Good Journey

I’ve been thinking about how to share our travel adventures with family and friends. I don’t need your attention, but I have a feeling in my guts that there are some who might appreciate it, maybe some who might be blessed by the conversation. I’m not a person who has a fire in my belly about much. I’m passionate about loving my people. I’m passionate about worship and shining the light of Jesus. I’m passionate about pizza (and most other food groups), and laughter. In general though, I’m not an incredibly driven human.  Jim was. He was the kind of person who needed a challenge to brace up against. He had an endless zeal to keep pushing, keep leaning in to whatever was in front of him that needed doing. He got a lot done and I’m proud to have been blessed to walk alongside (or more accurately, several steps behind). When he died, one of the struggles was just not knowing what the heck to do with myself. What on earth could I possibly accomplish without him to push pull or drag? My kids were nearing the time they didn’t need my constant energy, my husband was gone, and in the pit of my stomach was a dread about not being of use to anyone.

God was so gracious to me, allowing me just the right amount of time to sit and cry. He knows me well, and how I could have easily slipped into the permanent position of sitting and staring off my deck to the west, waiting all day for the sunset just to feel the peace of it sinking into the mountains. I spent most of the year after Jim passed doing just that. Most days, with my box of Kleenex, (and typically a bottle of wine), I took every chance I had to just sit in a chair on that big deck, thanking Jim for it and my comfortable home. I imagined all the years he squared his jaw, leaned a broad shoulder in, and put those iron hands to work, making everything happen for us. And while I knew that I had made contributions, the truth was, he was the reason it had all gotten done. I didn’t feel less because of that. I felt honored to have been among the ones he had done it for. I missed him. I grieved him. I cried buckets of tears and talked out loud to God and to Jim and to the birds. I felt so small, and I felt planted in the chair that Jim built. The most peace I felt was watching the sun gently tuck itself in. The moment when the mountains turned from blue to purple had become sacred for me. The sun had done its work for the day, and as it silently floated down to rest, I could let it carry my pain to lay with it for the night. Somehow that worked. Somehow I knew, that like the sun, my Jim was at peace and surrounded with beauty after all his hard work. This was enough to quiet my hurt long enough to put myself to bed for the night.

Quietly and without me noticing, the Lord positioned my heart to receive hope, and then He put it there. Slowly I began to remember that the sun didn’t snuggle into those hills west of my home… it kept going. It was gently floating past many hills, and valleys, and cityscapes. That big, glorious ball wasn’t only existing to create some purple mountains for me to enjoy in the evening… it was gracing the entire world with light every single day.

“It has a much bigger job to do… and so do you”, whispered Jesus in my heart. The Lord, with all the tenderness of a daddy helping his little-one up off the driveway after a bike-wreck, gently dusted the gravel bits out of my skin, wiped my tears and smiled into my eyes. He held my face, and through my sobs and snot-bubbles, nodded His head to say,

“You can do it, my love… get back on, keep pedaling… I’m right beside you”.

My thoughts started to travel beyond the mountains. I started to ask myself about the hopes of my heart. I asked God to reveal them to me, and help me allow myself to let them exist. Hoping meant moving on. Moving on was leaving Jim buried along the trail. I still despise the words “move on”. I understand them, I just don’t like the feeling of the coexisting “left behind”.  The Lord helped me transition that hurtful image to a more digestible “step forward”. I don’t know why that feels better to me, it just does. I can step. I learned to do it as a tyke. I’ve thankfully been able to do it most of my life. A step is just a step. It isn’t packing up and moving. I do realize that many steps can take you a long way, but for some reason, just taking steps is less daunting.

So I took my first, few shaky steps, with no direction or real plan. Sometime early in the year after Jim passed, while praying in the shower one morning, I had the notion to pray for a person. Not for one to appear, but to pray for some person, a man who existed right then, who I didn’t know. Some guy who was just living his life, and maybe struggling with some of the feelings I was… somebody who I could bless with prayers for help and support and encouragement. I started to pray for this very specific person. I didn’t know anything about him, other than he needed my prayers, and that we were living something similar. I did have the understanding he was special, and likely someone that God would bring into my life someday, but I had no notion of when that would be, or what it would be like, or if it would be anything beyond standing next to him at the grocery store one day. My relationship with this man was unknown to him, but became a daily hope and encouragement to me. As my heart wrestled with where to step, and all the tools I needed to do it, I prayed for this man in all the same ways I did for myself.

          “Lord, give me courage. Help me step outside of what I’ve always known and explore beyond the mountains. Make me unafraid of what lies past them. Give me a drive to move in a direction you can use. Make me able. Make me willing. Make my gifts evident and help me be bold enough to let others see.”

          This person was real and in the flesh. He had a job and bills and people and situations to navigate, much like me. I didn’t know where he was or who he was with or really much about him at all, but what I did know, was that he was working on branching out too. He needed much of the same things I did to do it. And somewhere in his heart, he thought about me sometimes too. As an odd little bonus, I also had a rough idea of what he looked like. Who knows why, but I knew he had dark hair and light eyes, and was shorter than Jim, but taller than me. I knew his build was similar to my own, and that his hands were my favorite. Slowly and really almost unconsciously, I started to develop a strong affection for this person out there. We were connected, and Jim didn’t mind. In fact, all I could imagine Jim saying was,

“You’re fine, and you know damn good and well I am too. Don’t worry about it, he gets you in all the ways I didn’t. Don’t quit. Take it. You’re welcome!” (If you know Jim, you know.)

I didn’t tell anybody about my imaginary friend. I didn’t talk to anybody but God and Jim about him. I started thinking of him as I drove to work, or did the dishes, and when I watched the sun go by in the evening. We were living life separately, together and we were taking steps… and I started to believe they might be leading us to each other. He got me through without ever laying eyes on me. I thought it would be years, before we met, but turns out it was months later at a hot-dog stand at a chili cook-off. It turns out that I knew him the minute I laid my eyes on him. Did I actually realize this was the person? No. But for some reason, that made zero sense at the time, after my friend having to drag me into social situations all day, I was instantly drawn to him from a long way off. His sheepish smile, looking bashfully at the ground, leaning up against a fence-post in his yellow shirt, baggy jeans and green crocs, (yep crocs). Every sense was suddenly heightened and I needed to speak to this person. Without thinking, I asked my friend who he was because he was visiting with her dad at his hot-dog stand, and she very unceremoniously said,

“Oh you mean Beal?”… and I learned later she said in her head, “The guy in the crocs?” 

I said yes, and my friend being the best, marched me straight up and ordered us another hotdog. She said I quickly plunged my left hand, still wearing a wedding ring, into my pocket when I was introduced. I don’t remember doing this, but I soon realized my interest was very thinly veiled when my friend’s step-mom broke the moment with a question, “How long has it been since your husband died Audrey?”  I should have died right there, but I found myself relieved she’d asked and gave the answer. WHO WAS THIS WOMAN FLIRTING WITH SOME RANDO AT A HOTDOG STAND?? It was me. And I wasn’t flirting. I was stepping onto the pedal, and Jesus had His hand on the back of my seat. And when He gave that gentle shove, I took off. And I imagine Him standing there with His arm around Jim’s shoulder, both of them beaming, watching me pedal.

In the coming weeks when our relationship began to unfold, I realized at some point that this was the person I’d been praying for. Not long into our conversations, he shared with me how he’d taken a solo tour of Europe earlier that spring. He told me how he’d never done anything like that before, but that he’d always wanted to. He told me about his journey as a shy, unconfident kid, whose time in the military had taught him he was capable of much more than he thought, and who at some point decided to just start living life. He told me how he’d mostly watched his friends living their own stories, and that he felt it time to start making his own. As he told me about the wonder he’d experienced at seeing the pyramids, and walking on the same stones that men did at the dawn of civilizations, I felt my curiosity start to awaken. I felt something inside of me, urging my feet to step into that wonder about the world. I realized that I’d been praying for Beal during the planning phase for his trip. And at some point, I felt myself being thrust up under the wing of God, to a birds-eye view of my life. I saw what God had done, and my cup overflowed. God’s plan for my life was good, even when it didn’t feel good. I shared this with Beal, who I think was pretty shell-shocked, but was kind enough not to call me nuts. At some point, we realized he’d met Jim, and that Jim had told me what a nice guy he was. It all came together.  Gratitude is all there is.

Beal and I have taken many steps together in our 4 years. I’ve seen Paris from the tower, strolled in the mists at Stonehenge, sipped wine overlooking Trevi Fountain, visited the grave of Caesar, felt the wind in my hair on the Attica plateau, and sipped hot drinks at a Christmas market in Vienna. While I revel in every single new experience, I have been praying for God to show me some ways I can exalt His name through our travels. As much as I’ve enjoyed every minute, I know God well enough to know that the desires of my heart are planted by Him, and for a purpose. I’m asking Him for an understanding and direction for that, and I believe He will make that clear at exactly the right time. In the mean-time I’ll keep pedaling, keep stepping, keep going, won’t quit.

For the past couple of years, we’ve had the desire to walk “The Way of St. James”, 280 km up the Portuguese Coast to the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in Galicia, Spain. Also known as the “Pilgrimage of Compostela”, or the “Camino de Santiago”, this trail is a network of pilgrimages that end at the supposed resting place of the apostle James of Zebedee. I am not Catholic, but I can certainly appreciate what a pilgrimage can do for the soul, and I’m looking forward to taking some steps in a new place with the hope of Jesus in my heart. People walk the Camino for many reasons, and to be honest, I’m not entirely sure what mine is. I look forward to getting out at a time we’ve been cooped up for a while, I always enjoy exploring new places with Beal, I am all about tasting some lovely Portuguese and Spanish dishes… but what do I hope to find out there on the trail? I’m really not sure, but I know I need to go. I am driven. I want to push through the blisters and fatigue, and I want to arrive at that cathedral on foot with my best friend. This is a far cry from our usual leisurely trips, but there is a desire in our hearts to do it. We have some lofty goals to retire early and see every ounce of the world we can while we can. This trip feels like the start of that, and like something we need to do.

I’m scared we won’t make it the whole way. I’m scared I’ll feel ashamed and disgraced if we end up hopping a bus, especially since I’ve told everyone we’re going. I’m afraid I’m not prepared enough. I’m afraid I won’t enjoy it. I’m afraid of tragedy. I’m afraid of phone-calls. I’m afraid of loss. I’m afraid of chaos. I’m afraid of trusting God. I’m not proud of my fears, but I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t have them. As much evidence as the Lord has given me of His goodness, I still sometimes doubt it. I’ve learned to surrender those thoughts, even the ones about His nature at His feet in total honesty. He meets me there every time and I praise Him for that and everything else. SO, here we go. The coming weeks will amount to packing, trialing equipment, breaking in shoes, and doing more research. We love that part almost as much as going, so I’m going to revel in it. And I’m going to pray that God will reveal to me what He’s doing in my steps. I’ll be taking a lot of them, (around 360,000 if my calculations are correct), over a few weeks. I’ll be seeking and looking for God in almost every one, I hope. I know He goes before me, and I know He’ll be there, revealing what I need along the way. I pray for ears to hear and eyes to see. I pray for courage and wisdom and strength. I pray for Beal and I as we walk together, knowing that God will reach each of us in the way we need. I’ll pray for my friends and family as they come to my heart, and I’ll pray for my community, near and far. I know we don’t need to walk a trail in Europe to find Him, but I believe He’s bidding us go, and so go we will. There is a drive in me for the first time in as long as I can remember, and I thank God for it. I’m grateful for all the places He’s led my steps so far, and I’m joyfully anticipating where He’ll lead from here. There’s a common saying shared among pilgrims on the Camino. “Buen Camino” means “good journey”. Is there any better wish for each of us as we embark on this trail to eternity? Heaven is a rich reward, but the Lord came for the journey too. He came for abundant life and He offers it to each of us in one way or another, right in the middle of our circumstance. Welcome it today. Enjoy the steps, and don’t be afraid to take them. Look for Him in the midst of them because He’s there, even when you don’t feel it. He’s guiding, He’s leading, He’s orchestrating, He’s loving us through all of them, even when they don’t meet our finite definition of “good”. Buen Camino, my friends. May the Lord guide your steps, may the Lord bless you and keep you, may you walk in His ways and delight in His will, today and all the days to come. His journey is good for us all.