Writing in our tiny apartment in Santiago de Compostela, looking back over old journal entries. Thought this one from Day 25 might be worth sharing:
At the Cruz de Fierro. A pile of burdens left at the foot of an iron cross. From a distance, it is just a pile of rocks. But look closer, and you see the burdens... The photos of dead children, verses written in Japanese or French or Italian, tokens of pain. All of these details are beautiful, somehow, despite their sad origins.
People are like that too, I think.
Most people on the Camino seem so strong. They're backpacking 500 miles across a country, after all. But you look closer, you get to know a person, and you start to see the pain, the brokenness, and seeing that doesn't make them seem any less strong. In fact, it's quite the opposite. You start to see this incomparable beauty. A beauty that doesn't proclaim itself with flashy clothes or a perfect figure. The kind of beauty that comes from battles well-fought, wisdom well-earned, faces lined from laughter and time spent in the sun. I think this is what I've craved. I think this is where I see God.