Song Stories

       Maybe the reason guys like me – you know, late 60s - say things like, “today’s music doesn’t’ speak to me,” isn’t just because we are becoming geezers. Maybe it isn’t so much about the music or the lyrics or the beat, but because we don’t yet have any stories linked to those new songs.

       In his clever book, “Manhood for Amateurs,” Michael Chabon, lamented the format change at his favorite radio station. They flipped from the oldies of his youth to contemporary pop, and it hurt. Each of those old songs linked to a story from Chabon’s life, and whenever he heard a favorite, he also remembered the story. He called it, “the mysterious power of the chance interaction between radio and memory.”

       While reading Chabon I started thinking of the memories that I flash whenever I hear certain old songs, and I scribbled several in the margin of my book.

       If I hear Steely Day singing “Reelin’ in the Years,” for example, I’m transported back to the evening when fellow trombone player Jan Ramey gave me a ride home in her station wagon after evening band practice, and we heard that song for the very first time.

       If I hear “Never Ending Love For You” by Delaney and Bonnie I am instantly skiing with Cyndi, clicking my poles behind me for a rhythm track, singing to her.

       When I hear “Jesus is Just Alright With Me” by the Doobie Brothers, I remember sitting in my car on a rainy Sunday evening outside of Bellview Baptist Church in Hobbs waiting for the song to end before going inside. It was the coolest song I’d ever heard and the coolest song I could imagine ever hearing containing the name “Jesus.”

       Whenever I hear the opening beats of “Fallen” by Lauren Woods my head snaps around looking for Cyndi who will already be walking toward me with arms outstretched ready to dance. It’s part of our ongoing story. We’re forever linked by that song.

       When I hear “Hit the Road Jack,” by Ray Charles, I remember one weekend when Cyndi was away teaching an aerobics workshop. The kids and I worked up a surprise for her. I would say, “Well, it’s time to hit the road,” and Katie would say, “Jack,” and Byron would say “Don’t you come back no more no more.” They were both preschoolers. We practiced over and over all weekend, and when we picked Cyndi up at the airport and tried it on her, it worked perfectly. We all laughed and laughed we were so proud of ourselves. We repeated that little mantra many times through the years, and I still think of it every time I hear the song.

       I remember the first time I heard “Hey Jude,” I was riding in the backseat of my grandparents’ car on the way to a family reunion at Kirkland Docks on Lake Brownwood. I think of that scene every time I hear the song. I also think how strange it is to link my kind and gentle grandfather, a very conservative small-town Baptist preacher, with The Beatles and “Hey Jude.” He would’ve been shocked at the connection.

       Not all my song stories are ancient. Hearing “Life Less Ordinary” by Carbon Leaf takes me back to 2008, driving north from Ventura on Highway 101, enjoying the sunshine and relaxed freedom of the road, thinking once again of the extraordinary future I dream of with Cyndi. I can’t help but smile.

       I could go on and on to the point of boredom listing songs linked to stories of my life, and perhaps I already have. I’m not sure the ones I mentioned are even the most important ones; they are just the first few I thought of right away. And I wonder if I would even remember those stories at all if I never heard the songs again. I can learn to enjoy new songs, but I would hate to lose my stories.

*  *  *  *  *

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.”
Psalm 119:32

An EV Adventure

       Cyndi and I have traveled more than usual this past spring, including two international trips. I thought we were done for the year until Cyndi signed up for an Anatomy Trains Myofascial Workshop in Walpole, Maine, in mid-August. Of course, I came along to hang out with her.

       Whenever I go to a workshop with Cyndi, it means she’s in class all day while I entertain myself. I’m happy being with that arrangement. I take my backpack stuffed with books, journal, articles to be read, and catch up on personal projects, Cyndi learns new ways to help people, and we’re someplace new, together. What could be better?

       We flew to Portland International Jetport Wednesday morning by way of Austin and Chicago with only a few hour-long delays. When we finally got to the rental car counter, they were out of cars, even though we had reservations. The line to get one was excruciatingly slow since they had to wait until another car was returned before they could take the next customer.

       The young man behind the counter offered anyone who would take an EV (Electric Vehicle) a half-price discount. Cyndi and I talked it over each time he made the offer, turning him down twice, until we finally ran out of patience and took him up on it. They gave us a white Chevrolet Bolt.

       Thursday morning, we left our Airbnb in Wiscasset and drove to the Anatomy Trains Workshop in Walpole, about half an hour. It was beautiful, especially for two desert dwellers like us. We drove past ocean inlets and down deeply wooded roads.

       I came back to the house in Wiscasset for a Zoom meeting which lasted two hours. After that, I needed to go somewhere, anywhere, else, so I loaded my backpack and went to a nearby McDonald’s (described on the city map as an iconic fast food hamburger restaurant). It turned out to be a fine location for some reading and editing a mentoring course I’ve been working on. Then back to the Anatomy Trains studio to get Cyndi.

       She was excited about her day, and all she’d learned. Her notes had my name written in the margins, meaning she’d heard how to help even me. We discussed it all over haddock cakes and roasted lobster at the Water Street Restaurant in Wiscasset. It was very good, but I have yet to be blown away by lobster. Even here, in Maine. Maybe if they added green chilies?

       Friday morning we again left for the workshop, stopping to buy supplies at Hannaford’s Grocery in Damariscotta, then to the Anatomy Trains studio. As soon as we pulled into the parking lot, Cyndi discovered she didn’t have her books for class, so I drove back to our house, scooped them up, then raced back. I handed them off about 9:20 to another workshop attendee who was coming down the stairs as I walked in.

       “Here, these are for Cyndi.”

       “I’m sorry. I don’t know which one she is.”

       “She’s beautiful with stunning, curly gray hair.”

       The young woman went inside and handed the books directly to Cyndi. Well done.

       After watching a YouTube video about vehicle recharging, I drove back to Damariscotta to the Rising Tide Coop for my first attempt. One thing I noticed right away: this charging station was not a fast one. I plugged in and sat in the car, reading, for about an hour.

       Saturday morning, we packed up our stuff and loaded the car. The check-out time for our Airbnb was 10:00 am, which seemed a bit early. Our plan was to drive back to Portland that evening after the workshop to spend the night with Jeff and Robin Darr on their sailboat.

       I decided to find a fast DC Charge Station in one of the larger towns west and south of Wiscasset but had no real success. Several stations advertised as fast charging, weren’t. And most of those were already in use. I finally found an empty station at a hospital, and later another one near the headquarters for L. L. Bean, in Freeport. I was barely keeping up. Finally, defeated, I drove back to Damariscotta and charged up a little more at the Coop. All my efforts of the day were wasted. I burned as many kilowatts driving around searching as I put in.

       Now, I was concerned. I didn’t want to ruin the evening for Cyndi, but I knew we wouldn’t make it all the way to the South Portland Marina without stopping to charge at least once, if not twice.

       As we drove toward Portland, Cyndi located an EZgo charging station, and she called the main office to ask if it was a fast charger. They assured her that it was, even when she asked in her strongest elementary school teaching voice. And this time, they were correct. In only 45 minutes we had enough charge to get to the marina that evening and the airport the next morning.

       I was worn out, emotionally exhausted, from worrying all day and making little or no progress. To settle my mind while driving I made a mental list from the day:

       First, when all was said and done, I enjoyed driving the car. I would happily drive an electric car all the time, based on the driving experience. I knew I’d figure out all the charging problems with a little more experience.

       Second, we had two things working against us. We were in a rental car that we weren’t familiar with, and it was our first time dealing with charging, so we had no idea how long it would take to charge or where to find fast charging stations. And we were in rural Maine, which means we had few choices for charging.

       Third, I finally talked myself down from thinking I’d wasted time sitting in the car for hours while it charged. In fact, I was working on the same projects I’d’ve worked on we been driving a gasoline car. The only difference – I would have been sitting in McDonalds, an iconic restaurant, instead of the front seat of our car (which was probably the healthier choice).

       Fourth and final … I don’t enjoy a just-in-time life. I like having reserves - whether money, or time, or electricity. I am a planner, and I enjoy following my own plans. I do better in life when I know where the edges are, the risks, and the worst-case scenario. Once I figure that out, I’m comfortable improvising. But with this EV I was never comfortable. I didn’t know how much reserve I had. I didn’t know what to do I if ran completely out of charge on some bridge on the Interstate.

       Well, it all turned out great. We made it to South Portland in time to have dinner with Jeff and Robin, then spent the night on their boat. It was fun, and we had a great time learning about sailboats. Cyndi wanted to go sailing with them so bad she was vibrating.

       I was afraid my concerns might dampen the joy Cyndi was having, and I didn’t want that. I don’t need, nor expect everything to work out according to my plans, but it was my job to look at the practical side of charging the car. I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t important, or we would end up stranded beside the road in rural Maine with few ideas what to do next.

       Sunday morning we flew from Portland to Baltimore, then to Dallas, and then to Midland. We finally got home about 11:00 pm. In spite of my worrying and all that, Cyndi had a great workshop. Each day she came out excited and full of ideas. Check the online schedules for Cyndi’s yoga studio and attend one of her Myofascial Release classes. She’ll make your life better.

*  *  *  *  *

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.”
Psalm 119:32

*  *  *  *  *

Thank you for reading! This is a reader-supported publication, and it only works with your help. Please share with your friends. You can find more of my writing, learn about my books, or subscribe to this free blog, at berrysimpson.com.

100th Anniversary

       I received a letter recently from Stan Blevins, pastor of the First Baptist Church of Ackerly, Texas, and Lynda Perry, Chair of the Anniversary Committee. It was an invitation to join their celebration of the 100th anniversary of the church. Both church and town were founded in 1923.

       They invited me to come to the celebration because my grandfather, Reverend J. Roy Haynes, was pastor of the church from 1950 to 1956.

       My mother (Lenelle), and her brother (James) and sister (Jeanine) grew up in Ackerly during those years. I’d never even visited there more than four or five times, but I suppose because so many people who were part of my past would be there, it felt a little like I was going back home.

        I do have one legendary story from Ackerly, one that I heard repeatedly growing up. One year, during those early 1950s, Brother Haynes contacted Howard Payne College, asking “if they had a preacher boy and a singer who could come to Ackerly to hold a revival.” I don’t know the name of the preacher, but the singer Howard Payne sent was my father, Deane Simpson.

       During the revival, Deane fell in love with the young lady playing piano, Lenelle Haynes, the pastor’s daughter, and my mother.

       Because of that story I knew I had to attend the celebration. Music and revivals and church are a deep root in our family, one that needs to be fertilized as often as possible.

       I was teaching Sunday School that morning in Midland so I knew I wouldn’t make it to Ackerly in time for the worship service, but I could make lunch. After joining the food line, then filling my plate – the food was catered by Danny’s Hens and Fins – I found a round table with an empty seat. I sat and introduced myself and immediately learned the woman beside me went to high school with my mother. She leaned over and said, “Your grandfather, Brother Haynes, baptized me.” It was a statement I heard at least a dozen times during my visit.

       The man sitting beside her leaned across the table and said, “Your grandmother grabbed me by the arm one Sunday morning, along with my best friend, and pulled us both down to the front of the church, and said, ‘It’s time you boys made a decision.’”

       Another woman walked all the way across the room, her eyes fixed on me in determination. When she got close, I stood up to introduce myself. But before I had the chance, she asked, “Are you that Haynes boy?”

       I apparently hesitated longer than expected because she asked the question again, “Are you that Haynes boy?”

       “I suppose I am. Although my name has never included Haynes, and no one has considered me a boy in fifty years.”

       “I know your name isn’t Haynes. But that’s where you come from. I can see it in your eyes. You’re Lenelle’s boy.”

       She was smiling the entire time.

       To be honest, I was surprised how many people talked about my grandfather. He was only one of forty-three pastors the church had had since its founding in August 1923. He served for six years, from April 1950 to September 1956, but it felt like he’d been there dozens of years based on the number of stories and memories I heard.

       Two different people repeated the family story to me – the one about how my parents met during a revival. It made me happy. I’ve told that story so many times it was affirming to hear it from outsiders, proving it’s more than family legend.

       As I drove back home, I was reminded of a Bible verse that motivates everything I do: From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked. (Luke 12:48, NIV) The First Baptist Church Ackerly 100th Anniversary Celebration reminded me of how much I have been given, and how much I still have to give back. I’ve been blessed with deep roots.

*  *  *  *  *

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.”
Psalm 119:32

*  *  *  *  *

Thank you for reading! This is a reader-supported publication, and it only works with your help. Please share with your friends. You can find more of my writing, learn about my books, or subscribe to this free blog, at berrysimpson.com.

Life is Beautiful

       Cyndi and I married on July 28, 1979, so this summer is our 44th anniversary. A few years ago I realized one way to celebrate was to spread love around, give love away. We feel fortunate and blessed to have each other, and we want to share that with people close to us.

       Falling in love often feels like an accident, but staying in love is a learned response, maybe even a spiritual practice. Staying in love is an act of will, intentional and specific. We all must find our own methods and practices to keep love fresh and alive.

       One of my practices is listening to love songs. I’m drawn to love songs on the assumption that they were all written about Cyndi and me. I don’t always agree with every lyric, or even the motivation of the composer or performer; I just want to enjoy the song and appreciate the fact they wrote it just for us.

       Music is a deep root for Cyndi and me. We first met in a high school band hall in 1973 in Hobbs, NM; we rediscovered each other and started falling in love at a NTSU One O’clock Jazz Band concert featuring Bill Watrous, in Denton, TX, in 1976. We’ve been playing music together ever since. It’s impossible for us to separate love from music.

       The Bible says we have eternity in our hearts. I believe that refers to our capacity and longing for transcendence; our need to be part of something bigger than ourselves. Surely music is part of that … as if God said, "Here take this, you’ll like it, it’s some of my best stuff.”

        A few years ago (2007 to be exact) I started collecting love songs into playlists and giving them away. This is my 17th list. Initially I made CDs and gave them away. But starting in 2020 I just created playlists. Mostly because, it was pointed out to me, few people have CD players anymore. (I can and will burn a physical CD for anyone who wants one.)

       To find my playlists (I have them all, back to 2007), follow this link to Spotify, or this link to my webpage. It will make me happy if you listen to them and let me know which are your favorites.

       I’d love to have your suggestions and recommendations for next year’s list. My ears are always open for love songs.

*   *   *   *   *

Can't Get Enough of You Baby, Smash Mouth, 1999 … That’s correct, I can't get enough of you.

Lovely Day, Bill Withers, 1977 … Just one look at you and I know it's gonna be a lovely day.

Almost Like Being in Love, Diana Krall, 2020 … There's a smile on my face, for the whole human race. Why it's almost like being in love.

Getting Started, Jason Mraz, 2023 … Sometimes good things still come late. Yeah, the future hasn't happened yet. I'm still unfolding every day. I cannot wait to get this started … Even after 44 years.

Perfect, Ed Sheeran, 2017 … We were just kids when we fell in love, not knowing what it was. I found a woman, stronger than anyone I know.

All This Goodness, Kyle Andrews, 2014 … I'm getting big ideas. We can spell them out. No clue where they lead. But it all starts with you

It's Always You, Amos Lee, 2022 … Each time I fall in love, it's always you.

Beyond, Leon Bridges, 2018 … She might just be my everything and beyond.

Taking You With Me, Daniel Tashian, Mindy Smith, 2011 … Wherever I go, I'm taking you with me. Wherever I go, You're coming along.

Love You Is Sweeter Than Ever, Susan Tedeschi, 2005 … Loving you has made my life sweeter than ever before.

Life is Beautiful, Keb' Mo', 2006 … And a song that lasts forever; each song getting better all the time. Life is beautiful, life is wondrous.

Endlessly, Green River Ordinance, 2016 … She’s the days I can't get over, she’s the nights that I call home. I love that girl.

Consequence of Love, Gregory Porter, 2016 … I will fight for the right to be your love.

You and I, Johnnyswim, 2014 … It’s always you and I, at the center of my world.

Come Dance, Kat Wright, 2016 … Come dance with me. Doesn't matter if you can't. Doesn't matter if you're shy. Doesn't matter if you're scared. Just give me a try … One of the biggest surprises of my adult life is that, because of Cyndi, I enjoy dancing. And Cyndi always wants to dance with me in spite of the fact I can’t dance without counting beats, or because it scares me.

You're Sensational, Ron Boustead, 2013 … My need of you is much more than romance. I want to be with you.

Love Someone, Brett Eldgredge, 2017 … You're everywhere I wanna go, everywhere I wanna be, and everywhere I've ever been. Everything I'll ever need is sitting right here next to me.

The One Thing, Gabe Dixon, 2016 … One thing I did right … Well, if I got one thing right, I got a big one.

My Girl, Dave Barnes, 2010 … Talkin' 'bout my girl … This song simply makes me smile.

I Don't Want To Miss A Thing, Postmodern Jukebox, Sara Niemietz, 2019 … I don't wanna miss a thing … Exactly. I want it all.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.”
Psalm 119:32

“Never pass up an opportunity to build mental toughness.”

       This was a comment made to Lisa Thompson by one of her climbing partners as they were preparing to practice crossing a ladder across a crevasse with crampons strapped to their boots. They were at Mt. Everest base camp preparing to summit. She wrote about this and her other summits in her book, Finding Elevation.

       The quote reminded me of a recent bike ride. I rode 24 miles, my regular Fasken route, and it was an uncharacteristically cool 79* (it was our summer “cool front”, bookended by multiple weeks >100*)

       My ride was going OK, but I was feeling stiff and tired as I rode around the northern part of Green Tree. I considered skipping the Fasken loop and simply heading back. Even as I approached the point of decision, where Sequoia Dr. heads south from Green Tree Blvd. If I went straight west, I was committing to doing the full Fasken loop. While there were several short-cut options around Fasken, I knew the odds were, I would ride my regular loop without even thinking about it – if, that is, I crossed Holiday Hill Road. If I turned south on Sequoia, I was committed to a quick ride home.

       In reality the difference between the two routes was only about 4-5 miles. If I were training for some big ride, I would’ve gone the entire way no matter how I felt, but I wasn’t training. This was just a fitness ride. Whether I rode 19 or 24 made very little difference. At least those were my thoughts as I got nearer to the point of decision.

       Why is it so easy to talk ourselves down? Why do persuasive reasons to take the easy way fill our mind so quickly?

       But when I got to the intersection of Sequoia and GTB, I kept riding west. Just like that. Without thinking. For all my calculating and analyzing, the decision to ride west to Fasken rather than turn left on Sequoia took a fraction of a second. In fact, there wasn’t much of a decision. I simply didn’t turn left.

       For all my fretting and mental arguing, those moments of decisions are usually brief. The blink of an eye.

       I’m fully aware this was a small-scale decision made on a moderate-length bike ride with minimal results at stake. I’m not telling this story to point out what a hero I am, but to confess how easily I could’ve decided to give up.

       How we live our blink-of-the-eye moments is how we live our lives.

       Well, my ride was better the rest of the way, the rest of the morning. I felt better, rode better, and enjoyed myself. The weary stiffness from before vanished. Maybe because I was proud of my decision. I realized the effect of continuing was more than the extra 4-5 miles. It was mental training.

       So when I saw the quote in Lisa Thompson’s book, “Never pass up an opportunity to build mental toughness,” I knew that was the point. This time I had chosen mental toughness over relaxing on my way back home.

       Not giving up is a powerful feeling that can last a long time. Maybe I should tape a message on my handled bars, choose mental toughness, where I’ll constantly see it. Maybe I should include a checkbox in my run/bike logs for mentally tough choices.

       I must add, choosing mental toughness doesn’t always work out well. Sometimes it results in a long, hard, bad day.

       But not this time. I was proud of my tiny achievement.

*   *   *   *   *

       How about you? When did you last choose mental toughness (no matter how small)? I’d love to know your story.

 *  *  *  *  *

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.”
Psalm 119:32

*  *  *  *  *

Thank you for reading! This is a reader-supported publication, and it only works with your help. Please share with your friends. You can find more of my writing, learn about my books, or subscribe to this free blog, at berrysimpson.com.

Pilgrims on the Camino de Santiago

“Consider well the highway,
the road by which you went.”
(Jeremiah 31:21, ESV)

“Blessed are those whose strength is in you,
whose hearts are set on pilgrimage.”
(Psalm 84:5, NIV)

       The Camino de Santiago (Way of St. James) is a pilgrimage route to the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in Galicia in northwestern Spain, where tradition has it that the remains of the apostle Saint James are buried.

       Legend goes on to say that after Christ’s crucifixion, resurrection, and ascension, James headed off to the Iberian Peninsula in order to preach the word. But it wasn’t yet time. He attracted just seven disciples for his troubles. James returned to Jerusalem, where he was martyred by King Herod. The legend says James’ body was then transported to Spain by friends and followers.

       The history of the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage goes back to the year 814 and the discovery of James’ tomb, which means people have been traveling this route for 1,200 years. In 2018, the number of pilgrims was over 330,000. Like many things, the number collapsed during Covid; but in 2021, 178,912 pilgrims completed the walk. Statistically, 68% of pilgrims are from Spain, 10% are from the USA, almost 20% are over age 60.

       The pilgrimage is based on the destination – the cathedral in Santiago – rather than any specific route or distance. There are many established routes, starting in France, Portugal, and Spain. The Camino Primitivo from Oviedo is the oldest, but the most famous is the Camino Francés or French Way starting in St Jean Pied de Port, in the French Pyrenees. This particular trail is 800 kilometers long and takes approximately five weeks to complete. That’s a long way to walk, but some go even further. On our trip we met a delightful young man who walked from his home in Belgium and was on his way back – a roundtrip of at least 3,000 kilometers. A pilgrim can start their Camino at any point as long as they walk at least 100 kilometers. Thirty-one percent of pilgrims begin their walk in Sarria, which is approximately 112 km from Santiago. So did we.

*  *  *  *  *

      Pilgrims walk these trails for different reasons. For some, the experience has religious significance, but for others, it’s about finding quality time to think, breathe, heal and discover oneself.

       Cyndi and I weren’t concerned whether the tomb contained the bones of Saint James, or any of that. However, we were interested in absorbing the spiritual energy from people who’ve been taking this path for 1,200 years. We wanted to join this ancient stream of millions seeking God.

       Sometimes, we have to get outside of our normal routines and places to reconnect with God. A change of location can result in a change of perspective. And for both Cyndi and me, this effect is amplified by physical movement. When you walk for long distances and for several days it can be like meditation. The rhythmic repetition has a calming effect on your body and soul.

       What makes pilgrimages like the Camino valuable is they hold out the promise of change. We can go on pilgrimage knowing God will change us; we don’t have to make it happen on our own. As a writer, I know that if I insert myself into new environments and adventures, my thinking, and way of being in the world, will change. I’ll come back home with stories to tell, and lessons to teach, and I’ll be a different man because of it all.

*  *  *  *  *

       The first time I heard of the Camino de Santiago was around 2010 from a Long-Distance Hiking Podcast. Then, in 2012, Cyndi and I watched the movie, The Way, (If you haven’t seen it, I recommend you put it near the top of your list.) and we started telling each other we’d like to do the pilgrimage someday.

       But someday takes too long. Finally, Cyndi said, “We need to go now.” I said, “Yeah, our ability to do this sort of thing is a diminishing asset.”

       So in 2019 we started making plans. I researched several tour services, read guidebooks and memoirs, and checked the best season with the best weather for an optimal hike.

       The month of May seemed to be the opportune time: the rainy season is over, and the European vacation season is still weeks away. I also settled on booking our trip with Fresco Tours. So, we made plans to go in May of 2020. But then, Covid happened. The entire country of Spain locked down and the hotels and hostels along the route were closed. We reluctantly delayed our hike one year, to May 2021.

       But in 2021, the Covid situation in Spain was on the uptick, so we decided to delay another year. We weren’t really worried about getting sick, but we didn’t want to risk being quarantined in some tiny Spanish town.

       In 2022 my left foot and ankle collapsed, requiring reconstruction surgery in June. Obviously there was no Camino walking that year.

       And now, 2023 was finally our year. We left Midland on May 10th, hiked 71 miles in six days, then returned home May 20th.

*  *  *  *  *

      We met the other members of our tour group at dinner on the evening of May 12th, the night before we started walking. Our Fresco Tours guide gave us our Camino seashell, maps, hotel vouchers, luggage tags, pilgrim credentials, and lots of advice. He told us to tie the seashell to our backpacks. He said, “Tying the shell to your pack transforms you from a tourist to a pilgrim.” I thought about his statement for the entire journey.

      The origins of the word “pilgrim” are generally agreed to mean traveler. It comes from the Latin perager, meaning “through the fields,” or the French word pelegrin, meaning “foreign,” or maybe even the English word peregrinate which means to “wander or travel, especially by foot.”

       As a pilgrim, we may choose the journey, but we can’t choose the meaning. We choose our path, but not the message, the lesson, the impact, or the changes that will come from it. We choose a life, but we then have to live life as it comes. We have to live out the changes God makes in our heart.

       I spent most of my Christian life assuming that being filled with God meant I would have spiritual superpower, greater insight, or even magical teaching skills. I was certain the reason God wanted to fill me was so I could perform better. I didn’t appreciate that he wanted to fill me with himself just to be together with me, to take me further down the way. While I’ve been intentional about choosing a life, I had no way to anticipate the changes Jesus would make.

*  *  *  *  *

       “A disciple of Jesus is a lifelong learner. A disciple’s hunger for truth is never satisfied. A pilgrim never quits the pilgrimage.”
(Leonard Sweet, Soul Salsa)

       What does it mean to live life as a pilgrim? It requires intentionality and determination. Intentionally abiding in Jesus and allowing the Holy Spirit to produce his fruit in you for the sake of others. It’s about deepening rather than accumulating. Living like a pilgrim is a daily practice.

       For many years I’ve used the term lifelong pilgrim to describe how I want to go through life. Whether hiking on the Camino, or riding my bike, or backpacking in the Guadalupes, or writing in the Basilica St. Francis in Santa Fe, or reading in my rocking chair, or working on my next book, or teaching a class.

       The Apostle Paul wrote: “Take your everyday, ordinary life—your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life—and place it before God as an offering. Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for him. Don't become so well-adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking. Instead, fix your attention on God. You'll be changed from the inside out. Readily recognize what he wants from you, and quickly respond to it. Unlike the culture around you, always dragging you down to its level of immaturity, God brings the best out of you, develops well-formed maturity in you.” (Romans 12:1-2, MSG)

       Those are good words. Living like a pilgrim takes a lot of practice. I pray that you’ll choose the path God has laid out before you, and that you’ll allow the changes he wants to make along the way.

(Follow this link to my Camino Diary for a more detailed account of our trip.)

Camino Diary

Wednesday 5-10-2023

       At DFW, in the same foot court where we ate while on our way to Saudi Arabia, in the international terminal, which was only a month ago, but feels longer. We are in Whataburger, 3:25 pm, at a table and waiting for our flight that leaves at 5:00 pm.

       We left Midland at 12:24 pm, on American Eagle. Like all trips of this nature, trying to get away and get all that’s needed together is such a flurry it is hard to be excited right away. But we are both looking forward to making this Camino walk and doing it together.

       I woke up about 3:30 am worrying about how we’ll get from the airport to the train station and all that. I worry more about the front end of the trip (Midland to Sarria) and back end (Santiago to Midland) than I do about walking the 70+ miles. Once we are on the trail, I’ll be doing something I’m used to doing - walking on a trail. But all the air and train connections, that’s new to me. And it will be in Spain.

       The Saudi trip wasn’t stressful since Todd made all the arrangements and I trusted him, and I knew it would all work. This trip is up to me and while I trust my decisions I still worry about the improvised parts.

       At 4:00 am as I tossed and turned and worried, I realized: (1) we aren’t the first Americans to make this same trip, (2) people from all over the world and all languages make these same connections every year, (3) I just have to trust the process and don’t be afraid to ask for help (not a small concession). Once again, I prayed as I have done so many times before, Lord – teach me to trust you. We are in your hands, and we are safe.

Thursday 5-11-2023

       We flew all night – about 8 hours in the air. I watched two movies: Ford vs. Ferrari, and Guardians of the Galaxy 2.

       We landed in Madrid at 9:05 am. Passport control was a walk-through. It felt like we walked forever down long airport hallways and rode underground trains forever until we finally got to baggage claim … but as soon as we walked up to the carousel, we grabbed our bags.

       We found an ATM and pulled some Euros, then got directions to the airport train station. Our train tickets to Sarria were enough for us to ride the municipal train from the airport to Chamartin Station. (So, one of my waking-in-the-middle-of-the-night worries was solved quickly and easily. Of course it was.)

       We are now in the train station, where we ate a ham and cheese sandwich for lunch, waiting until 1:15 pm when we’ll leave for Sarria.

       The train ride was about five hours, and Cyndi and I slept most of the way. I woke up whenever we stopped so I could track our journey and make sure we didn’t sleep past our stop. Sitting in the seats in front of us were Blane and Celeste, from Baton Rouge, and they were also touring with Fresco.

       At Ourense we left the train. Many of the train riders were pilgrims like us, and we all walked together to a row of buses, stored our suitcases under the bus, and climbed aboard.

       About 1/3 of the trip to Sarria our bus blew a tire. I figured we’d be stuck waiting for help for an hour or two, but from somewhere close, a new bus showed up, and we finished the trip with no problems.

       Once in our hotel room (Hotel Alfonso IX), Cyndi wrestled AT&T to the ground to make sure I had international calling.

       We met Steve and Chris Robichaud (from Midland (they’d arrived the day before)) and ate dinner at the hotel.

       Somehow, Cyndi and I have carved out a life so that if we say we want to hike the Camino, no one asks why we want to do it. It’s understood that’s the sort of thing we like to do. That makes me happy.

Friday 5-12-2023

       We slept in this morning, unintentionally, until 8:45 am. We went down to breakfast – a typical European buffet and joined Celeste and Blane from Baton Rouge (we met them on the train and the bus) and their friends Steve (orthodontist) and Elizabeth (retired attorney) also from Baton Rouge.

       Today we will poke around Sarria and deal with jet lag as best we can, etc.

       After breakfast we walked up the hill, following the Camino path (marked with big yellow arrows) to the Mercedarian Monastery of the Magdalena. It was located at the top of the hill. It started raining on us as we climbed the hill. We were happy to duck into an entryway at the monastery, where we hoped to see inside. But even though the sign said the monastery was open from 9:00 until 1:00, it was closed now. We pulled the chain to ring the bell, but no joy. They never came to the door.

       We walked back down the hill and stopped in a backpacking-type store full of pilgrim gear. I bought a couple of blue patches with yellow shell designs. I want to put one on my black book backpack, and maybe another on my REI daypack.

       We went to a grocery store and bought snacks and energy bars and cheese for lunches for the next few days.

       Then Cyndi and Chris and Steve went for ice cream. I went to the room and took a nap and a shower. We are supposed to meet our group and get our tour packets at 7:00 pm.

       The Fresco representative, Miguel, and the owner of Fresco, Alex, explained our materials: our Camino credential (for stamps), our room vouchers, our luggage tags, our maps, our Camino shells, and all that. It was an excellent, detailed yet entertaining, presentation.

       We ate dinner together in the hotel restaurant.

       I slept well, except for waking up at 3:00 am. (Seems to be a lingering effect of jet lag … or a sign of getting older). I read my book for a while.

Saturday (day #1) 5-13-2023
Sarria > Portomarin

       Cyndi and I got up at 6:00 am, got ready for the hike and packed our suitcases, then went down to breakfast at 7:00 am. We were the first ones down. We ate from the buffet, and soon the entire touring group was present (15 pilgrims, all from the USA).

       We all started walking together on the trail at 8:30 am. We had a steep uphill as we climbed into the old town part of Sarria, then a steep descent to cross a river.

       Then another steep ascent out of the river to a small village called Vilei. Just past Vilei was a small 8th Century church called Barbadelo. It seemed to be still active. At least, the cemetery was still active.

       After visiting the church, we climbed even more to Mercado, and then still upward to Peruscallo, where Cyndi and I, Steve and Chris, stopped to eat snacks and go to the bathroom.

       Not far out of Peruscallo, Cyndi and I were hiking out in front, when we were overtaken by a father and daughter from Chicago. This was their 30th day of walking (they started at the French border). The dad was named Mike, and he worked as a contract engineer for a company that made software for metal casting. Because he was an independent contractor and a contract worker, he could work his own schedule, so he took eight weeks off in April and May to walk the Camino with his daughter who just graduated from college. Her name was Ashley and was walking the Camino before beginning her first job in June.

       We walked with them for a while, quickly, they had a brisk pace, 30 days of fitness in their legs, for about six kilometers. Finally, I couldn’t keep the pace any longer and Cyndi and I stopped for a rest and snacks at Mercadoiro.

       Approaching Portomarin was a very steep descent to a river crossing. It was so steep I had to keep focused and keep my knees bent. It went on and on and on and was quite exhausting. Then we crossed a long bridge over the river (more of a lake due to a downstream dam), until reaching Portomarin on the far side. As soon as we finished the bridge we climbed several hundred feet of stairs, and then continued climbing up the street, to our hotel, the Hotel Ferramenteiro.

       We arrived first of our Fresco group, at 3:30 pm. We weren’t hurrying but had kept a good pace. Of course, no matter how quickly I walk, Cyndi is intentionally slowing to stay with me. Thanks, Cyndi.

       At 5:30 we joined the Robichauds for pizza. We were all wiped out. We’d walked 14 miles. Not only was it our first day of walking, but it was our longest day of the trip.

       The buildings in the town all looked new – especially compared to the small villages we’d walked through already today. Nothing appeared to be from the Middle Ages here. We later found out that in the 1960s the original 1800-year-old town was covered with water when the river was dammed. Only the church was preserved. They hauled the church to the top of the hill, stone by stone, and reassembled it in a new, dry location.

       We’re now in our room and probably won’t do anything else tonight but take showers and go to bed.

       Most of the time we get in too big a hurry to assign meaning to an adventure. It usually takes a while for the meaning to reveal itself to us. There are things I can’t hear or understand until after a couple of days on the trail by myself. It takes that long for the brain floaters to settle.

Sunday (day #2) 5-14-2023
Portomarin > Lestedo

       We got up at 6:30 and went for breakfast at 7:30. We hit the Camino trail at 8:15.

       It was an uphill day. All day. We started climbing almost immediately out of town and continued to climb for at least 10K. From about 350 meters elevation to 700 meters (1,184’ climb) with only a few flat spots.

       In one of the flat spots, about 8km from the start, we stopped at a roadside bar near Gonzar. We bought two waters and ate trail mix and energy bars.

       Most of the first half of the day was through wooded trails, sometimes alongside the highway. It was beautiful and green. After halfway, during another gentle climb, we stopped at a roadside bar near Ventas de Naron. I had to doctor my feet a little; I could tell blisters were forming.

       We started back downhill about 14km. Cyndi and I tried picking up our pace to let gravity pull us down the road rather than using our joints and muscles for breaking. It was nice, quicker, and surprisingly easier on our legs.

       We ran into our friends from yesterday, Mike and Ashley, and walked with them a short bit. We knew they were faster than us, so we sent them on their way.

       We took a steep downhill into Portos, then back up to our destination for the night – Lestedo. We had trouble reading our map which meant we couldn’t find our hotel. Mike and Ashley appeared again – like trail angels – and helped push us up the final hill until we found the road leading to our hotel.

       It was a very nice boutique hotel named Hosteria Calixtino. A long time ago it was the local priest’s house. It sat abandoned for a long time until someone bought it and turned it into this hotel. Cyndi and I arrived at 2:30.

       Dinner was at 7:00, and we pulled tables together and we all ate together. It was a fun, loud evening telling stories of the day’s walk and from our lives back home.

       I found a blister on each foot, along the outside edge below my little toes. We bandaged each blister and I hope I can keep walking on it. I plan to change shoes tomorrow.

Monday (Day #3 - 5-15-2023
Lestedo > Melide

       Cyndi and I got up at 6:30, and Cyndi bandaged my blisters, both feet. Both were in the same place, on each foot. We put gel band aids on and covered them with moleskin.

       I decided to wear my other shoes (NB1540s, gray everyday shoes that were more stable) instead of the black NB860 Fresh Foam shoes (that were cushier), since the black shoes had given me blisters. We ate breakfast at the same table as last night.

       We left on our walk at 8:30. I tried a different approach this time. I transcribed some of the information from my guidebooks onto our trip map (which was actually more of an elevation profile). The other tour members saw it and were impressed, and several took photos so they could use it during their walk. I was impressed as well – it was a better way to keep up with our progress and make sure we noticed the points of interest.

       Our first big city was Palas de Rei (where most Pilgrims stayed, which meant our walk from Lestedo was behind the big bubble of walkers. It almost felt lonely sometimes.)

       In Palas de Rei we went inside an old, yet still active, church – San Tirso. When we walked in, there was a group of about 20 people sitting in the front pews and singing. One of their members played the harmonica while they sang. It was cool to hear them. They were singing in German, but the melodies sounded very Catholic.

       About 3km down the road we came to a small town, San Xulian. I read in the guidebook there was a place to stand and get a photo that would have a Hellio (Galician corn crib) on our right, a cruceiro (stone crucifix statue) on our left, and a Roman-era church behind us. A trifecta of photo ops from Galicia.

       We went inside the very small church. It had pews and seemed to be still active. As we were about to leave, our German friends came in and started filling the pews. I knew they would be singing soon, so we left to give them space. I suppose it was their pilgrim plan to sing in every open church. I think the church was named – La Iglesia de San Xulian do Camino.

       Our next stop was Casanova, where we stepped at a bar and had cokes and a pastry. When I first read in all my tour guides about the bars along the way I could only imagine dark smokey bars. Our tour guide, in fact, had told us bars would be our best friend. I couldn’t see how that would be true. But I was wrong. There are more like roadside restaurants, with lots of tables, usually shade, some food and drink, and bathrooms. They’re light and fun and social and good places to stop. At the bars. we tended to see other pilgrims we recognized from the trail, as well as members of our own tour group, so it made the bars friendly and inviting.

       We hiked another 3-1/2 kms to Leboreiro. It was a cool town that felt ancient – the stone buildings and streets but had all the pilgrim amenities. We took photos of a Roman-era church, very small, with lots of crypts in the small courtyard. We crossed a medieval bridge as we left town.

       Between Leboreiro and Ribeira Sacra, about 2km, the Camino passed through an industrial area. It wasn’t the prettiest. But it was flat and smooth.

       We dropped down a steep descent into Furelos, to cross the Furelos River over a large medieval bridge.

       Our target of Melide was seemingly right next to Furelos.

       We quickly found our destination, the Hotel Carlos, arriving at 2:15 pm. We moved into our rooms, then took up an outside table at the hotel restaurant where we could watch for our tour buddies and cheer them as they trickled in.

       Six of us ate dinner down the street at Pulperia A Garnacha. It was marginal, sort of an already cooked, fast food feel. Some in our group ordered the local specialty - octopus - but Cyndi and I have had octopus before and we weren’t interested.

       And then, ice cream. Chris Robichaud is a fiend for ice cream.

       Back in the room Cyndi and I worked on the first installment of a report to the Ezekiel department Day #1.

Tuesday Day #4 – 5-16-23
Melide > Arzua

       We got up about 6:45 am after hitting the snooze button a few times. I put some duct tape on my left foot to reinforce the moleskin.

       Cyndi and I started walking about 8:40 am. The route took us through town, crossing streets and highways, down narrow alleys. Today was 14km, or 9 miles, our shortest day of the trip.

       The first church we saw was Chapel of Roque. It was closed, but in the courtyard was the oldest cruceiro we’ve seen yet, from the 14th-Century. It was near a roundabout, in the heart of the city. On this day it was surrounded by white tents and booth structures. Apparently there had been some sort of festival, or was one coming, maybe for Day of Ascension.

       The next church we saw was Church of Santa Maria, a small church on top of a hill. We looked inside and took photos, while a woman and a group did their Hail Marys.

       About 3 km in, we crossed a creek. I believe it was Arzua Creek, at a popular photo spot known as Bridge of Stone. We were with the Robichauds and took lots of pictures.

       We passed quickly through Parabispo, kept going. We had several very steep descents as well as steep climbs. All straight down or straight up, no switchbacks.

       We stopped for snacks and a Coke Zero at Castaneda.

       We crossed the River Iso over a Medieval bridge. The guidebook said it was our last old bridge.

       And then into our destination of Arzua. We arrived at 1:15 pm, moved into our room, I did some laundry in the hotel room sink, and ate an early dinner at 5:00 pm. A Hamburger. Not bad. Maybe my favorite meal of the trip, so far.

       I had two thoughts today. As I looked at the shell on my backpack, the one that transformed from a tourist to a pilgrim, it occurred to me maybe the cross I’ve worn since my Walk to Emmaus (1998) is a similar marker. I’ve never known why it was important to keep wearing it, but I knew it was important. Maybe it was also a marker of moving from tourist in life to a pilgrim.

       We sing This world is not my home, I’m just passing through, but we should not simply be tourists, observing and complaining, but as pilgrims, using the journey to draw us nearer to the heart of God and leaving an affect on those we see along the way.

       My second thought was: I thought about how we all say Buen Camino to pilgrims and village residents as we see each other or pass each other on the trail. Maybe I should start saying Buen Guadalupe to the other hikers when we climb Guadalupe Peak. Maybe it’ll catch on.

       Also, another idea. Find a cluster of worship spaces in Midland, maybe four or five, and create my own brief, one day, pilgrimage. Walk from space to space, sit and pray and sing and write. Try to recruit some people to join me.

Wednesday Day #5 – 5-17-23
Arzua > Pedrouzo

       We got up about 6:30 and sent our day #3 email to our Ezekiel Class. Dressed and packed our bags and went to the hotel next door for breakfast.

       We started on our walk about 8:40 am. We wanted to buy some cheese (Arzue is the cheese capital of Galicia) but all the grocery stores were still closed. In fact, the only people we saw moving on the sidewalks were other pilgrims. We also missed the small church on our way out of town. Bummer.

       We stopped at a bar in Calle for snacks and to rest after 2 hours walking. While we were sitting the Robichauds came by, so we hooted them to join us.

       We passed by a Hindu-looking man who was playing (softly) a tongue drum. He had posted inspirational posters of encouragement on the trees alongside his camp. We put money in his collection box and stamped our credentials.

       It got warmer as we walked, much more city-like and busy.

       We passed by a man who made little bracelets and zipper pulls and sold them for donations. Cyndi selected two for the girls. He also stamped our credentials.

        I was wiped out the last hour or two. I had an energy bonk … the only time it happened to me on the trip.

       We made it to our hotel at 1:30. After checking in we went to the restaurant and Cyndi had French fries and I had penne pasta with meat. It was perfect. I was quickly revived.

       Now I’m in the room writing up my notes and posting on Facebook, while Cyndi is teaching yoga headstands out in the grassy courtyard.

Thursday Day #6 – 5-18-2023
Pedrouzo > Santiago de Compostella

       In order to authenticate your pilgrimage and prove you walked as far as you say you did, they give you a small folding booklet called a Pilgrim Credential. All along the way, everywhere you stop, whether hotels or bars or churches or men selling stuff, they have ink stamps, and you collect those stamps as you go. Pilgrims are required to collect at least two stamps per day, but most collect many more. Here is a photo of my Credential from about halfway through the trip.

       Again, we got up about 6:30 (plus snoozes) and ate breakfast in the hotel. It was my favorite breakfast so far, featuring soft scrambled eggs and sausage and cheese.

       We left walking at 8:30. Not long on the trail we saw a young man playing accordion. He said he’d walked from Belgium, and was now on his way back, playing to earn travel money. He was fun and friendly and delightful, and again, to my dismay, I didn’t get his name or take a selfie with him. I need to learn better skills as a reporter.

       We stopped at a small chapel in San Paio, about 8km from Pedrouzo. It was too small for pews. I don’t know if they ever held mass inside since it was so small. I took a photo of what looked like a line of men standing in fire … the church guide said it represented Purgatory. (I suppose it was meant to be a public service announcement: Don’t let this happen you to.)

       We went in and out of woods and urban streets all day. Stopped at San Paio for our two-hour snack break and Coke Zero, then later at San Marcos two hours later. Steve bought 2 bags of potato chips and they were amazing.

       When we finally made it to the outskirts of Santiago do Compostella we expected to find our way to the hotel quickly, as had happened in every other town so far. However, if felt like we walked forever through Santiago, hoping we were still on the route.

We finally found our hotel (Hotel Compostela) at 3:30 pm. I went straight down on the bed and tried to sleep.

       I took a shower, and we went to eat with the Robichauds at 5:00 – at a sidewalk café – Cyndi and I split Calzone and salad and fries.

       Then we went to the Pilgrim office to get our Compostela, a certificate of completion. It is in Latin, so the only thing I can read is my name. (On Cyndi’s certificate they made an attempt to Latinize her name … Cynthiam Simpson)

       The woman who printed mine said, “Congratulations, Berry" and I teared up. I was surprised that it was so emotional for me.

       She also asked, “What is the reason for your visit?” This, by the way, is not the same as asking, “What is your quest?” That’s a destination question. “What is your reason?” is a motivation question.

        We are now seated in the south transept of the cathedral, waiting for the Pilgrim Mass to begin.

       The mass was OK, considering we understood less than 10% of it, and the parts we understood (the only parts in English) were the instructions not to take photos.

       Later, that night, it was hard to fall asleep. My left foot was stinging on the upper outside, like it did last summer, post-surgery. At that time, the doctor said it was “my nerves waking up.” I supposed it was caused by the shock of 70 miles in six days.

Friday – 5-19-2023

       We slept in until 7:00. Then ate breakfast.

       We took a Fresco tour of the Cathedral and surrounding city, and it was great. We learned a lot. It was striking, the architectural mash-up of Roman-era and Middle Ages and Baroque.

       Afterward we shopped around, ate lunch (hamburgers), and shopped some more.

       I took a nap while Cyndi made a dry run down to the train station to see if it would be a problem with our suitcases early tomorrow morning.

       We met the Chicago women for dinner, and first thing we all went back to the train station (one of the women left her phone on a city bus and she wanted to report it). We all went to a Tapas Bar and ate what turned out to be one of my favorite meals of the whole trip. Great food and fun conversations.

Saturday – 5-20-2023

       We woke up with the alarm at 4:00 am, finished packing, paid for our extra night, and walked ten minutes through the city pulling our suitcases to the Santiago train station. This transition was the 2nd of 3 transitions I was worried about. Well, worried is too strong of a word. What I mean to say is it was one of the parts of our trip I couldn’t plan because I didn’t have enough information I could trust. But I knew we’d figure it out on our own on the fly. I’m not afraid of that. But I want Cyndi to feel taken-care-of.

       We considered taking a cab to the train station, but since Cyndi walked the route and then we both walked it again, we saw there was no need to hire a cab. It probably took us less than ten minutes with no traffic on the streets.

       We loaded our train and left about 5:38 am, arriving in Ourense at 6:20, When I bought the train tickets back in Midland there was a warning that we’d only have 15 minutes between trains. That was my 3rd transition to worry about.

       As it turned out, the train to Madrid was parked alongside our train from Santiago. So the actual time for transition was about two minutes. We had thirteen minutes to spare. Easy squeezy.

       With the train to Madrid underway, I relaxed. Cyndi and I both slept about an hour and a half.

       The Madrid airport was easy. Now we were seasoned pros. We ate pastries. Then boarded our flight about 12:30 pm. Now, as I’m writing this, it is 3:10 Spain time. We have about 7 hours of flying time yet to go.

       On the airplane I watched a documentary about the movie Titanic, and an Austin City Limits featuring James Taylor, and then the movie Avatar.

       We landed at DFW and cleared customs quickly. All it took was to look into a computer screen and their facial recognition program called us by name and cleared us. But our luggage took 1-1/2 hours to come out. They gave no explanation why it took so long, but we think they accidentally took it to the wrong terminal. Almost everyone on the flight had to wait for luggage … some people missed their connecting flights because of it.

       While waiting for luggage we saw the man from Arizona that we walked with on the Camino, the one with a sign on his pack that said “Onward and Upward” in Spanish. Another man from El Paso heard Cyndi and I talking and asked if we’d been walking on the Camino as well. He was also a pilgrim. And a tall young woman, a college student, asked Cyndi about the Camino. She said her parents walked it last summer and they haven’t stopped talking about it yet.

       We ate BBQ at a place in Terminal B called Hickory. It’s now 7:30 pm. Our flight doesn’t leave for Midland until about 10:30 pm.

       We finally got home and into bed at 12:45 am.

       Our day:

        4:45 am - arrived at Santiago train station.

       12:45 am – arrived at our house.

       20 hours

        7-hour time difference

       27 hours of traveling

Sunday – 5-21-2023

       We were so wiped out from the traveling we slept in. Skipped church and Sunday School and orchestra. I did go to the 5-at-5 Sunday evening service.

       My feet and ankle performed well on this trip – even better than my expectations. Once I found my walking stride each morning, I could boogie down the trail without hesitation. I still had a spot of shin splints that popped up the day I got the blisters. It hadn’t gotten worse, but it also hadn’t gotten better.

       However the tingling stinging sensation lingered, especially at night. Making it hard to go to sleep.

       To walk is to leave things behind - a lesson learned from backpacking. I won’t know for a while what I may have left behind by walking the Camino. In fact, I don’t need to know right now. It’ll come when I need it.

       I’m scheduled to speak at FBC Brotherhood on June 19. I am planning to do something with my thoughts of pilgrim vs. tourist.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Quotes and notes

       “Take the green door” (from our Fresco Tour guide, referring to heading into the trees to go to the bathroom.)

       “Bars are your best friend,” (from our tour guide … the place to get stamps, coffee, and bathrooms)

       Walking on a Country Road (James Taylor)

       “All energy is borrowed; someday you’ll have to give it back.” (from movie: Avatar)

        “Your life can never be simply about you.” (Erwin McManus)

       Perigrinatio Pro Dei Amore = Pilgrim for the love of God.

       "Religion in our time has been captured by the tourist mindset.” (Eugene Peterson, A Long Obedience in the Same Direction)

       Fruitfulness is not the same as productivity. Productivity is about what we’re doing, fruitfulness is about who we’re becoming.

       “Everywhere is in walking distance, if you have the time.” (Stephen Wright)

----------------------------------------------------------------

There were many points along the trail where the walking surface was several feet lower than the surrounding land. None of them looked like they were deepened on purpose. They looked as if they were worn down by the millions of pilgrim footsteps. Those paths felt very Lord-of-the-Rings-ish.

A pilgrim can follow any route to Santiago. However, these are the routes that are supported and recommended … meaning food and lodging should be available.

Adventures Change Us

       This week I had a Zoom conversation with two men who live in Saudi Arabia. One I’ve known for twenty years and the other a new friend. The reason for the meeting was to hear one of the men tell his life story. He spoke with detail and emotion for an hour-and-a-half, and it was clear God was reminding him how he’d never been alone through any of it.

       I recently read a book, The Intentional Year, by Holly and Glen Packiam. They wrote, “Why can’t God just bring about the changes in our lives that he wants? “

*  *  *  *  *

       I often wish God had a system like the movie The Matrix where I could plug a connection into a port in the back of my neck and suddenly know fluent Spanish, or jiu jitsu, or how to fly a helicopter, or play jazz trombone solos.

       Wouldn’t that be great? I’d plug in and add new stuff every day. I would be a walking encyclopedia of information and skills.

       But there’s a problem with that scenario. Instant learning wouldn’t put me through the changes required to go with those skills. Long-term learning changes our thinking and patience and character. And it’s those life changes that make us better people. What if I had the skills but not the character to use them? I’d just get into trouble and make a big mess.

       I remember enjoying the movie Total Recall, back in the VHS days. One of the story lines is about a company called Rekall that planted false memories into people’s brains to experience the thrill of, say, climbing Mount Everest, without having to travel so far, get so cold, or risk death and injury. The premise being that after we return home from a grand adventure it is the memory of the exotic trip that we keep. Why not bypass the trip itself and go straight to the memory?

       Rekall’s pitch was: “What is it that is the same about every single vacation you have ever taken? You! You’re the same. No matter where you go, there you are. It’s always the same old you.”

       But that is completely wrong. It’s never the same old you. Every trip, every adventure, every relationship changes who we are and how we act. We’re different people because of our experiences, and it goes much deeper than memories.

       Cyndi and I recently visited Saudi Arabia for two weeks where we talked about marriage. And as a bonus we visited fascinating archeological sites that point directly toward Moses and the Old Testament. What if we hadn’t gone on that trip but someone like Rekall simply planted the memories in our brain (and loaded photos on our phones)? Would it have been the same?

       No.

       It wouldn’t. Not for us, and not for those who heard us speak.

       We wouldn’t have experienced new friendships or deepened twenty-year-old friendships. We’d have missed the joy of sharing what we’ve learned about marriage. and the expanded understanding of God’s work in difficult places.

*  *  *  *  *

       If you’ve spent much time around me you’ve heard me tell stories; probably the same stories more than one time. It’s how I teach and how I relate to myself and other people. But I don’t tell stories for entertainment as much as I tell them to make a point or to show how we become the people we are today.

       I don’t know how many times I’ve told the same stories to Cyndi about how we met and what I noticed about her and how I lost her but she found me and rescued me again. I tell those stories over and over because I don’t want to forget them. Even more, I tell them because I want to reinforce the man and woman we’ve become. Those stories are evidence of God’s work in our lives, and markers of how we’ve grown and changed.

*  *  *  *  *

       My Zoom conversation was a powerful reminder how God uses experiences to change us. Hearing my friend’s stories reminds me of what I’d’ve missed had our trip been a memory implant rather than an actual adventure. I’m glad we had the experience.

*  *  *  *  *

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.”
Psalm 119:32

*  *  *  *  *

Thank you for reading! This is a reader-supported publication, and it only works with your help. Please share with your friends. You can find more of my writing, learn about my books, or subscribe to this free blog, at berrysimpson.com.

What Happened to Your Head?

… is what she asked first.

B:   “Why do you ask?”

C:   “You have a red whelp above your left eye. What happened?”

B:   (While touching my forehead) “I bumped it against my bike helmet?”

C:   “How did you do that? Did you trip and fall while putting it on?”

B:   “Actually, I bumped against the inside of it.”

C:   (silent stare)

B:   “I bumped against the inside of my helmet when my head hit the car.”

C:   “A car? Where?”

B:   “About 6-1/2 miles from home.”

C:   “Are you telling me you had a bike crash?”

B:   “Yes.”

C:   “A car hit you?”

B:   “Well, no. I hit the car. It was parked in the street next to the curb.”

C:   “You crashed into a parked car?”

B:   (Silent, embarrassed stare.)

C:   “Did you crash into a parked car?”

B:   “Not on purpose. I was cycling along, minding my own business, enjoying the beautiful warm non-windy day. I looked down at something in the road. When I looked back up the car was ten feet in front of me. Then I hit it.”

C:   “Are you OK?”

B:   “Of course. I’m fine.”

C:   (Touches my forehead) “You always say that, even when you aren’t.”

B:   “I have this bump on my head. And this scrape on my leg. Also a swollen mouse above my right knee.”

C:   “Oh, that's going to be sore tomorrow. Are you hurt any other places?”

B:   “My left shoulder. I think I have a swollen knot on it, too.”

C:   “You don’t know?”

B:   “I haven’t taken off my shirt, yet, to look at it.”

C:   “Let me see.”

B:   (Takes off cycling jersey.)

C:   “Yep, that’s a red, swollen knot. That’s going to be sore tomorrow, too.”

B:   “I’m a little concerned about tonight’s orchestra practice at church, holding my trombone, and all that.”

C:   “Did you skid across the pavement like last time? I don’t see any road rash. Are you hiding it from me?”

B:   “No. I bounced off the car trunk and landed back on my feet.”

C:   “What did you do?”

B:   “Well first, I checked my bike. I was afraid I’d trashed my front wheel, but it turned out to be fine. “

C:   “And …”

B:   “I flipped my bike over and realigned both wheels and rode it home. Something is wrong, though. It didn’t roll well. I’ll take it to the shop tomorrow.”

C:   “Anything else?”

B:   “I checked the car – no dents or scrapes.

C:   “Did anyone see you?”

B:   “A young boy yelled, “Hey mister, are you OK?” I waved him off, and he went back to playing.”

C:   “When will you go riding again?”

B:   “After I get my bike back from the shop.”

C:   “Where are your going?”

B:   “To take a shower and wash off some of this embarrassment.”

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

 *  *  *  *  *  *  *

I need your help. The primary reason people read these articles is because someone like you shared with a friend, so please share this with someone you think will appreciate it. And encourage them to subscribe. Thanks!

It Was a Great Day

      We started our adventure in Al Bad’a, a town located in what was ancient Midian, at The Well of Moses, where it is believed Moses met his wife Zipporah after fleeing from Egypt.

      Next, we went across the highway to see some Midianite tombs that had been carved into the stone mountains.

      From there a lot of rough and bouncy off-road driving up into Wadi Tayyib Al Ism (wadis are like valleys, or better, like arroyos) until we reached a point where the wadi was blocked by a row of significant stones placed to stop all vehicle traffic. No more driving.

      Our group walked about 4-1/2 miles up the wadi, which was spectacular. The walls gradually became more vertical and closer together as we approached the Red Sea beach. The locals have referred to this wadi as The Eye of Moses for millennia.

      We snacked, hydrated, played in the Red Sea, and took photos. Then we walked out, back to our vehicles.

      By the time we got back to our hotel it was 7:00 pm; we had to delay dinner a bit to allow for Ramadan. We went to a restaurant recommended by a local, a young man I’ll call Bob (not his real name), and we took him to dinner with us as our guest. His favorite restaurant was called North Indian Food. Very appropriate.

      Dinner turned out to be one of the highlights of our two weeks in Saudi Arabia. Our exhaustion from the day’s shared experiences led to delightful conversation. The restaurant staff took great care of us, smiling and bring out food, and more food. We laughed and ate. On and on.

      When it came time to leave, we asked for the bill, only to discover the entire meal had been paid for by Bob. He had arranged to pay for all of it, either by speaking at the counter when we weren’t looking, or maybe in advance earlier in the day.

      We felt guilty about Bob paying knowing his salary was minuscule compared to any of ours, but he refused to relent. He just smiled, beamed, and shook his head. He insisted on treating us.

      When our objections finally ran their course, Bob said, “Before I met Steve (our tour guide) I was bitter and depressed. But he brought joy and hope into my life.” We finally stopped arguing and let him pay the bill. I wasn’t an easy surrender, but it was the right thing to do.

      That night I dreamed of a Bible story from John 12, when a woman named Mary poured perfume on Jesus’ feet. It was a bold and costly thing to do, and she did it out of gratitude for what Jesus had done for her.

      It occurred to me that Bob buying our dinner was never about money, like we thought it was, but about gratitude. He bought dinner out of thankfulness for a changed life.

      It’s difficult to stand down and let someone take care of us. Especially when we’ve spent decades taking care of other people. Being willing to receive often takes more grace than giving to others.

      What if we had pushed the point until Bob finally relented and let us pay? We’d have missed a great blessing, and a pure demonstration of gratitude.

*  *  *  *  *

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.”
Psalm 119:32