We started the day especially early. We wanted to get a head start before the heat of the sun and we had to be to our destination by 4:30pm. Today we were due to walk up the “small” hill, in Chicagoan terms, a mountain! I will admit I spent most of the first 6 miles trying to figure out which of the many mountains in front of us it might be. I was quite nervous. Of all the days we had walked today I was filled with anticipation and fear. For 8 miles we walked up hill. I found comfort under overgrown tall bushes or the cloud that gave us moment without sun. In the week that I have carried the walking sticks bag with me, we each used a stick for help or entertainment.
We also met our second angel, James. He was wandering amongst the forest on the mountain because he had taken a wrong turn and lost the yellow arrows. He was so happy to have found us and our help of showing him the yellow arrows that he slowed down his pace (he climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro last year) to walk with us. He was walking the Camino to mend his broken heart. His girlfriend had recently broke up with him. Prior to the breakup, he thought she was the one. He had the ring, the place and even the song picked out. His age, his kindness, his appreciation for motherly advice reminded me of Sean, my nephew and Lisa’s step-son that we had lost 12 years ago. As I watched him my eyes swelled with sorrow for the loss and joy for this momentous Camino miracle.
He was also a gracious gentlemen. As the sun blazed on, I found myself lagging behind. Lisa and James talked about the woes of the Camino and life. We soon came to a treacherous part as we began our downward climb to the Monastery. I used my stick for support as I stepped from rock to rock and then I saw the mud. I had been so busy watching my own footing that I had not seen how they navigated the water, rocks and mud. I called down asking them how did they miss the mud. Lisa thought I need the other stick and James in gentlemen fashion leaped upward to bring it to me. I declined and again questioned how to carry on without stepping in the mud. As I took my next step to a nearby rock above the mud. I went tumbling down and then plop (almost face first in the mud). James helped me up! I had a beaming smile and was laughing as we inventoried the damage – my butt, legs, fore arms, side of the backpack was painted with a fresh coat of mud. I was wet, muddy and so embarrassed. As James pointed out – now my backpack looked more rugged. One step in the dirt would have probably prevented the plop in the mud.
We enjoyed a early dinner in my freshly rinsed cold pants as we awaited the opening of the monastery. That evening we enjoyed an evening prayer service that included the most melodic songs sung by the sisters. As we listened we felt blessed by songs sang by angels. The monastery was a perfect place to be “locked in” at 9:00pm and be without wi-fi. It really helped my reflection time and partaking in the moment.
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