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

People talk about leaving something behind on the Camino: grief or anger or other emotional baggage that weighs them down.  I wondered if my walk would uncover something I needed to abandon in order to happily move forward. Oddly, I don’t think I left anything behind, but I did bring something back: fresh eyes for my everyday pilgrimage.

I walk almost every day on the Chessie Trail, an old rail path along the river behind my house. In many spots, it looks remarkably like the Camino.

It doesn’t pass through fragrant eucalyptus forests, but there is bamboo underfoot and the sweet scent of summer hay and magnolia blossoms floating through the air.

There are no cuckoo birds calling from the woods, but rather the entertaining knock of a giant woodpecker and the insistent song of a mockingbird.

There are no ancient Roman bridges to study, but there are remains of 150-year-old canal locks and dams.

There are no Spanish castles or quaint villages to admire, but there are rolling hills and well-loved family farms.

My Camino walk gave me a new appreciation for my Chessie walk. I didn’t have to leave town to go on a scenic pilgrimage; I just needed to get out of my daily rut and renew my sense of wonder.

And as I was once again considering the concept that everyday life is a pilgrimage, I came across a chapter in Matthew Kelly’s book, “Resisting Happiness,” in which he asks: are you a pilgrim or a tourist?  

He describes tourists as those travelers who want things to be on schedule and as planned, who rush and cram in all the sights, who require prompt, efficient service, who focus on themselves and their itinerary. Pilgrim travelers, he observes, are quite different. They look for signs and meanings – a delayed flight makes them consider whether God might be trying to get their attention; an unexpected experience introduces someone who might need their help. They don’t feel the need for every sightseeing opportunity, but rather are open and alert to the things God calls them to see.

I want my life’s journey to be that of a pilgrim, not a tourist, whether I am at home or far away. So, here’s my prayer (maybe yours, too):

Dear God,
Please help me to be open to the love letters you send me every day –my daughters’ smiles, my dog’s wet kisses, the morning mist on the trail – and help me see your hand at work.
Please help me to be open to the needs of the people you send me every day – my patients, my family, my friends – and help me be your generous and compassionate face for them.
Please help me to be open to Your plans instead of mine, to welcome each day of my journey with joyful anticipation, and to see you always walking beside me.
Amen.

Colleen