Mike McClenahan

San Antón to Boadilla del Campo to Villalcázar de Sirga to Ledigos It was a beautiful sunny walk from San Antón through Castrojeriz. Like many mornings we reflected on the people we met the day before. We pray “be in the heart of each to whom I speak and in the heart of each who speaks unto me” so it makes sense to talk about those we meet.  Outside of the town we walked up to the meseta— an ascent of 1.5km at an 18% grade. On the top of the hill is a makeshift cross, a memorial made of pilgrims’ trinkets.  We spent the night in Boadilla del Campo at a popular albergue with a garden, “pool” (you might soak your feet but not your body), and a mural wall. We went to the church before dinner to see if it was open. It was Sunday, and of course it would be open, but it wasn’t. Joining us was a group of men from a small town in Alicante. We started bantering in Spanish. Who had the key, what’s with these churches in this part of Spain that wouldn’t even exist if n

Rabé de las Calzadas to San Antón We had great conversations along the way to San Antón with new friends and “old” friends we haven’t seen in a few days. We ran into Koishi and Ishiro at coffee. We met them almost two weeks ago in Zubiri. We walked with Kazu into the hostel and met these two retired men from Japan—a few hundred miles away from Kazu. We share broken English and smiles with one another, asking about each other’s Camino. Kazu left them a few days ago because he had to stay on schedule to finish.  The theme of conversation today seemed to be around letting go and loss. A woman from New Zealand shared with us about her breast cancer, father’s death when she was a teenager, and her husband and mother dying within a few months. She giggled as she saw some of her new growth hair fall out into her hat. It’s grown back curly, she said. I’m trying to put it all into perspective and how those I love have prepared the way for my journey. We walked over one of the

Tosantos to San Juan de Ortega to Burgos We left our humble hospital de peregrinos in Tosantos where Santiago provides such amazing hospitality. Simple meal of lentils and chorizo made by all of us, and a simple prayer time in the capilla  upstairs. We stopped for coffee and ran into Mike and his daughter Eliza. For his 60th birthday he invited his three young adult children to join him for a portion of the Camino. The other two had already split off, but Eliza was there for his actual birthday. We sang happy birthday.  Mike and I were in a covenant group that met every year in the 1990s. For two or three days we would check in with each other and then the whole group would lay hands on each of us and pray for our spiritual life, family and ministry. Those were formative years for all of us—and for me: living into first call, balancing work and family, dealing with leadership challenges and (in our last year together) discerning my next call.  Mike saw my post on F

Grañón to Tosantos  Hey, we are still in beautiful landscape and agriculture at the western edge of La Rioja. “You don’t have a choice.” Enjoying a long morning concert of Joshua Tree and  “You’re the Best Thing About Me,” “Love is All We Have Left” and “Ordinary Love” by U2. Threatening clouds just a mile before our destination at Tosantos.  The ceiling of the parroquial hostel—200 years old? Chapel set up by Santiago, our hospitalero . Santiago is host, cook, blister consultant and pastor of everyone who comes.  He orchestrated 16 of us making lentel soup with chorizo and mixed salad.  His dinner blessing: I want to thank you all for coming to eat and sleep here. I want to thank the pilgrims who came before you. And I want to thank God for guiding all of us on our Camino. Amen. The fee for the hostel is by donation—whatever we give will provide for tomorrow’s pilgrims. Everyone is invited to the prayer time after dinner. He told us: Wh