I recently returned from walking the Camino de Santiago, beginning in Sarria and ending at the cathedral in Santiago de Compostela, where tradition says James is buried. The Camino is both a physical and spiritual trail. It’s walked by thousands, most with tired feet, hopeful prayers, new friends, and sharpened clarity that comes from a stilled heart and mind.

I didn’t begin with a clear intention; I simply knew I needed to walk. To move one step at a time, to listen, to notice, and to remember that God travels with us whether we feel strong, weary, joyful, or unsure. I have noticed that walking has a way of settling my spirit and opening my heart in its own time. It helps me listen.

These reflections are not a travel itinerary. They come from the learnings, the tears, the laughter, and the small epiphanies that met me along the way. I share them here in the hope that wherever you find yourself on your own path, these reflections might encourage you. (thanks to John Oakes for the second goose photo, another pilgrim for one of the photos of the man playing the drum, AI for the confetti image, and another fellow pilgrim for the group photo.)

Buen Camino, my friends.

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1. Beginning With the End in Mind

I arrived at the place my Camino journey ends, at the cathedral of St. James in Santiago de Compostela.

The next day, I would take a bus to Sarria, backtracking to where my official Camino journey would begin. But on this first morning, walking from my hotel to the cathedral (long before check-in and before the city fully woke), I watched pilgrims arriving at the end of their journeys. Their expressions held joy, relief, wonder, gratitude…and weariness.

I spoke to one woman, careful not to intrude.

“How was it?”

Her whole face lit up. “It was the best week of my life.”

Something in her voice brought tears to my eyes. She had begun in France, much farther than where I would begin. She had walked so far and carried so much, literally and spiritually.

I was grateful to have the day alone, to begin with the ending in front of me. To stand where I hoped to one day stand again, having walked the path.

I’ve always been someone who likes to know the ending. I have been known to read the final chapter of a book or watch a “spoiler review” before deciding if I want to invest my time. I want to know that the story is worth the journey. And thankfully, I know how my life story ends, and for all who anchor their hope and allegiance in the Lord.

Whenever I see someone receive a “golden ticket” (followed by streaming confetti) on a ([Name the city’s] Got Talent television show, I cry. I think of reaching the end of life and the great cloud of witnesses of Hebrews 11. Jesus, angels, men, and women I read about in the Bible, loved ones who have gone ahead, all celebrate the arrival. Not as a competition won, but as a journey completed with God. In every grueling, glorious, and bewildering step, He promises to be with us all along.

Despite how dark the world can feel, beauty remains along the way. Hope remains. The kingdom is already here, breaking in bit by bit, as it will be fully one day. I am walking toward a renewed heaven and earth, toward the garden restored.

So yes, I begin this journey with the end in mind:

Fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith.
For the joy set before him he endured the cross…
and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.
—Hebrews 12:2

Let the confetti fall.

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2. Ear Dance: Communing Along the Way

I don’t speak Spanish, though I wish I did. Before leaving home, I purchased translation earbuds (which are wonderful once they are set up, though the printed instructions were so baffling I ended up sending screenshots to ChatGPT asking what to do next!)

On my first morning, trying to find my way to the cathedral, I couldn’t get my bearings. I asked a woman at a bus stop for help. She didn’t speak English, but when I showed her my map, she motioned for me to follow her. That’s when I tried my earbuds.

And suddenly, I could understand her.

Her Spanish became English in my ear, and my English became Spanish in my ears and through my phone.

It felt like a dance in my ears.

And that’s the product’s name: Ear Dance.

What a comfort to know that what I wanted to say was heard and understood, and that I could also understand.

Romans 8:26–27 tells me the Spirit does this very thing… translating the wordless prayers of our hearts into the language of God. Guiding, comforting, interceding.

“The Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.”

I have spent too much of my life undervaluing the Spirit of God living within me, as if the Spirit retired when the Bible was canonized. It did not. God’s Spirit still guides. Still speaks. Still translates.

My new friend and I hugged and went our separate ways.

We understood each other without sharing a language.

May I always wear my Spirit earbuds, attentive and receptive to God’s voice.

But if there is too much background noise, I may miss the voice that is guiding me.

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3. The Pilgrim Shell

The scallop shell is everywhere on the Camino. It’s painted on signs, carved into stone, hanging from backpacks. It is an icon of the journey itself. Its lines represent many paths converging into one place: Santiago. Historically, pilgrims used the shell as a cup, bowl, or spoon. Practically, it marks the way. Symbolically, it suggests transformation, like something once living now becoming a new vessel.

I am a visual learner. I often see God’s love through images, also serving as reminders. Along the Camino, the scallop shell was helpful, but it was not my anchor image. I already have images that speak deeply to my soul.

Rivers.
Always rivers.

Cities all along the Camino are built near rivers, and I paused often to “drink from the river of God’s delight” (Psalm 36).

Geese have also long been reminders of God’s guidance and provision in my life, and I was grateful to encounter some along the way. (These reminders helped birth my books, “The River Speaks” and “Understanding Goose”).  

Throughout the journey, I rested my hand on the necklace Wyndham gave me before he died. He asked our son to help him choose it and to write a message with it. He said he knew I was not much of a jewelry person, but he wanted to stay close to my heart. To have something I could carry close to my heart. And he does. Always.

Reminders help us remember why we walk, and Who we walk with.  No wonder Scripture is full of them:
stones, altars, tassels, monuments, feasts, sacraments.

“In the future, when your children ask, ‘What do these stones mean?’ you shall tell them…”
—Joshua 4:6–7

I am a pilgrim.
This world is not my final destination.
And there is beauty to witness along the way, if I remember to look.

Blessed are those whose strength is in you,
whose hearts are set on pilgrimage.
—Psalm 84:5

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4. Stepping Out: Intention TBD

I have a lovely, smiling “first day of the Camino” photo, but this one feels more true: wind in my hair, eyes half dazed, somewhere between excitement and, “Oh my! What have I done?”

I didn’t begin the Camino with a clear intention. I went in simply listening. Open. Expectant. TBD (to be determined).

The first day was harder than I expected. The terrain was hillier than I had imagined, and the miles (about fifteen) felt endless. It was also raining. I was jet-lagged and had no sleep the night before.

And as I tried to rest, I learned my granddaughter was in surgery for an emergency appendectomy. My son had nearly died from a ruptured appendix years ago, so I stayed awake until I got word she was okay. And then I kept staying awake.

So yes, my walk began in exhaustion.

I did the only thing one can do in that state:
put one foot in front of the other.

Walk.
Keep walking.

Walk some more.  

Do it again.                                                                                                                                                                   

I had trained. My body was prepared, but preparation is different from living it. Such is life. Only lived miles truly build the kind of resilient strength we need.

Somewhere along the way, a rhythm began to form, but I was not yet in a place of rest. I couldn’t receive beauty yet; I could only execute movement. Sometimes our spiritual lives feel like that, too. We just keep “doing” without receiving, moving without resting. Until we’re depleted.

To notice God’s presence, we often have to empty first.
To receive, we must rest.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”
—Matthew 11:28

He gives strength to the weary
and increases the power of the weak.
—Isaiah 40:29

The joy came later.
After the rest, I was able to be present, not just methodically react and do.

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5. Buen Camino: Encouragement Along the Way

The second morning, I woke up refreshed. That surprised me. Rest really is essential. Our longest day lay ahead, over 18 miles, and yes, it was raining again. Sigh.

We timed our break well, ducking into a café just as the skies opened. We waited out the downpour inside with warm coffee. When we stepped back onto the path, the rain returned in the sideways variety, blown by strong wind. I laughed out loud. What else can one do?

Some days are simply long. Some seasons of life are simply hard.

Yet there is companionship. Humor. Shared endurance.
Beauty in mist.
Shimmering wet cobblestone.

And I learned to appreciate my tools: trekking poles, and the brilliant backpacker trick of putting plastic bread bags over my socks inside soaked shoes. (Thank you, Boy Scout.)

Along the Camino, whenever you pass another pilgrim, the custom is to greet them with “Buen Camino.”
It communicates, Blessings on your journey.

It’s nice.

I’ve been thinking about how rarely we bless each other like that in ordinary life.

I wonder what it would be like to offer a “Buen Camino” or a “wishing others well on their journey through life” to those I pass along the way each day. Tomorrow, I will try to incorporate that through silent prayer. Giving witness to others along the way. Noticing in them the imago Dei. Buen Camino.

“The LORD bless you and keep you… and give you peace.”
—Numbers 6:24–26

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6. No Competition

By day three, something shifted. I found the joy.

This was our shortest mileage day, just under nine miles. Storms were coming in the afternoon, so my roommate and I left early, walking before sunrise. We kept a quick pace and arrived ahead of many others, just before the storm broke.

And I confess, I felt a flicker of competition.
How fast did we go? Who came in before us? Are we the first ones to arrive?

That’s a dangerous rabbit trail.
Comparison leads either to pride or to shame, and both distort the heart.

Then came another temptation: imposter syndrome.
I met pilgrims who had walked from France, carrying full packs, on the road for two months. Meanwhile, though I carried a light backpack, my luggage was transported for me between stops.

And then the question:

Do I even count as a pilgrim?
It’s such a familiar human question.

But this journey, like life, is not graded.

My husband, once fast and strong, lost his ability to walk. In his last years, someone else would have had to carry him to the finish line. Yet he finished the race of his life, and with honor.

Whether we walk, limp, crawl, or are carried in hurting, the point is not performance. The point is finishing.

 I decided to put any thoughts of competition to rest. And, yes, that is an intentional ironic phrase. There is no rest in competition! It spoils so much. Whatever our pace, it doesn’t matter. Our journey is not a competition. It’s walking with God all the way to the finish line, which is also a new beginning.

Clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience.
—Colossians 3:12

Walk by the Spirit.
—Galatians 5:25

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7. Here Comes the Sun

On day four, the sun arrived.
It felt like resurrection.

Colors brightened. Flowers opened. The world was in high definition.
No more poncho, no more feet stuffed in bread bags.
Just warmth, breath, and beauty.

I spoke to cows and sheep. I greeted dogs, donkeys, and horses.
I listened to birdsong, rustling leaves, and church bells
I smiled at the sky.

There were hilltop vistas that took my breath away.

And when I reached the hotel, there was a sign offering foot and leg massages. I didn’t hesitate. Some days are just gift days.

There will be rain again.
There will be hills, and wind, and difficult miles.
But there will also be days like this.

One day at a time. Enough for the day. As Jesus taught us to pray,

Give us this day our daily bread.
—Matthew 6:11

The heavens declare the glory of God.
—Psalm 19:1

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8. Letting Go

One of the unexpected gifts of the Camino was feeling (mostly) disconnected from electronics and the ongoing swirl of responsibilities. I had made my backpack as light as I reasonably could, and I refilled it each day without adding anything unnecessary. How full our “life backpacks” can get, while we carry them by ourselves.

Along the way, the eucalyptus forests captivated me. Towering trunks with bark peeling, curling away in long ribbons. (I admit, I was disappointed there were no koalas.) The scent was fresh and almost medicinal. I learned that these trees shed for good reasons: shedding prevents pests, makes room for new growth, and in some seasons even protects the tree from fire. The old bark has to fall away for the tree to remain healthy. Sometimes the shedding happens in response to a growth spurt, revealing new bark underneath that’s vibrant in color. The tree is always becoming.

I couldn’t help but see myself there.

As I continue to grow older, I am learning that “shedding” is part of maturity. Letting go of beliefs or traditions that no longer reflect God’s heart. Releasing assumptions as I learn and grow. Clearing out clutter that distracts from peace. Releasing habits that no longer help but hinder. Letting go is not loss, it’s making room. The scent of the eucalyptus is released because it sheds.
The letting go becomes a healing blessing.

I want my shedding to create something like the eucalyptus fragrance. An atmosphere of healing for those who walk near my life. May whatever falls away make space for joy, kindness, presence, and grace. All the fruits of God’s Spirit.

Keep me growing, Lord.
Keep me shedding.
Keep me becoming.

He prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.
—John 15:2

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9. Ascending

I had trained for the Camino with strength training, long walks, and treadmill inclines, but most of my daily walking at home is on level ground. I could handle distance. But the hills surprised me.

There were days when I rounded a bend already tired, only to see another long climb ahead. Sometimes I simply stared at the hill and sighed, “Are you even kidding me?” And other times I’d reach the destination town, accessed by long flights of stairs.

That’s when the songs came in. As with the Israelites ascending to Jerusalem, song carried me.

After a turn in the bend revealed a new, very long hill, my friend Vicki shared an album her daughter recorded, songs of worship that felt like prayer. They became my “songs of ascent.” I listened. I breathed. And I kept walking uphill. And somehow, before I even realized it, I reached the top. The songs carried me.

Music inspires, comforts, calms, and instructs me. I play hymns while I write. I listen to worship in the car. I cook to Jazz swing and might even sing to Taylor Swift. Music turns my attention toward God. It awakens gratitude, and gratitude turns into praise.

Life has had more than a few steep ascents. Some have felt unfair. Some have felt endless. But it is often on those climbs that I discover several things: I meet God in deeper, sacred ways near the top. I remember I was never meant to walk alone. And I need music and companions.

Encourage one another daily.
—Hebrews 3:13

Carry each other’s burdens.
—Galatians 6:2

Buen Camino, together.

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10. Imagination and Play

When I became more rested and my heart settled, I found myself noticing more. The forests began to feel like something out of Tolkien or Lewis. I saw stone walls covered in velvet moss, sunlight filtering through branches in golden slants, red mushrooms standing like tiny storybook homes. I half expected Treebeard to appear around the corner.

God is the master of creativity. His imagination is extravagant.

There is something holy about allowing joy and play to be part of our spiritual life. Play revives the soul. Wonder loosens fear.

Along the way, I talked to cows. I thanked the flowers. I let the rain fall on my face. And sometimes, I imagined holding Jesus’ hand as we walked. I enjoyed singing, “My God and I, go in the fields together. We walk and talk, as good friends should and do. We clasp our hands, our voices fill with laughter. My God and I, walk through the meadows hue…”

One morning, deep in a quiet woodland, I passed man sitting beside the trail playing a handpan drum. The sound was gentle and atmospheric, almost like a lullaby. My whole pace slowed. My breathing eased. I felt fully present and encouraged. Beside him was a sign that read, “Sometimes, a simple moment of joy is all we need to remember how lucky we are.”

I could have walked that day thinking only of how many kilometers remained, how much farther to go.
Or I could simply walk this step, this breath, this moment.

I chose presence. Today, the beauty was waiting.

“Give us this day, our daily bread.”
—Matthew 6:11

I was filled with delight day after day,
rejoicing always in his presence.
—Proverbs 8:30–31

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11. The Last Day

The final day brought a mixture of joy and sadness. I had grown accustomed to the rhythm of walking at sunrise. I had come to love the open hours of quiet reflection, prayer, and beauty. I knew I would miss it.

As we approached Santiago, my thoughts turned to other “last days” I have witnessed. I remembered being with my father when he took his final breath, his daughters surrounding him sharing, “You did it, Dad. You did it.” A godly man, he crossed the finish line. I remembered the night before Wyndham passed, when young granddaughters sang “Jesus Loves Me” and “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands” including every family member’s name, including the pets. Sacred moments. And when he breathed his last, I knew he did it. He fought the good fight, finished the race.

So, as the cathedral came into view, bagpipes echoing through ancient stone archways, I felt all of that at once: grief, memory, gratitude, awe. I thought of those who paved the way before me, the great cloud of witnesses.

And when I arrived in the square, tears in my eyes, I whispered:
“I did it.”

One day, on a much greater journey completed, I long to hear:
“Well done.”

I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.
—2 Timothy 4:7–8

Buen Camino.

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12. Communing Together

The day after we finished, our group gathered on the cathedral square for a time of sharing and taking communion together. We reflected on Elijah, who after a great spiritual victory found himself exhausted and discouraged. God did not scold him. God let him rest, fed him, and spoke in a gentle whisper.

After meaningful mountaintop experiences, there is often a quiet valley. A letting-down. A return to ordinary life where the heart doesn’t quite know how to land.

For several days after returning home, I felt depleted and foggy. Jet lag didn’t help. I couldn’t form clear sentences. I felt emptied.

But slowly, after rest, gratitude resurfaced.
And with it, the desire to offer what I had received.

It has been meaningful to see others’ photos and reflections. So many things I walked past without noticing, they saw. Their perspectives helped me see more fully. We need one another.

May we continue to walk our journeys, whatever they hold,
with God, and with one another.

Buen Camino, always.

For just as each of us has one body with many members…
so in Christ we, though many, form one body,
and each member belongs to all the others.
—Romans 12:4–5