Last month I had the incredible experience of hiking the Camino de Santiago in Spain. Here’s the second installment about the adventure!

An often-repeated comment by people who have hiked the Camino is that they were touched by others they met along the way. (Have you seen the movie The Way? If so, you know what I mean). I expected to make new friends in our pilgrim tour group, but I didn’t expect to be moved by strangers on the walk. As always, God is full of surprises.

When I finally turned around, a couple was quickly approaching, the woman frantically waving my cell phone above her head.

“Thank you!” I exclaimed, my heart pounding and panicked at the thought I almost lost it. For the next few hours I thought about my excessive affection for my phone. It’s loaded with pictures and important contacts to be sure, but after all, it’s just a phone. What other possessions am I overly attached to? I remembered the admonition to enjoy the blessings and gifts God gives you while you have them, but graciously let them go when it’s time. It gave me something to pray about for the rest of that day.

These were not the only kind strangers. Although nature provides plenty of outdoor bathroom space along the trail, most hikers try to use an indoor one.

The small village cafes offer clean bathrooms with the simple request that pilgrims patronize more than just the toilet. We stopped one morning in one of these cafés, already hot and weary despite the early hour. I couldn’t think of anything I wanted to buy and carry, so I simply left a Euro on the counter. The proprietor hurried after me speaking rapidly and gesturing that I should wait.

I have no idea, but he was right; they were delicious, and fueled me for the next seven miles. His insistent kindness moved me, and the smile on his face as I enjoyed those bananas confirmed that accepting help from another can bring joy to both of us.

The second bathroom adventure proved the need to overcome my pride. Having waited in a long line under the roasting noon sun, I was sweating before I even got into the tiny rest room. It was even hotter in there, but it felt so good to sit for a minute. Remembering there was still a line outside, I washed my hands and quickly wiped them.

I unlocked the door, and although it clicked, the door didn’t budge when I turned the knob. I dried my hands on my pants, more thoroughly this time, but still couldn’t budge the door. There were no windows in the tiny room, and panic welled as I pushed with all my might again and again. Next, I pounded on it, calling for help, but it was thick and heavy, and no one seemed to hear.

I sank down to the floor, feeling lightheaded from hyperventilating in the cramped space. I was still there when the shop owner exploded through the door. “So sorry, so sorry!” he exclaimed in broken English. “It sticks when the weather is too hot!”

I must have looked rather pitiful – sweaty and scared, slumped on the dirty floor. Cool outside air (the same air that felt stiflingly hot before my bathroom visit) rushed over me. I could have kissed him as he lifted me up. My anxious tears washed my sweaty face as I sniffled and nodded politely. “Thank you so much,” I said, leaving my pride on the bathroom floor. Sometimes you just can’t do it alone.

Then there was the dear pilgrim who aided my finish. I had been watching her progress, inspired by her persistent determination on the longest day (22 miles!). I lumbered along, my feet protesting, exhausted and sore, and not sure I could finish the last few miles. Then she fell. In an instant she was on the ground, covered in blood. A small crowd gathered to help, and her gracious acceptance of assistance was just as inspiring as her dogged resolve to finish. Her struggle completely negated mine; a good reminder that there is always someone in more pain than me. As we hobbled side by side the rest of the way that day, she gave me the gift of allowing me to concentrate on her pain instead of mine. She thinks I helped her; but really, she helped me.