Nearly a third of my life ago it was. My mind orbits much around the singular event of that epic pilgrimage and therefore you, my dear readers, must bear with me as I indulge myself once more in reflection upon it.
Ten years ago today I set out with my companion, my heart uplifted in joy of abandoning everything to God's Providence. I felt in that moment that I was free—that I was who I had been created to be.
The feelings did not last long. They never do.
Today it is gratitude that fills me: gratitude to my past self for having the courage to undertake something so crazy as a three-hundred-odd-mile pilgrimage relying entirely on God to provide; gratitude to my friend for being crazy enough to go with me; and gratitude to God not only for bringing us through the joys and trials and loneliness of it, but for teaching me so much through it. Now I have gratitude even for those darker moments.
It is gratitude that has begun to unpack the rich gifts of that experience—gifts that continue to unfold in my daily life without my even realizing it. That is how it seems to be with those defining experiences of our lives no matter how great or how trivial they may appear.
How strange is the wandering course which we mortals follow. Somehow a steady routine of tutoring, studying psychology, and handling the minutiae of daily life seems as far as possible from what I imagined for my path as I stepped forth on the first few miles of that pilgrimage. I was young and dreamed of adventure and daring deeds in witness to the Faith as we journeyed. I expected that God would do amazing things if we gave ourselves up to be entirely at His disposal. Perhaps these thoughts were not fully conscious, but still I thought that marvel after marvel would unfold.
There were certainly marvels here and there. Mainly, however, there was the steady routine of walking, reciting the rosary to keep our spirits up amidst the tiredness and discouragement and inner assaults against our hope. Perhaps it was not so very different from my life now after all. Perhaps it was not so very different from your own path.
For we are all pilgrims. Day by day we walk, moment by moment we step forward, following the narrow path toward the Eternal City.
It is very much an inner pilgrimage—a pilgrimage of heart and mind and soul. The marvels are not the miracles we expect, but rather those poignant moments when we crave our own security and our own comfort and want to shut out a God who demands we give up everything and follow Him, and yet we choose to invite Him in to our suffering. Our deeds of daring are enacted in the quiet corners of our hearts. Hope flames up a little brighter each time we abandon everything to the God who holds everything in existence. Joy ignites every time we listen to His still small voice within.
Coraggio, dear pilgrim, courage!
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