It is almost a year since my co-conspirator and I boarded a plane to France and set out walking to the Spanish coast. Let me be clear, it wasn’t that we were fantastic walkers like Italian grandpas tend to be, or even that we needed the exercise (just a happy coincidence), and it was not your average graduate-then-backpack-Europe vacation. The Camino was absolute nourishment strained from stripping everything away to the bare necessities and literally walking with God and his people.
A week into the trip, it became clear to us that there were too many pilgrims and not enough room in the inn, as it were. Some travellers began to call ahead to make reservations at hostels two or three days in advance, but “true pilgrims” would never dream of breaking Camino tradition to call ahead. K and I decided that we wanted to trek at our own pace instead of planing out the trip. After all, we had stories to create.
The following mornings as we would pull boots onto our tired feet and shoulder our packs again for the day, I would pray that Jesus would keep a bed for us whenever we arrived at our destination. After a few nights rich with small miracles, my prayers changed. I began to be excited for what my Lord had for us in a day – the exact people, cafés, water sources, jokes and places to stay. It may not be a bed, but it would be exactly the right place for us at exactly the right time.
Some days I know exactly what pray, and others I pray in full confidence that my Father knows me best. I’ve found that the best stories are accompanied by trust.
(Image via here)