A Week Since Santiago

I left Santiago one week ago. I find it hard to believe this Camino has come and gone already - feels like a blur, even though I remember the long days of walking from sunup past sundown clearly.

I jotted a few notes down along the way, yet never made them into blog posts. At this point I didn’t feel like I could just jump in with them. Writing today as a bookend of sorts feels more appropriate. I last posted with a photo of items on the bed awaiting packing. As I type, I know I have put away my backpack for now, I have done all the laundry, and I have a new Compostela to store.

Looking back at the ease of getting to the Camino, I wonder why I allowed the uncertainty of what travel and health restrictions would be like to create anxiety within me. It’s obvious that Covid still impacts certain things in Galicia, like mask mandates both indoors and outdoors, reduced capacity in certain settings, and limited seating at some cafes and restaurants (with no one being allowed to stand at the bar). However, these don’t prevent life from happening or from people engaging in conversation and building relationships with one another.

It makes me think of the days we walked through areas burned with a forest fire. Amidst the hillsides we saw charred and consumed, we noticed seedlings and saplings and delicate purple and white flowers stretching towards the sun. The Earth - and all that is in it - longs to live and grow and flower. I believe that humans are created for joy and life and hope and relationship - and as such, we continue to find ways to poke through the detritus of pandemic, war, and other disasters. My past two weeks on the Camino call me to remember this in fresh and hopeful ways.

As I re-engage life after the Camino I need to continue to reach for hope by building relationships in the places where I live and work - physically and virtually.

In the coming weeks, I look forward to recalling the days of this past Camino by filling in the space between this post and the preceding one.

Wherever you are - in whatever circumstance you find yourself - I pray that you might be able to see something beautiful, and that it might give you a glimpse of hope and help you to remember that the difficult and painful things will not always be, nor will they have the last word. The last word is always good, growth, and new life springing forth.