25 Prayers of Christmas, Day 7

I'm thinking today about all the people who will be spending Christmas alone.

I don't know what prayer to pray for them. Whether I should pray that someone would come into their lives between now and December 25, or that your presence alone would be enough God, or that they would receive an unexpected gift or card to brighten their holiday. Perhaps I should pray "why?" or "that sucks" or "you better make this up to them on their birthday."

Sometimes we don't know what to pray. But thank you God, that you still hear.

Begging Sucks. Compassion Doesn't.

The young man at the intersection held a sign in his hands. "I like it," Rand said. "Me too," I agreed. We drove on, but the words were imprinted in my mind:

Begging Sucks. Compassion Doesn't.

Perhaps the fact that we kept driving is why we did what we did next. Or maybe we would have done it anyway. We'll never know.

We had driven to World Market, which we had a gift card for, and were in search of a cookie jar. After Rand and I got married, my new grandkids told me that the secret to being a good grandma was in the cookie jar. So obviously I wanted to live up to their high expectations!

While getting out of the car, two women pushing shopping carts approached. The younger woman with a child in her cart kept walking. But the older woman with the empty cart asked Rand if he could spare any change. His response: "Let me ask my wife."

I almost never give money to people who approach me in parking lots and Rand doesn't either. I'm not sure where this "rule" of ours comes from, except that I'm uncomfortable when people approach me directly. I'd much rather roll down my window or even hop out of the car and give money to someone sitting on a corner than I would someone who walks right up to me and my purse.

But we had driven right past the man on the corner with the compassion sign.

So I handed Rand $5 and he passed it on to the woman who expressed her appreciation.

Which would normally be the end of it. Except this time it wasn't.

We went in to World Market, perused the cutest cookie jars, settling on a yellow one shaped like a beehive, used our gift card to pay, and returned to our car in the parking lot. Where we saw the women we had just given $5 to loading bags into their trunk and driving off in a brand new jaguar.

Our jaws dropped. We went from disbelief to anger and back to disbelief in a matter of seconds. Finally settling on feeling sorry for someone who is so destitute in their spirits that they would ask for money they didn't need. Essentially taking money from those who do need it. Because even though we can do without that $5, maybe the man on the corner with the compassion sign couldn't. And instead of giving it to him we'd given it to her.

This is the challenge we face and why so many people choose not to serve others. Because they don't want to get taken advantage of by people like this woman.

But we are called to serve. We are called to listen to that voice in our spirit that nudges us to show kindness to others. Because for every woman who drives off in a new jaguar, there are dozens of others who are truly in need. Who truly hate begging and who are truly blessed when we show compassion.

So we must continue to serve. And not worry about what happens after we've given our time or money or love. But trust God to use it for His glory. Because for all we know, our $5 may be just what it takes to turn that woman's life around.

National Parks

I think it is safe to say that I have an obsession with National Parks.

This obsession began in 2000 when my best friend Christina and I spent 3 months at the Grand Canyon, living, working, praying, and playing.

It heightened the following summer when I spent the most transformative 3 months of my life at Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming.

Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

Which is why, when I graduated from college in 2002, the only move that made sense to me was yet another National Park. So I packed away my degree and moved to California, where I spent 8 months in Yosemite.

While living in California I spent as much time in Joshua Tree, Death Valley, Kings Canyon & Sequoia National Parks as I did at home among the "Big Trees" of Yosemite.

My next move was to Arkansas to live with my grandmother, but before I could get there I added Bryce, Zion, Capitol Reef, Arches, Canyonlands, and Mesa Verde in Utah and Colorado to my growing list of National Parks I consider home.

While in Arkansas I of course had to take advantage of Hot Springs National Park. And in the dozen years since, I've added Crater Lake in Oregon, Petrified Forest in Arizona, Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico, Great Smoky Mountains in Tennessee, Mammoth Cave in Kentucky, Cuyahoga Valley in Ohio, and most recently, Lassen Volcanic National Park in California, to my list of happy places.

Petrified Forest National Park, Arizona

What is it about these places that continues to draw me back? The purpose of the National Park System says it all:

“The fundamental purpose of the parks is to conserve the scenery and the natural and historic objects and the wildlife therein and to provide for the enjoyment of the same in such manner and by such means as will leave them unimpaired for the enjoyment of future generations.”

Carlsbad Caverns National Park, New Mexico

How many other places in our world are unimpaired, undamaged, unspoiled by our hands and constructs, but left to remain perfect, the way they were created by our Creator? How many other places were set aside by our fathers and our fathers fathers for our enjoyment, and for the enjoyment of our children and our children's children? How many other places serve us, as a place to live, work, pray, and play in, at any age?

Lassen Volcanic National Park, California

Our recent trip to Lassen was especially momentous as they had just two weeks before celebrated 100 years since the last major eruption of Lassen Peak, an event that led to their being designated as a National Park. We also learned that next year, in 2016, the National Park SERVice will be celebrating 100 years as an official government organization.

I, for one, am grateful for the service of the National Parks, and will continue to support them through my obsession with visiting, living, working, praying, and playing in their midst.

Spain by Train

After our day in Santiago, we asked ourselves: “What’s next?”

Many pilgrims stay and spend several days in Santiago. Others travel to Finisterre, “the ends of the earth”, on foot or by bus or taxi to burn their boots and watch the sun go down over the ocean. But we had nowhere to stay in Santiago and had both already had our Finisterre experiences.

Our flight home is Tuesday out of Madrid, and neither of us has spent any time in this city, so we thought, why not go a few days early and see what the city has to offer?

“The only train available to Madrid on Saturday leaves at 8 a.m. and arrives in Madrid at 3 p.m.,” the woman at the ticket sales said. “All the other trains are full.”

We asked her for a few minutes to think about it. An 8 a.m. train meant getting up early and we hadn’t yet caught up from our all night walk. We could go to Finisterre after all, or look for beds in an Albergue early in the day on Saturday and stay another night in Santiago. But in the end we decided we would rather go to Madrid and enjoy the city.

“Two tickets for the 8 a.m. train to Madrid,” we told her.

She started typing in the information. “I’m sorry. That train is full,” she said. In just a few short minutes we had lost our way out of this town. I had taken the overnight bus last year and had vowed to never do that again. 

“What about Sunday?” I asked.

“It’s Semana Santa,” she said, typing and shaking her head ‘no’. There would be no going anywhere on Easter Sunday. She kept typing as we sat there, wondering what we were going to do.

Our friends that we had met in the woods had said they were going to walk to the airport after arriving in Santiago, but we didn’t have that kind of time.

“There is a train tomorrow at 10 a.m.,” she said. “But it goes through Leon and doesn’t arrive in Madrid until 9 p.m.”

“We’ll take it!” Rand said, before this train too was sold out.

As hard and long and exhausting as our walk into Santiago was, it seems like it all worked out for the best. We got the last hotel room in Santiago on Good Friday. And if we had waited to arrive on Saturday we might not have had a place to stay in Santiago or a way out of town to Madrid.  

After the best night sleep of the whole Camino, we walked a mile to the station and boarded our Saturday morning train. The first stretch would take us on a tour of our last two weeks of walking in reverse, from Santiago to Leon. The train didn’t follow the Camino exactly, but we were thrilled when we saw the occasional bridge, path, bar, and Albergue where we had stayed.

Shortly after boarding we received a text message from our friends from the woods, who said it had been a very cold night and thanked us for the hand warmers we had left them. While we had spent our time wondering if we would have been better off staying with them in the woods and walking to Santiago in the morning, they had been there thinking that they would have been better off walking with us. There's a lesson in that, I'm sure of it!

After changing trains in Leon, we followed new territory. The first couple of hours looked like Ohio with its flat farmland and abundance of animals. The latter stretch was through the mountains and forests and was equally as beautiful.

When we finally arrived in Madrid, we took a taxi from the train station to a hostel that had gotten wonderful reviews. Only to find it chained up tight. Our taxi driver looked apologetic, but it wasn’t his fault that it was closed. We assured him we would be alright and set off to walking amongst the streets packed with people, cars, bars, and more. After several unsuccessful attempts we finally landed at Hostal Sardinero. As the man checked us in he said, “Excuse me for a moment. I have to turn off our sign. You have the last room of the night.”

Once again we had found the one available room in town during “Semana Santa.” All seems to have worked out exactly right!

A Day in Santiago

At 8 a.m. the streets of Santiago started to come to life. We were still resting in our storefront when the pilgrim’s office opened. We packed up our belongings and went to receive our certificates of completion.

“How are you?” one of the women working asked. Weary tears streamed down my face. “Cansada, I think,” she answered her own question. “Tired.”

We were given the clipboards to sign in and were the first to register for the day. Dozens of other names would be signed below ours as pilgrims one by one made their way to Santiago. “Congratulations,” we were told, as official credentials were placed in our hands, with our names written in Latin and the date of our arrival.

I had been here before, 11 months and 1 day ago, to receive my first credential. But this time Rand and I had arrived together. 

And then the massive blow, “There will be no Pilgrim’s Mass today. It is ‘Semana Santa’, Holy Week, so there is no service. But you are welcome to tour the Cathedral.” No Pilgrim’s Mass. No hearing our names being read along with the other names in various languages. No ceremony to neatly tie up our Camino. “Processions?” I asked. Remembering all the “parades” that took place last year in Villfranca del Bierzo. “No,” they said. “Semana Santa.” It was Holy Week, and the Church appeared to be closed.

We went back across the street to a hotel café where we had coffee and toast. Earlier I had asked the young man setting up the outdoor tables if they had any rooms available. He said there might be one, with a single bed, available now. We checked with the hostess and she said it was meant for one person, but that she would show it to us and we could decide. It was only available for one night, though. The rest of the weekend was booked full.

The elevator was not big enough for two people with backpacks, so we left our packs at the desk and rode the elevator while she took the stairs. The room was on the 3^rd floor, with a window that opened to a beautiful view of the rooftops of Santiago, had a full size bed and a private bathroom with a bathtub (rare in Spain!). It was perfect.

“We’ll take it!” we said. It was 9 a.m. and we were ready for bed. She handed us our key, and a booklet filled with all of the Holy Week events. “There is a procession?” I asked. “Maybe four or five of them today,” she said. Redeemed!

At noon I went out to the Cathedral Plaza, which as expected was packed with people and vendors, tourists and pilgrims. I found a quiet cafeteria and had a bowl of “Calda”, Galician broth soup, and bought some cheese and bread to take back to the room. I stopped and bought a few souvenirs, checked the times for the post office and train station ticket office, and went back to the room to join Rand for another nap.

We got up again around 5 p.m. and went out for pizza and gelato. We walked through several of the plazas where people were giving out free hugs, having street fairs, going to church, walking their dogs, and getting ready for another round of Holy Week processions.

We bumped into the large group of pilgrims that we had left at the restaurant where we had dinner the previous evening and exchanged handshakes and cheers. We told them it was nearly 6 a.m. before we saw the Cathedral, but that the night walk had been beautiful. They looked weary, and were still carrying their backpacks as they had not yet found a place to stay for the night. It was another reason to be glad that we had arrived in Santiago so early. We may have gotten the last room in the entire city that was free on Good Friday.

We then went to the post office where weeks ago we had shipped our new coaster set that we'd "won" in Burgos while visiting a fundraiser, and the luggage bags we had used to bring our backpacks on the plane. The “vigilante”, as his name tag described him, and the office worker, told us that the post office was closed until Monday. “It’s Semana Santa,” they said. We were well aware that it was Holy Week. But these two guys were there and our package couldn’t have been that hard to find. Rand and I had a quick conversation about whether we were willing to stay in Santiago until Monday. It would cut it close, but we could still make it to Madrid for our Tuesday morning flight back to the states. “Wait,” the office worker said. The vigilante gave him a dirty look, but he shrugged his shoulders, disappeared for a few minutes, and then came back with our package.

While he was searching, an older couple from New Mexico who we had met on the Camino came in. They told us that they had made reservations at a hotel for the night, but when they hadn’t arrived before 3 p.m. to check in, the hotel had given away their room. “Semana Santa,” was the explanation they were given. Holy Week. “It was a longer walk to get here than we thought,” they said of the last 12.5 kilometers (21.5?!). We agreed.

The postal worker frowned when he came back with our package and saw our friends waiting with us. We thanked him profusely for helping us. “Secret,” the vigilante said to us before we left, and we promised not to tell any more of our friends that the post office was only “sort of closed” for Holy Week.

We ended the evening at the Cathedral where we gave thanks and saw thousands of others doing the same. Pilgrims and tourists hugged the statue of the apostle, visited his tomb, and stood in awe of the swinging incense diffuser.

And we bumped into “our family”! Who we hadn’t seen in over 40 kilometers. “You made it!” we all said. And somehow seeing them here in Santiago on Good Friday seemed like the perfect way to wrap up our Camino.

      

Not the Camino I Remember

Day 5 walking: El Acebo to Ponferrada, 17 km

Total for the first 5 days: 107.6 km (If you "walked with" us last year, you know we are breaking all kinds of records for ourselves! This is probably 40 km more than an average 5 days of our 2014 Camino!)

So many of the places I wanted to share with Rand have changed. The Albergue donativo where I stayed outside Astorga and had a delicious communal meal with all the neighbors had only two places set for dinner. The bar in Santa Catalina no longer had the “open 25 hours” sign on its cigarette machine. The Godiva chocolate place where I hung out during my “be more quiet” days in Ponferrada is all boarded up. Even the Cowboy bar was closed up tight.

We talked to a young man yesterday who stayed at the Albergue in el Ganso where I stayed, soaked my feet in a cold pan of water, and made dinner with more than a dozen others. He said he was the only one there and that it was really creepy.

There are definitely far fewer people on The Way than there were last April. At least on the stretch where we are. The Albergue we are at tonight was overflowing with walking and bicycling pilgrims when I was here last, but tonight there are no more than a dozen others.

It feels natural to want to play "tour guide" to Rand on this stretch that I walked before. But disappointing when the places, moments, and people who made that Camino for me are no longer there.

We knew this Camino would be different. We wanted it to be. But it is harder than I expected to let go of those expectations. Perhaps it will be easier in two days when we get to the stretch of Camino that I wasn't able to walk before.

In the meantime, we pray that whatever lessons we are here to learn we will be receptive to them.

Enough

Serving God is no easy business.

Serving God is about becoming more like Him. Being transformed into His image and likeness. In word and deed.

Serving God is about God preparing us to be image bearers in the world. So that when we go out to serve others we don't completely screw it up by being nothing like Him.

Because I do believe that God has called me to serve Him this year because He is preparing me to serve in the world.

Which means dealing with and letting go of all the things in me that aren't of Him.

One of the things that I have discovered about myself recently--the current thing God and I are working on letting go of--is that I have a "scarcity" mentality. Which means in my mind there is never enough. Enough time, enough money, enough love. Which is all rooted in feeling like I'm not enough.

When I was a kid my brothers spent their money on hobbies and impulses and things they loved. Meanwhile my dollars accumulated in a purse shaped like an ice cream cone. Getting rid of even a dollar might leave me "short".

When I'm given a book to write or edit I get completely overwhelmed. How could 6 weeks possibly be enough time?

When I read Gary Chapman's The Five Love Languages and discovered that my love language is quality time I finally understood my longing for attention from my loved ones. But Chapman didn't warn me that healthy boundaries and limits would be important. That needing time doesn't justify wanting ALL my partner's time. (Randy and I have had to navigate this, after going from spending 24/7 together in Spain to living across the country from one another to now sharing a home.)

But I don't serve a God of not enough. I serve a God of abundance. Prosperity. Exceeding and abundant, above and beyond. I serve a God who expects me to be generous and who wants me to trust Him for enough. Enough energy, enough love, enough time, and enough money to do all the things He has called me to do.

Since this discovery I have begun to pray daily that God would give me the faith and strength to trust Him for enough. Enough energy and focus to get my work done. Enough money to not only meet our needs but also to be able to be a cheerful giver. Enough time and love to appreciate the people He has placed in my world.

And even though we are still in process, I'm already feeling more relaxed and at peace, trusting that He wouldn't give me an assignment without giving me all the tools I need to accomplish it. And He wouldn't have given me life if, in His eyes, I wasn't enough.