“Remember how the Lord your God led you all the way in the wilderness these forty years, to humble and test you in order to know what was in your heart, whether or not you would keep his commands” (Deuteronomy 8:2).

God “led you all the way…to humble you and to test you.” This passage from an early day on the Camino reverberated in my mind our whole journey. To humble you and to test you. I now realize it was the Lord who put the idea of the Camino into our minds. It was the Lord who walked with us and provided for us. It was the Lord who set up the tests, heightening the mountains and lengthening the paths until we knew we couldn’t do it without him.

I suppose that very few people who walk a 500-mile pilgrimage do so without learning something. Some pilgrims walk with the intention of thinking things through, or getting insight on a certain issue, or healing. I went on the Camino for an adventure with Maurice and a walk with Jesus without anything particular in mind at all, just hoping to draw closer to both. But there is great sensory input as you walk along and much for the mind to ponder. There is time for God to break in. The things I learned were neither great “aha!” moments nor deep spiritual insights. They were ordinary truths of my life that the Lord shone a spotlight on for a moment and said, “Now look at this.”

1. We are so attached to the earth… Right from the beginning our path went upward. Soon after the exhilaration of finally starting, the difficulty of the uphill walk sets in. Our packs press down on us from above and gravity pulls at us from below. Much of the path, especially at the beginning, is unpaved, crooked, stony, rutted or rocky. Although there are beautiful things to see around us, the path demands constant attention; soon it is easier just to look down. And we hurt too. The packs are new on tender shoulders and rocks gouge into what we had thought were sturdy soles. Knees twist, legs ache, lungs strain; sometimes it seems we are almost crawling. We move so slowly over the terrain that the sun sneaks out from behind us, creeps around our left shoulders and glares into our eyes from the front, nudging us to pull our hats down and keep our gaze low. Plodding shoes stir up dust that floats around faces and settles on sweaty limbs. The path ascends and it pulls me down. It is hard to lift my feet. It is hard to see where I am going. This way is hard. It is arduous and burdensome and severe. It is not the bowl of cherries it sounded like it ought to be. It is like life. I miss the beauty while I try to stay upright through the day. Is there anyone who can fix this? My cries fall on the hard earth and it is so difficult to lift my head. What can I do to ease the load? I’m crumbling. But there…there, at the margin of my vision, there is One pursuant. “Come to me,” he says. “Come to me, all you who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble of heart and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:28-30). Jesus came to walk the hard road with us. He is right there when we can’t even look up, right at the edge of the path, right next to us. He puts his arm around me for support in the journey and invites me to lift my gaze from the dirt. He shows me which way to go. He strengthens me to pick up my feet and bears the pain with me. He refreshes me with the water of the Word of life. Let “our eyes look to the Lord our God, till he shows us his mercy” (Psalm 123:2b). “He will not let your foot slip….he will watch over your life” (Psalm 121:3, 7). We are so attached to the earth, but Jesus came to earth to walk us all the way to heaven.

2.“These are the gates to the Kingdom….” One of the first songs that popped up the first time we turned on our walking playlist was one by Terry Clark that begins with his clear strong voice proclaiming, “These are the gates to the Kingdom. These are the courts of the everlasting King….” Really? The upward struggle of the Camino suddenly became a metaphor for the long road of life stretching out ahead of us. In our walking as in our living we do pretty much the same thing day after day for a long time. Fatigue is a constant. But this pathway, the dirt, the stones, our footsteps–these are the gates to the Kingdom. There is meaning in the walk. We meet goals along the way–a town ahead, the mountain climbed, a view back across the hard trail we just finished–as in life we rejoice in skills refined, a growing family, challenges met. Our bodies might not make it unbroken to the end, but these are the gates to the Kingdom. Because we are on our way, we are in the courts of the everlasting King, and they are beautifully adorned. We feast on red peppers, figs, chocolate croissants and gazpacho, on the fiery skies of sunset and sunrise and the quiet strength of golden stone formed into arches, on Gregorian chant and multilingual conversation, on helping hands. It isn’t hard for the blessings surrounding us to bring to mind treasures from our “other” life–lasagna and strawberry rhubarb pie, cycling and splashing and playing with toddlers, theater going and music making, digging into favorite pastimes and laughing with those we love–the jewels in the King’s courts are innumerable! For better or worse, our path will only be just like this once. One day the road will end, the gates will open and we’ll cross the threshold into a perfect world and the presence of the King. “How was your trip?” he might ask us. Just fine. After all, “these are the gates to the Kingdom.” Oh Lord, may I “enter in with praise and thanksgiving!”

3. We need a Sabbath day of rest. God knew what he was doing when he set time in order. He decreed a six-day work week followed by a Sabbath day for worship and rest, a day apart from our regular responsibilities that keep things functioning. It is such an important concept that God put it in his Ten Commandments. Because we have physical bodies and live in a decaying world, we can’t keep going indefinitely without rest (though many of us try). When we’d been walking three or four days, I started looking forward to a day off. We took breaks in Pamplona, Burgos and Leon, approximately a week apart, but then, to finish when we wanted to, we walked the final three weeks with only one half day off. By then we were stronger and able to do it, but it was mentally harder knowing we weren’t going to take a rest day. To pause in our walk would have been refreshing mentally and physically–not to mention the spiritual discipline God calls us to in weekly corporate worship. God has good plans for our lives, and they include a Sabbath day of rest.

4. I have to walk. After our arrival in Santiago and our rest and celebration, we got up the next day and…did not walk. We took our time like a rest day. But then on Sunday we did not walk again. My body thought it should be moving. I was in the zone now and I was ready to go. I even felt guilty that I was not walking. When we got to Chris’ I made sure I walked every day. Now that we’re home I am keeping it up. My body needs to move. Before the Camino my goal was to walk 10,000 steps a day to prepare for it; I only occasionally reached that mark. Since our return I have averaged over 11,000 steps a day. Throughout the day I am motivated to squeeze in another thousand steps here and there (a lot of them around the kitchen island). I miss it when I slack off. I have to walk. This should help with the next point:

5. I don’t want to gain fifteen pounds. Though I carefully weighed every item I even considered packing for the Camino, once I put on what I was wearing, filled the water bottles to varying degrees and added lunch supplies and snacks, I never got the exact final weight for my pack. Ignoring the extra shoes a week in until I mailed them off one by one and the cozy fleece I bought in Carrion de los Condes (which turned out to weigh only 187 grams), my backpack probably fluctuated somewhat above seven kilos, which is over fifteen pounds. Eric considers that pansy-weight, but it was more than enough for me. After about a week of getting used to the pack, I didn’t dread putting it on in the morning, but as the day wore on and the incline increased, it became painfully heavy. Discomfort increased on my shoulders, knees, hips, back, ankles, everything. Whenever I took it off I felt like I was floating. What a relief! And what a demonstration of what an extra fifteen pounds on my frame feels like. No, thank you, I really intend to try not to gain fifteen pounds. (And I am enjoying my looser-fitting clothing from the flab I walked off around my middle.)

6. I can do hard things. Of course I can do hard things. We all can, and do. I’m a mother. I’m a wife. We’ve moved around the world. Life and relationships are messy. Loss is painful. Hard things. But these are also everyday things that we deal with incrementally. Sometimes in the midst of our busyness we don’t see the big picture, don’t notice what we have accomplished. In some ways this Camino was a condensation of life. There are things to do, places to go, people to relate to, problems to solve, responsibilities to take care of, daily chores, goals to accomplish, unexpected roadblocks, aches and pains and fatigue. It is a compact and intense slice of life with a beginning and an end, and as such it is perhaps easier to evaluate. There is beauty and caring and satisfaction along the Camino but some days are hard. Many days are hard. For me it seemed mostly all hard, much harder than I expected it to be. I think I said that to Maurice every day: “This is so hard.” And yet we did it. We finished our Camino. By God’s grace, in his presence, we walked five hundred miles across Spain. Five hundred miles! I am amazed every time I say that. I really did it, and it was hard. I can do hard things. “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:13).

“I hope you find what you’re looking for” was an early comment by a dear follower on the blog. I couldn’t get that out of my mind either. What were we looking for? Many of our fellow pilgrims were quite clearly looking for something, but us? We were just out for a challenging nature hike, a walk with our best friends, a moving meditation on the way to Santiago. I soon realized we didn’t have to be looking for anything. We have long since found what we were looking for: meaning, purpose, satisfaction, security, a chance to grow and develop and serve, love that never gives up, peace that passes understanding, joy unending in this life and the next, forgiveness, eternity. It is all in Jesus and the salvation he gives through faith in him. “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16). I found what I was looking for when Jesus found me. “He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand. He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God” (Psalm 40:2-3a). Hallelujah! “Here I am!” says Jesus to each of us. “I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in” (Revelation 3:20).  And when he comes in, life is new and the journey never ends.