Letter Two
One late morning, after walking about four miles on the Camino, we stopped at a cafe and ordered espressos and sat outside, right along the path, on a rickety table, then the tears came.
Dear Friend,I wanted to share a moment from our pilgrimage in Spain. One late morning, after walking about four miles, Dad, Jes, and I stopped at a cafe on the side of the trail. We all ordered espressos and sat outside, right along the path, on a rickety table. The cafe was loud and boisterous. The Camino was extremely busy that morning.
Dad took a gentle sip of his espresso and then looked at us. I could tell he was reading our thoughts. He began to give us a fatherly chat on how we need not let the crowd bother or distract our journey. We nodded and sipped our espresso quietly, and watched the pilgrims. I sat there and thought about how I saw a twenty-year-old man pass me an hour ago who was barefoot. He had long, tangled hair and a walking stick, and his bare feet were going fast on the rocky path. I thought, why? What was his reason?
Dad finished his espresso and asked us what we wanted from this walk, our pilgrimage on the Camino. What was one thing we hoped to see happen? Jes and I took a deep breath. We knew this was coming. I was surprised it took Dad this long to ask us this.
Jes put down his espresso and slowly started crying.
Here we are, at an outdoor cafe in the middle of the countryside of Spain (God knows where), surrounded by pilgrims searching for the meaning of life or maybe just a good vacation. And Jes begins to let it pour out. Dad teared up with him. Dad usually doesn’t let anyone cry alone in his presence. Jes said he desperately wanted to hear from God about what to do with his life. He is currently going through a divorce, sold his marriage home twenty-four hours before getting on a train to Spain, and his heart was shattered into a hundred pieces. He never wanted a divorce. He’s confused; he’s devastated and literally…lost. Through tears, he shared with us that he had a vision that he was in a dark valley, and it was nighttime and a nightmare, but he could see in the distance a glowing light as if a city was over the mountain. He believes he has to keep going, get over the mountain, and reach a town where there would be light.
I thought of the verse, even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me. (Psalm 23:4)
I thought to myself, “Jes is in the valley. He is in the dark. But he doesn’t have to fear.” I prayed, “God, please let him feel you are with Him and walking right with him. And you will not leave him.”
Jes finished and took a cleansing breath as he wiped his eyes. We sat for a minute in silence. Dad looked around and then confessed his reasoning for the walk. He said he was praying for healing for his daughters, Corrie (my younger sister), and myself. I was confused. “You are praying for my healing?” Wait? What about his miracle story of healing?
He said, “Yes, for your eye and ear. I want you to be healed.”
I thought, “You shouldn’t waste your prayer for healing on me, Dad.”
I am completely blind in my left eye from a childhood disease. In 2017, I gradually lost all hearing in my left ear within two years. Those two years, a disease or a virus (or whatever; the doctors don’t know) stole something precious to me: being able to hear on the blind side of my body. Being blind on one side is one thing. Being deaf and blind on one side is another story.
Sitting there with Dad, Jes, and empty espresso cups, I could feel my cynicism slipping out into facial expressions. I thought, “This is very sweet of him; God, I do love my dad.”
Dad’s eyes filled with tears, “We just don’t pray for God’s healing touch as much as we should.” This is coming from a once-dead man, now walking.
I believe God can heal me; I guess I believe He can. I have some doubts. I am a believer that He is the one true God. He is the Creator. He is all-powerful. He is my beginning, my end. He is the “I Am,” the alpha, the omega. He is the Logos, the reason for all reasoning. He is why I even have this espresso in the middle of Spain, in the most remote cafe I have ever been to, surrounded by too many partying wealthy pilgrims with expensive fancy Patagonia outfits and one barefoot hippy. He is the God of hope for my crying, a devastated brother who is broken, and my sweet old Dad, who we think very well may not finish this pilgrimage, both sitting here with me asking God for a light on a mountain and… for healing.
We all three took another deep breath. I thought one of us might start to lick the side of our empty cup out of needing something to do or say.
Dad then asked, “What about you, Kel? What are you hoping for on this walk?”
Right then, I decided I would take the easy route. I was now not in the mood to go too deep and vulnerable; this was not going to be the time I shared that I was looking for a mighty transformation. A renovation. Restoration. To be re-wired.
I wasn’t about to go into all my mid-life crisis thoughts and a desire to discover who I am and what I am to do while on the second mountain of my life.
I am entering that season of life when one tends to question everything about one's past, wonders what is in the future, and stresses in the present. I ask… why I couldn’t let it out, be vulnerable, and say my life needs renovating. Restored! And does all that’s inside me need to be re-wired?
Does being a true pilgrim on a pilgrimage have to include such vulnerability? I think so.
A Story of Pilgrimage.