because God always opens the door, always

Before Pat and I began walking our Camino de Santiago pilgrimage, we spent several days in the well-preserved medieval city of Ávila, home to our beloved Santa Teresa de Jesús.

For lodging, we had arranged to stay at the Convento Santa María de Jesús, located on a hill right outside the famous walled city.

Not actually running a hotel for tourists, the Franciscan nuns (las Clarisas) at the convent agreed to let us stay in the Convent's guest rooms after I explained that Pat and I were pilgrims, headed to Pamplona, where we would begin walking el Camino de Santiago.

From the train station, a taxi dropped us in front of what appeared to be the main entrance to the convent. 

First timidly, then forcefully, we knocked on the wooden door and waited. And knocked and waited, several times.

No answer.

Hungover from jetlag and not thinking very clearly, I searched the massive door with black iron nails for something obvious that could announce our presence. A doorbell, a bell, a knocker.  

There was nothing but the door handle that we kept trying to twist open, without success.

We set our backpacks down against a wall with a beautiful carved image of St. Francis and St. Clare.  And Pat and I took turns knocking on the door and walking up and down the front of the building, even peeking into the windows.

Nothing. I could not, for the life of me, figure out how to get in!

I decided to walk the entire street block looking for a different entrance to the building.  When that didn’t work, I walked down the hill to a paint store that had its door open, and I asked the clerk behind the counter if he could tell me how to get into the convent.

The man looked puzzled by my question, then generously offered me the store’s phone to call the convent.

“The door isn’t locked,” said the confused nun who answered the phone. “It’s not locked,” she repeated slowly, “Just open the door.”

I walked back to the intimidating, massive, wooden door, and stood in front of it for a moment. And this time, instead of knocking or reaching for the handle--I gave it a slight push.

The door was heavy, but it was, indeed, unlocked!

All we had to do to go inside was to move forward and go through the open door.

Lesson number one...as in the Camino, so in life…

you and me together will be, forever you'll see...

The month of June will always be a special time for me to remember and ponder my pilgrimage journey across northern Spain with my dear friend Pat on the Camino de Santiago.

It’s hard to believe, but this summer marks 17 years since we walked the Camino.

For weeks that felt like years, Pat and I walked the 1,000-year-old path… stepping beyond the blisters, the pain, the exhaustion, the heat, the blisters, the swollen knees, and did I mention blisters?—and we did it together.

I don’t want to take away from the many friends – and even my husband – who have walked part or all of the Camino by themselves. But I believe that, just as it is true in life, there’s a level of surrender to the Camino that can only be experienced when you commit yourself to walking it with another person. 

Perhaps that's why Jesus sent out his disciples two by two.

When you are walking with someone day in and day out for weeks, it doesn’t matter how close you are or how much you like each other. Sharing the Camino with another is inevitably both, a beautiful encounter, and a downright grueling challenge!

Pat and I were no exception.

When she hurt, I hurt. When she needed a break, I took a break. When I felt discouraged and pissy, she stood by me discouraged and pissy. When walking with blisters made me cry, she cried with me. When the heat overwhelmed her, we both stopped walking.

Looking back at that month of June and what we accomplished together, it was no coincidence that Pat and I would arrive in Santiago and kneel at the altar together on the beautiful feast of Corpus Christi.

Like the oneness we experienced as we held up and encouraged each other day by day, every time Pat and I received the Eucharist together —something we were blessed to do almost every day of our Camino pilgrimage — we also became one in and with Him who was, is, and always will be our strength and our Lord.

In a very real way, the Eucharist was our food for the journey—and what held us together.  

Like the Camino itself, the Sunday that Pat and I walked into the Santiago de Compostela Cathedral together was one of the most Eucharistic experiences of my life, one that has become even more significant now that Pat completed her earthly pilgrimage and is waiting for me at the Heavenly Banquet.

Pat's tombstone, with the final Camino shell pointing down