Día Número 34

AKA 1.5 days away from Santiago!!!

WOW! I am so proud of you!! I hope in these final moments you are taking time to sing this magical song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=84CPo4bVkMk

If it doesn't load, it's 500 miles :)

So, since I've made it this far with sub-par "day summaries" and the occasional photo, I figure that I should take a moment to write something more substantial and reflective. Before I get carried away or confused by the flow of my thoughts, let me reiterate how much I am praying for you, and how excited I am for you to be on the Camino, and how glad I am that you are coming home soon!

This summer, it's been a time of rebuilding the "normal" for me. After years of chaos, Jesus is offering me these months to establish once again a routine and a prayer life and a "usual." Granted, I've never been one to stick too much to a routine, but what a gift it is to have this summer to relearn how to love Jesus (through prayer, with my family, and in the poor). And what a substantial time it is to discover what sort of story I'm going to tell. I realized, much to my surprise the other day, that having come out of these past years intact, I am no longer afraid of them. Should I have to go through them again for a longer period of time, or at a greater intensity, I feel confident that I could do it, that it wouldn't be too much, that I could say yes to Jesus in that way. Certainly, I don't wish for that, but it's significant that the thought isn't traumatizing.

Now, though, I've been using the tagline of "having a rough couple years" to answer "how have you been" for a while, but I don't think that answer will hold true for much longer. I'm stepping into a very different time of life, with an entirely new environment and community and mission. In a lot of ways, I'm being remade. The habits of cynicism and resentment have bored pretty deeply into my psyche, so the change is slow and the work really isn't mine, but it's happening.

For example, today, I wasn't paying attention in the line at Qdoba and I butt-dialed Kelly. I hung up as quickly as I could, but she called back to ask what I wanted. Since I didn't answer, she left a message, which marks the first time in ten months (though it feels more like years) that her voice has been directed at me. I could feel the fear rising in my chest, but I also felt the need to handle it maturely and calmly, since I had boasted to Meg just last night that I could handle a face-to-face conversation if necessary. So I texted back explaining the buttdial, making sure my words weren't too much or too little, and opening the door to communication that I've been avoiding for over a year. Her response of "k" ended the conversation, but I kept my head for the whole exchange, actively considering her perspective and how best to respond kindly but not invitingly. In other words, I made it out of survival mode into empathy, and now, I've gained my footing enough that I would be able to do it again with composure.

Afterwards, I took the time to reach out to a lot of people that I had been avoiding so far in Duluth. Some, I know, will bring up Kelly, and others won't understand how much I've changed in the past years, and most will be people that I gradually fall out of contact with, but I've made a step away from being guarded and self-protective in this time of transition into being open, inviting, and generous. I'm taking time to talk to people who I could have easily ignored not because it will be helpful for me or significant to them, but because they're people, and I'd like to see them.

With all that, then, I'm looking ahead to Denver. I still have no clue where I'll live, and what my time there will be like. I was talking to Amy Johnson the other day, and she mentioned how rare it was that God pushed us out into something entirely new, and yet here I am being pushed. At a time when I've just withstood an attack that expended most of my resources, and when it would seem most logical to fall back and re-fortify what is left of my base, I'm being called out into an entirely different field. In a lot of ways, I love it, but I'm also nervous. I'm just barely walking again, but I'm headed back into the game.

In Spanish, the word for trust is "confianza." Somehow, it sounds much more compelling in Spanish, because it's the same word as "confidence," and it has more weight and warmth in your mouth. It's been the call in my heart and the tug on my chest this month, and I feel like I'm stepping out into the meadow from the rugged grove, trusting in the light of the sun and the openness of the air. The grass is tall and the field is vulnerable, but the smell of warmth is dancing in front of me and the invitation to delight draws me forward. I'm coming, Jesus. Te confio.

Ponder love today.