost 3 weeks fit into a 45 L backpack. That's pretty neat, huh? I find myself weighed down by so much stuff all the time and it always drives me nuts. I seek ways to be less materialistic, but it is extremely difficult for me and this trip broke me of a lot of personal vanities. Something that I, Kelsey Marie, definitely needed. Again, God provides.
Traveling from place to place is not simply about the destination, it's how you got there. That seems a little cliche and kind of corny, but it's true. As India Arie sings it so wonderfully, "Life is a journey, not a destination." We met another group of 17 from Michigan very early in the trip and one of the young men in the group, Marcus the seminarian, was known for being incredibly fast (as well as an impeccable blister doctor). Marcus, always in the front of the group, using his walking sticks like ski poles and cascading down the mountains like a waterfall, encountered Alli and Jenny one day, who were surprised to see him so far in the back of the group and asked what "he was doing way back here." At hearing the question he looked sad and relayed the fact that he realized he had been so worried about walking so quickly that he hadn't taken much time to actually meet people along the way and travel at a speed other than lightning fast. That was good to hear, and definitely helped us enjoy the walk a little bit more, thanking God for each step we were able to take along the way, knowing that we were here to grow closer to Him.
Our first albergue in León! No, it wasn't a hospital.
There is no reason not to trust God. It's really easy to convince ourselves why it's okay to just take control over certain aspects, like the basic needs of the body, when in reality, the Lord wants to provide for them all. He tells us that in sacred scripture, and it holds true: all the hairs on our heads are accounted for and the Lord looks after them all. There were a few nights when getting into the towns and finding 14 beds to sleep in seemed dismal and unlikely. Somehow, making use of our resources and gifts, the Lord would give to us exactly what we needed: 14 beds (even if it was in a town six miles up and down the road...).
Fr Keith & I near Astorga-day 2
He must increase, I must decrease. That might sound familiar, and that's because it is. John 3:30. John the Baptist's words in regards to Jesus of Nazareth. On this trip, for one of the first times in my life, I was stripped down to the bare bones of KMK (and no, nobody took my clothes when I had them hanging on the line to dry, praise God!). We were surrounded by the same group of 14 very unique individuals literally for 24 hours a day--most nights we all slept right in the same room, just couldn't get away from each other! But that certainly led to myself having a shorter fuse than I would have liked, and my patience was tried constantly. I found myself first failing in opportunities for charity followed by simply serving the other members of the group, student, missionary and priest alike. By the end of the trip, however, I could feel in a much more tangible way, the presence of the Holy Spirit and it was easier than ever before to not only hear what He was telling me, but also follow any promptings. It would certainly not have been the case if I wouldn't have first been broken and poured out for 200 miles. Sometimes that's exactly what God needs to move this heart of stone.
The missionaries! (L-R) Joe, Anna, Levi, myself
I have more thoughts on the Camino, and stories as well. I'll post some shorter posts with pictures and stories so you can hear more as the summer draws on. Be ye prepared! And stay tuned (wink).
A title like that you'd think I was giving away a million dollars or something. No, this is actually just another random post about el Camino. A few people from the group have been posting pictures and as I look at them I can't help but think, "wow I can't believe we were there...and there...and did that... and walked up that..." Needless to say, I'm feeling quite nostalgic today, and well, pretty much every day since we've been back. The day I returned mom's boss came over and commented on how tan I was, which I obviously loved, and yesterday after giving my talk at church a nice woman I know commented on the fact that I should be more tan after getting back from Florida and Spain! Hmph. Vanity of vanities I suppose.... am I right?
The reason I told you that is because my Spanish-ness is already wearing off, and I'm not ready. To honor that, today I tried my hand at making a Tarta de Santiago, an almond cake typical to the region that we were hiking in Spain. It was a fun, and pretty easy baking adventure for me. The hardest part was actually cutting out the stencil of the St. James cross/sword. Let's be real, if I'm going to make a St. James cake, I'm doing the whole thing, no halfway powdered sugar, hence the design. The best part, as it usually is when I cook or bake in mom and dad's house, was using the KitchenAid mixer, the Ninja blender/chopper and having a fully-stocked kitchen with everything that I needed. I blanched almonds for the first time, and it turned out to be a piece of cake (literally....get it??)! Dad and I had some for dessert tonight with a cup of coffee and, as I guessed, I'm still unable to fall asleep from the caffeine I drank at 6 pm. Oh dear.
So the story I'd like to tell you in this post is about our hike this day, I believe day six in the walk, to O'Cebreiro. This just so happened to be one of our hardest and longest days, with a hike of 19+ miles, and after we broke silence with some cafe con leche, everybody split up, as usual, to hike at their own pace. Anna and I decided to walk together for a bit, and it wasn't long after that when we ran into Brother Marcielo (yellow) and Samuel (blue). Brother Marcielo is actually a Franciscan brother from Brazil and he was that guy that became friends with every person along the Camino. It was pretty incredible, actually, and I wonder what it's like for him now that he's back home. He certainly has no problems socializing, and is great at holding a conversation...in Spanish at least. He doesn't speak much English, so I enjoyed being around him to get some valuable practice.
Anna and I ran into the two of them right before we took this picture, and we kind of naturally just split up two and two, Anna talking with Brother and I was talking, mostly listening, with/to Samuel from La Calabria in southern Italy, a beautiful part of Italy flowing with incredible cheese and beer (apparently...sounds like another magical land with which I am quite familiar). Without even knowing my name, Samuel just starts rattling off Italian words and phrases to me, speaking with me as any excited, extroverted, 19-year-old boy without mom and dad would do. Luckily for him I was able to understand and follow most of what he was saying, thanks to Matteo Gilebbi, my Italian 201 T.A. from sophomore year. We ended up walking and talking for over an hour and a half, sharing life, trying to translate what he was saying into both Spanish and English, and trying to help him understand my Spanish, because I speak that much better than I do Italian. We ended up actually having a pretty deep conversation and I even attempted sharing the Gospel with him in Italian/Spanish! That's a first for me, and although he wasn't really having it, it definitely pushed me outside my comfort zone. It was incredibly interesting hearing the common rebuttals we hear today in the U.S. of why we don't need the Church..but in Italian. It was hard for me to explain the importance, so I tried to get broader and move to the whole relationship with Jesus thing to see how that would work. Looking back, I'd say it was a good hike!
When we got to the top of a crazy steep hill that we dominated in very little time, not only was I out of breath, but I was also out of food, and needed some lunch. Samuel didn't seem to desire the same lunch as me (bocadillo with jamón and cheese...my staple lunch every single day), so I walked into a bar and that was where 3 nice Spaniards put a handful of peanuts and a beer in my hand, striking up a conversation with me. I always enjoy seeing the look on native Spanish-speakers' faces when they see that not only do I understand what they are saying, but I respond with wit. If I had a euro for every time that happened on the trip... that would be worthless, because now I'm in the U.S. But at the time, I could've treated a lot of people to ice cream! I ended up remaining friends with those guys throughout the rest of the trip, and one of them even ended up being the chief of police in Valencia, kind of a big deal around there!
Saw this more than once..not in Kansas anymore.
They warned me not to go to O'Cebreiro, the town we were headed to for the night because it was already full, as in, we would be like Joseph and Mary and there would be no room in the inn. "Whatever," I thought to myself, "they haven't gone there, how do they know?" Well I came to find out that sometimes, it's real easy to just know what's going on, especially when you're trying to get room for 14 people in a town with one albergue during the busiest Camino season of the year. They were right, and by the time we all got there, we were 60th in line on the wait list and we had to figure out where to go to actually find beds. Joe pushed me to use any skills I had with the language and work my magic with a lady behind a bar to get some numbers for any hostels nearby. She, an angel of a woman, helped us much more than we deserved, and thanks to her she hooked us up with Albergue Santa Maria in Alto do Poio, a very small town six miles down the road.
Joe and I made the executive decision to book 14 beds there and then had to figure out how to get from point A (O'Cebreiro) to point B (shower, clean laundry, bed 6 miles away). Everything ended up working out great and once again, the Lord provided exactly what we needed! Above is a "video journal" of me, right after meeting those Spaniards at lunchtime. And in case you're wondering, the majority of us took a taxi to the hostel, and some walked the six miles, hiking a marathon in one day, through the mountains of Spain nonetheless. Now that is noteworthy.
Just an average a.m. walk. Not bad, I'd say.
More stories to come! There were a lot of moments of grace and clarity along the way, and I'm still trying to figure out the best way to share them with you. Until then, enjoy a few bearable jokes, dorky videos and Christine's pictures, because apparently I like all of hers better than my own. Hasta luego!
Christine, a New Jersey photographer extraordinaire.
Well, after showing my parents most of my pictures tonight, I thought to myself, "Self, you kind of ripped off all your readers for not sharing more pictures/stories/etc from the Camino." And then an interior battle waged war as I heard this weekend's first reading at Mass over and over... "vanity of vanities...all things are vanity!" In hindsight I'm laughing, thinking about how much time I spent simply guessing and checking my motives for doing something as small as write a blog post, which really doesn't hold much eternal weight at all.
Moving along...
I thought I'd post a couple times this week (at least that's the plan! one never knows..) just a few pictures and a story or two in each post, so for especially those of you that have been praying for and supporting me, you can feel like you were actually there, walking the Camino right alongside me. I also have a few cheesy videos, so you can really get a feel for the walk. Or at least a view with sounds. The pictures below are courtesy of Christine.
First day walking, just outside León.
Someone left these here? Hopefully on purpose.
Cool mosaic coming into town.
One of my favorite albergues, or rather, hostels.
Story from the first day of hiking: Levi and I, in charge of food, decided to go to the supermarket to get some fixings for lunch. It was our first experience doing so, and I'd chalk it up to be a success. At the first market we talked with the workers for quite a while before getting what we needed: fresh jamón (ham), cheese and bread for sandwiches for lunch, as well as a couple new friends who wanted to talk politics with us, but were really sweet. We also wanted to bring back some bakery cookies for our group, so as we decided which kind we'd want, the woman asked which ones we were thinking about, then broke one in half and gave it to us to try. She then pointed out another, broke it in half, and gave it to us to try. She was sweet as sugar, literally! Great spanish experience #1.
A typical time of fraternizing during "second breakfast." In Ospital de Órbigo..
There were two markets in town and I'll be honest, I felt bad not going to the other one, so we went there post-siesta to pick up the next morning's breakfast, since we'd be leaving before we could grab anything anywhere else. When we put our groceries on the counter the woman didn't even hesitate to give us each a chewy candy, just because. She told us that her 13-year-old daughter hiked from there to Santiago last year with her dad, and that her 7-year-old son will be hiking it next year with his dad. That's essentially the same hike we did, just a few miles less! Pretty crazy, but also pretty common I'm sure. She herself has never actually had the opportunity to hike, and mostly because she has to stay and work seven days a week at the supermarket. What a good woman. We left with smiles on our faces, despite the fact that we showed up to dinner late. Totally worth it. Great spanish experience #2.
Our best group photo of the trip, in my opinion. With the "pilgrim" (statue).
Mass here first night. We are spoiled.
The dueña at the albergue liked us so much she asked to take our picture!
I don't have this much to say about every day, I swear, but I do want to say that this was the same day that we encountered Talitha, another Catholic missionary, believe it or not! She is a missionary with CCO--Catholic Christian Outreach, a Canadian-based organization that does essentially the exact same thing that FOCUS does, but in Canada. We actually use some of their materials, UR anyone? That's FOCUS lingo for "Ultimate Relationship," the booklets some missionaries use to present the Gospel.
Until my next post, here is a video of me keeping myself entertained to keep you entertained!
And here is another... I just couldn't help myself.
Please forgive the hiatus, as usual. I just returned from the Camino de Santiago in Spain, which I will be debriefing in longer detail in an upcoming post--so stay tuned! However, I'm currently in the process of catching up on emails, writing cards, organizing and sorting out my life, and I noticed an open word document on my desktop titled, BlogPost7/8/13.docx and thought, "Hm, I don't remember what that is." I originally wrote it in hopes of posting it before I left for the big trek across Spain, but as you read it you might realize I was a bit frazzled by the time I actually got back to my parents' house in WI to actually finish the post. So, out of a bit of vanity and desire to not waste a perfectly good post, here's the story of my travel returning from NST in early July...
Hello dear readers, I’m writing to you today from a nice
little spot at gate A6 in the ATL airport. It’s 6:18 am, I have a cup of coffee
within an arm’s reach, and my shoulders are sore from carrying around my large
brown purse and a cloth tote bag filled to the brim since 3 pm yesterday. It’s
nice to be seated.
In case you’re
wondering what I’m doing in Atlanta, well, let me entreat you with a small
tale. And if you didn’t think I was a bit spacey before, you might have a
different opinion after hearing my story now. Way back in the beginning of May
when I purchased my round-trip flight for NST, the dates for all the deans and
leadership positions to leave was July 7th. In the course of the
month and time at NST that quickly changed to be the 6th, so now I
was stuck with this awkward day-after-everybody-moves-out ticket, constantly
needing to explain to people why I was leaving later than everyone else—for no
particular reason minus my own faithfulness to following the rules. [In case
you’re wondering, I did look into moving my flight up a day, but with a cost of
nearly $200 to switch it, it really wasn’t worth it.]
Yesterday when I got to the Ft. Myers airport I first had to
get my large suitcase down from 60 lbs to 50, with not much room to spare in my
“carry on” (which, did I mention, is a plastic tote bag that doesn’t actually
close?), and after getting it to 53 the nice man behind the bag-drop counter
let it go through without charging me the $100 (PTL!=Praise the Lord). I got to
my gate, plopped down with my many belongings, wearing my Pope Francis shirt
and a smile, and patiently waited. It wasn’t long before the Delta attendants
announced that due to a computer glitch all flights were delayed about a half
an hour. Ruh roh!I
knew I had about 30 minutes between landing and departure for my next flight in
Atlanta, so if the flight really did leave at 5:17 as they said it would, I’d
have about 15 minutes to exit plane 1 and get to plane 2.
Honestly, at this point, and actually throughout the entire
day, I was excited at the opportunity for adventure! I’ve had some good luck in
the past in terms of running from one flight to the next, and I always want to
see what the Lord has in store for me. We got off the plane with six minutes to get from B26 to B3. I
became one of those people that I’ve never wanted to be in the airport: the one
frantically running from one place to another weighed down by many heavy bags,
wearing a sweatshirt (avoiding those checked bag fees!) and sweat pouring off
of me. Gross.
By the time the other sad passengers and myself got to B3 it
was 7:23 and our flight was supposed to leave in two minutes. Sadly, the doors
were already closed and all hopes of getting on that plane were out the window.
Literally: I looked out the window and saw the plane sitting there, waiting to
take-off.
The rest of the night’s flights were all booked, so the nice
people at Delta gave me a hotel and two meal vouchers as compensation along
with a nice amenities kit with a toothbrush, clean t-shirt, etc.
I made a few friends along the way and made it my personal
mission to brighten anyone’s evening I could, starting with the first woman
that helped me at the Delta counter. I hardly said anything at all, but she
told me I was “such a nice girl” and she hoped I could get on the 10 pm flight,
for which I had a stand-by ticket. She also checked to make sure I was over 18
because she thought she was dealing with a minor! What a compliment.
A few other waiting lines later, my last one for the evening
was to check on my luggage and make sure it was still getting to O’Hare when I
was. The sweet lady behind the counter took great care of me, and then as I was
packing up my many bags (it takes me a few minutes to simply pick up and
arrange my belongings, fitting them like a puzzle on my body), she stood back,
looked at me and said in a great southern accent, “Honey, you such a pretty
girl.” Again, what a nice affirmation. After hours in the airport I certainly
didn’t feel too pretty, so that was assuring.
I then walked right out the shuttle for my hotel (which
happened to just arrive), got to the
hotel and had the opportunity to clean up and get a few hours of sleep in a
delightfully comfortable queen-sized bed. Now, here I am, listening to Nancy
remind us that there is a two-bag limit, one being a personal item. Yikes,
let’s see how this goes…
So, there you have it. I ended up getting back home around 11:00 am and needed to completely unpack, organize my room and repack for the Camino in less than 18 hours! In case you're wondering, I did make it, although probably gained a few gray hairs in the process.
Can't wait to tell you all about the Camino! Here's a little preview of how it went:
