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A number of Januarys ago, I walked the Camino Primitivo, one of the many pilgrimage routes to Santiago de Compostela in northern Spain. The first morning, I got up late, ate a leisurely breakfast, and began my walk at a meditative pace. I stopped to smell every flower–more metaphorically than literally, it being January. It all felt very spiritual.
Until early afternoon, when the sun began to set. I hadn’t walked even half of the seventeen miles to the next pilgrim hostel! And with thirty pounds on my back, I couldn’t possibly cover the remaining distance in the daylight.
When I finally made it to the hostel–after getting a little lost in the dark–I discovered it was just a solitary, empty building. I’d dreamed of a town with a restaurant and a hot dinner. Instead, I ate trail mix alone, huddled in my sleeping bag for warmth.
The next morning, I got up early and walked hard. I made it to the next hostel before sunset. And it was in a town. With a restaurant.
I’d never felt such love for absolute strangers–the men working in the kitchen, the woman serving the food, the people laughing at the tables around me. What a miracle it all was.
I couldn’t find the words for how I felt in English, let alone in Spanish, so I just smiled at everyone, dumbstruck, like a baby seeing the beauty of this world for the first time.
Thou that hast given so much to me, give one thing more, a grateful heart. Amen. -An excerpt from a poem by George Herbert
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