Light

Six months ago, I was walking the streets of Paris. The City of Light, of Love. 

Yet we felt overwhelmed- by apathy, by spiritual suffocation. 

Then, we found ourselves in Notre-Dame. 

And I stood in front of this window for a long time. The beautiful stained glass, highlighted by sunshine. But what struck me about this particular window was the open pane, with outside light streaming through. 

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. -John 1:5

24 weeks ago, it made an impact on me. Light breaking through darkness, the promise that God is still present. 

Now, it is all I can cling to. 

Paris,

I grieve for you. I grieve because of the darkness' chokehold grip around you. I grieve that I wasn't able to fully appreciate your culture as I breathed it in. 

And there is nothing I can say, other than I'm praying that light breaks through the darkness. 

And I see it in your people. 

I see it in Ashu, the Latin Quarter crepe maker who befriended us. Who we may or may not have visited three times.

In the man painting beautiful landmarks along the Seine, who humbly smiled as we ooh-ed and aah-ed over his work.

In the Crepe Lady who brought over pitchers of water to our table in the back of her tiny restaurant, when bottles of water would have cost us a fortune. 

In the cook at the Mediterranean restaurant who waited patiently as we tried to decide between baklava or falafel.

In the security guard at the Louvre, who patiently tried to help us find a painting we didn't know the name of, but could only describe in a broken English-French mix of language.

These are the faces of Paris. Not of terror, but of humble love. These are pieces of light breaking through, reflecting the love of a big, big God who will not stand to see His world crumble. 

The darkness has not overcome. 

The darkness has not overcome.

The darkness has not overcome.

Ultreia: Onward

Ultreia: Onward

The title of this post has been in my mind for about four months now. I love the way the vowel-filled word tastes in my mouth. I love the meaning it carries: “Onward”.

Back in July, when this Latin-based, French-influenced, spoken-in-Santiago word entered my vocabulary and I was basking in the glow of pilgrimage, I was certain this word would characterize how I would continue to live my life. A type of “Onward, Christian soldier” phrase as I whole-heartedly pursued the Lord, as I traveled and adventured and sought to bring the Kingdom of God to the ends of the earth.

Then, I thought the word would mean the pursuit of a new dream, a change of study, moving into an more intense career path, with a double major and thoughts of grad school and beyond swimming around in my head.

And now? Well, now I’m not so sure.

To be honest, I’m feeling quite disillusioned.

By apathy.        
    By restlessness.            
           By blind-love driven relationships.

By finally thinking I had all my future plans figured out…and now have no real idea of what I want to do.

By busyness.

     By restlessness.

            By the disparity of wealth.

By trying to understand how it is I can spend tens of thousands of dollars to study at a place full of people like me, with the motto “For Christ and His Kingdom”, when every news headline seems to show the kingdom is farther away than ever, and I just don’t feel like I’m doing anything about it.

And this whole “onward and upward!” mentality seems completely shot.

It’s like the time Lexi and I laughed so hard at the airport in Frankfurt, as our sleep-deprived selves thought trying to walk in the opposite direction on the moving walkway was the funniest thing anyone had ever done.


It’s not so funny anymore.

Not when it feels like you’re trying to push upstream against doubts and questions, and just life in general, and the moving walkway we so carelessly call life chugs on in the same, monotonous reel.

I had dinner with a friend last week, the kind of friend who always knows just the right questions to ask. The questions that cut you to your core.

This time, it was his answers that struck me.
Because I was the one with all the questions.

How do I know God is good?

Why do I feel stuck in this place?

Why is apathy so heavy? Why has this feeling never struck me before?

Am I losing my faith?

He let me ramble on and on, as I tossed around these questions I knew the Christian-ese answers to, but didn’t necessary trust. Then, he looked at me and said:

“You’re right. That feeling you get when you’re worshipping in chapel, when the music swells and your eyes tear up, that may be powerful. But I would argue that’s not faith. Actually, I can say pretty certainly that’s not faith.

“Faith is doing what you’re doing. Asking questions. Seeking guidance. All built on the foundation of trusting that God is who He says He is. That’s faith. So, keep asking.”

I don’t really know where God is right now.
But I know that He’s there.

I don’t really know what He’s got planned for me, much less the world.
But I know that He’s good.

I don’t know why so many people have to be persecuted and discriminated against and feel lost and suffer and die.

But I know that Jesus lives.

And when all the platitudes fade away and you’re left standing face-to-face with your faith, three truths like those make all the difference.


And so ultreia is no longer romantic. I don’t envision it flying high on banners being carried up mountains. I don’t see it moving into bigger and better things, from one challenge, one place of prosperity to the next.

Ultreia looks a lot more like Mary.
An adulterous woman, despised by the “righteous”, who ran to Jesus’ feet the second she heard he was coming. She didn’t do anything to prepare for this guest. She didn’t have any answers. She simply wanted to be with him.

Because ultimately, that’s the only place where all the answers are found. 

Even when it seems shadowed.

Maybe “onward and upward” is climbing mountains for some. And in its time, that has its place. But right now, for me, it’s putting one foot in front of the other as I trudge through the valley. It’s step after step on a moving walkway.
And that’s nothing to be ashamed of.
In fact, it’s really beautiful.

We weren’t meant to live life on a spiritual high. And so if I don’t feel that, so what?
I’m trusting God to be there as I’m stretched, as I grow, as the fabric of a faith that I’ve never really questioned begins to fray at the edges.
It’s not really glorious.

In fact, it looks pretty much like ugly, sticky, daily life.

And so? That’s perfect.

Because Jesus lived in that ugly, sticky, daily.
And I’d rather follow Him through the valleys than feel sky-high on my lonesome.

Ask me how I’m doing? I’ll say I’m feeling pretty lost.
But most importantly, I’m moving.
And I’d like to continue to do so.
So,

Ultreia.

I Went Walking One Day

I Went Walking One Day

"There comes a longing never to travel again except on foot." -Wendell Berry

This morning, I didn't wake up at 5:30 to the sound of people pulling on hiking boots and crumpling plastic bags. I didn't wake up with the thought, "okay body, if you promise to function today, I'll feed you Spanish chocolate." I didn't wake up wondering what God would reveal in the silence, what kinds of adorable little villages I would pass through, what incredible people I would meet. 

I woke up in a fluffy white bed with clean white walls at 8:30, knowing that the only place I really had to walk today was around town and life has regained some "normalcy". 

And the realization made me cry. 

To try to put the Camino into words is to defeat the purpose of the Camino. I can say the obvious- I walked 311 kilometers (and have a certificate now to prove it!) across northern Spain, León to Santiago. A typical day would look something like this:

1. Wake up at 5:30

2. Eat a yogurt

3. Walk 10k

4. Drink a Coa-Cao

5. Walk 10k

6. Eat a bocadillo

7. Walk 10k

8. Arrive at the next town, find an alburgue with five free beds (not the easiest of tasks), do laundry, find dinner, figure out where you are walking tomorrow, and go to sleep around 9. 

But see, that's just it. Nothing in that description would make anyone say, "Wow, Emily, that really sounds life-changing. I totally understand why you want to come back and do all 800k of the Camino". 

The Camino is not defined by the walking. True, there is a lot of walking. 4-8 hours a day of willing your feet to move one after the other- across hot plains, over mountains, through forests. But the walking is just a vehicle for what the Camino really is. 

The Camino atmosphere is unlike anything else you will experience in your life. Old people, young people, wealthy, poor, conservative and liberal, from every country you can imagine with every life circumstance under the sun come together and everyone is treated as equals. We live together, we walk together. We cook, cry, sleep in double beds together when albergues are full. We bandage each other's feet, fall in love (ask me about Intimate Couple), make best friends, climb mountains, and sing together. We pass someone on the path, extend a hello, and six hours later not only have a new best friend, but a conversation that produced thoughts and insights that we will be thinking about our entire life. 

I want to tell you about some members of my Camino family. I know it's a lot of words, so I've included some pictures.

1. Italy (Kristina)

Loads of people here have trail names, usually their home country or nationality. I met Italy Day 1, as her husband laughed at us rolling around in the grass, probably thinking, "oh just wait girls, in two days you wouldn't be able to climb stairs". There are 80 villages we pass through on our stretch of the Camino, and I must have seen Italy in at least 40 of them. Every time she would scream "Eh-mee-lee!" and wave her arms until I went and gave her a hug. I now have her phone number for when I visit her in Milano. Nowhere but the Camino would it be normal to have a first name of someone and their phone number and have it be completely acceptable to go stay at their home halfway across the world. 

2. My Camino Parents (Kris and Barry)

I met my parents Day 2, when I got separated from my team (as became the trend- I'm a lot more independent than I realized- that'll be another blog post). We talked for a long time, and they helped me find my meeting place. They totally adopted me, and I saw them every day after that, loving the warm hugs Kris would give me and the "how's your ankle, sweetheart?" I'm going to miss this woman so much. 

3. Swiss (David)

What may have been the best day of my life, I happened to spend with Swiss. We had met in the previous albergue when four of our team were all cuddling in one bed. He acted like it was the strangest thing in the world and we struck up a friendship. I think he was a little relieved when just me and not the rest of my cuddly group headed out at 6, and we dived headfirst into deep conversation. It was the best day of my life because I felt at the height of my independence, and with malfunctioning ankles I literally climbed 3 hours up a mountain and 3 hours down the other side. But the impact of the day was only helped along by Swiss, and our six hour long conversation about Christianity, mostly about Catholicism; it was the most intellectually demanding and stimulating conversation I think I've ever had. And just like that, he was gone. The people here are very fluid, but the conversations last forever.

4. Randall and Pao

These guys were much like Swiss, I only spent about two hours with them, but hearing about their friendship and spending the afternoon with two of the sweetest guys on the face of the earth was such a blessing. From Texas with a thick accent and France with very little English, somehow they've formed a friendship that has resulted in them being together 24/7 for the past 20 days. I can't even fathom the goodbye those two had. 

5. Alex

We love Alex from Canada. As Ari would say, we are low-key obsessed with Alex. We also met Alex Day 1, and stuck together every day after that- usually even staying in the same albergue. He was there when we tried pulpo (octopus), when we stayed in the strange albergue with fairies and creepy elves on the walls, and waited next to the path to see us ride our horses up the mountain. He quickly became an integral part of our little Camino family. One moment in particular- I was so frustrated by malfunctioning credit cards, mismatched bus schedules and hotels that were too expensive, and I felt like the weight of the world was on my shoulders. He came over and sat next to me. "Sorry Alex, I just get frustrated when I feel like I'm juggling this all alone." "Why do you think I came over here?" he simply said. Gem. Absolute gem.

6. Santa Barbara (Franee and Angela)

The description of Alex is short because the "fam" also includes these two high schoolers from California. We met Franee and Ang four days in, and they tagged along with us, and it wasn't long before the eight of us all became a family. Now we do everything together- we cook (mostly pasta), we walk, we venture around towns together. It's a really beautiful thing to go from making reservations for 5 to reservations for 8. 

And those are just a few of the faces. There are dozens of others I met who will have a lasting impact on my life. Last night, we gathered around cafe tables in the square outside of the Cathedral for one last hurrah. The Cathedral was our final destination, Kilometer 0 on this massive journey. And it was both a rush and a sigh of relief to see it after anticipating the moment for two weeks. But what gave me closure was seeing my new family sitting around tables, laughing and sharing stories one last time, knowing and yet avoiding the fact that we were headed back to the real world. 

It's a bittersweet time. The journey is over, yet I feel like it has just begun. The Camino bubble has popped, but there is a Camino mentality that I will try to carry over to the rest of my life. You do not need more than you are given, trust that there is purpose in every day, and everyone you meet is worthy of time and love, because everyone has a story. 

For now, I will be sad often. As strange as it sounds, I will cry when I don't pull on the same two outfits day after day. My feet feel antsy as I haven't already clocked 15k by this time in the morning. But like any beautiful event, the memories will only continue to sweeten. I pray that I look at life differently, and because of that, please don't hesitate to ask me about my experience. I will tell you as much as I can. Well, as much as you care to hear about, since obviously I could go on for hours. But don't expect an answer to "So, did you have fun on the Camino?" It's pretty hard to give an answer when you have experienced the most life-changing two weeks of your life. 

The Camino is not fun. The Camino is tears and silences that are too loud and ankles in so much pain they hurt when you swim. It's doctors visits to sketchy hospitals and humidity that makes the flies that cloud around your head stick to your neck. It's washing clothes in basins and smelling worse that you've ever smelt...and not caring. It's waking up before the sun rises and walking until you can't walk anymore then sitting down for a coffee until you force yourself to walk more. It's balancing time apart with constant wifi access and "Okay friends back home, I'm still alive" as news stories circle about the woman who went missing on the trail and various harassment of pilgrims. 

No, it's not fun.

But that's not really the adjective used to describe life. And when an experience makes you dig down to the core of your being and say, "Okay, God, let's figure out what you've got going on in here", there simply are no words that could ever properly describe it.

I'm excited to see you all. I'm excited to see how my Camino plays out in the next five weeks here serving other pilgrims, and especially how it affects my life back home. But right now I think it's time to put on a dress, use a washing machine, and figure out what in the world just happened these past two weeks.

Warm

I quickly typed out some word vomit into my phone, praying that it didn’t turn to actually losing my food as we bounced down the highway toward Madrid. We were sitting in the back of a crowded bus, so excited to escape the 95degree weather, and instead found ourselves in the seats above the engine, blasting hot air directly upward for six hours. Needless to say, that is the first and last time we will ever take a bus.

But a lot of good reflection happened on that bus ride. The spray of words I was finally able to get into writing turned themselves into a spoken word piece I decided to call Warm. Now, I won’t type it out here, there’s a reason they’re called spoken word, but I can tell you about the general sentiment behind it.

But first, a quick recap, for your sake of context, and my sake of reminiscing.
Seven cities in two weeks can be hard to keep track of:

1.    Amsterdam: So much jetlag and culture shock. But somewhere in between, we walked the streets of this beautiful, broken city and it was a blast to spend a few days abroad with all 19 of us before we split off.

2.    Brugge: I’m tempted to say my favorite city thus far, but Sevilla was a close contender. This sleepy city stole my heart when we walked around late at night- the streets deserted, lights and lampposts everywhere, laughing with new friends and walking over canals and past quintessential European buildings…I felt like I was in a movie.

3.    Paris: Not at all what I expected. I was not a huge fan of Paris- loud, crowded, expensive. But more than that, I was frustrated after meeting so many people in Brugge; our hostel was on the
outskirts of everything so people headed into the city early and stayed there all day, so it was really tough to meet people. The Lord really worked to teach me patience, as well as strengthened our team during that time. Good preparation as we headed to…

4.    Barcelona: Crazy. Crazy. Crazy. We unknowingly were there not only during a music festival, Primavera Sound, but also the Copa Final, which took place two streets down from our hostel. Such a great introduction to Spain.

5.    Valencia: The southern Brugge, I might say. Everything about this city was stunning- I don’t think you can really top moonlit castles framed by palm trees.

6.    Sevilla: We’ve all liked different cities, but it’s pretty safe to say our favorite city collectively is Sevilla. We met so many cool people and had so many deep conversations. Plus our hostel was sick- “family dinner” was served on a rooftop with a view of the cathedral. Increíble.

7.    Madrid: Perhaps takes the hostel cake. Even the staff have become friends- last night, I had a jam session with the receptionist, and made dinner with the cook. Every night is free dinner and
we’ve become a little family.

And there I was last night, in the kitchen, talking to my new friend Christo (“It’s like the Spanish Christ, I dunno why they call me but I like it you know?”) as I grated cheese. Between
our mixed language conversation, I listened to the hum of the hostel around me.
People from all over the world becoming friends. 

More travelers checking in,
getting the run down of the city. 

Laughter and backpacks dropping to the floor and the general hum of excitement.

 I kind of lost myself in the moment, and realized that for the first time in a long time, potentially years, I felt completely at ease. I prayed that I would feel comfortable in the traveling community, but I had no idea God would use it to fill me with so much peace, with a sense of comfort I rarely feel.

By all accounts, it makes no sense. I’ll be the first to say that I am a
distrusting, skittish, generally scared and uptight person.

But somewhere between Brugge and Barcelona, something changed. I began to see something beautiful in transience, an opportunity in forming fast and often brief relationships that would not
have sounded appealing back home. The traveling community is indescribable.

When you learn so much about a person’s life and then an hour into the conversation stop and say, “Wait, I never caught your name”, that’s a really cool thing.


So standing in the kitchen in Madrid, my heart just felt warm. There’s no other way to explain it. I had found a home in the wandering, and felt like one of these people, these disorganized, adventurous souls who not long ago, would have so intimidated me.

Maybe the feeling also had something to do with the fact that Spain is flippin hot. Lord have mercy, I have never been in a place where I step outside and literally feel like my skin is melting off my body. I guess that’s what you get for being 120 miles north of Africa (here’s lookin’ at you, Sevilla).

Now, we’ve made it to Santiago.
All around me are pilgrims. You can pick them out easily- they’re wearing clothes that clearly haven’t been properly washed in at least two weeks, the top of their head is covered by permanent hat hair, and they wander around the city with this glazed, happy, “I did it” look. In three days, we will begin the journey back to this wonderful city. 250 miles in two weeks.

It will be the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I’m tempted to say I can’t do it. But never in a million years would I have said I could journey so far away from home, sleeping in a different city and even country every couple of days- and now I’ve got this adventure fever that’s left me yearning to pack my bag and start up again.


So, fellow adventurers- Go. Do. See. Find that thing that sets your heart on fire.
And realize that it’s probably in the most unexpected of places.

Catch you in two weeks!

(Seen in Brugge. Describes Europe in general. The tackiest and the most adorable of pictures).

Seeking Santiago

Seeking Santiago

“Y sólo pido que no pedirte nada, estar aquí, junto a tu imagen muerta, ir aprendiendo que el dolor es sólo la llave santa de tu santa puerta. Ámen.” –Gertrudís Goméz de Avellanda

I only ask that I ask nothing of you, just to be here, next to your dead image, learning that pain is only the holy key to your holy door. Amen.

All year, that small snippet of a poem hung from my desk on a little yellow paper. The Spanish is beautiful, the words powerful, but I think what was intriguing to me is that I knew I would never be able to fully understand it.  

I would kind of gloss over the pain part.

Until now, when I rediscover this quote three days before I leave for Europe, sitting on the couch icing my ankle for the umpteenth time today.

This is not how I expected my adventuring to begin.

 “The best thing to do for your tendinitis is to rest it for a couple of months. It’s your Achilles, so a brace won’t help.”

“So, hypothetically…if I were to do a 250 mile walk across northern Spain?”

Laughter.

“I’d say have fun, and expect some physical therapy when you’re back.”

So I’m resting when I should be breaking in my shoes. I’m on a regular diet of ibuprofen (in addition to antibiotics for five weeks of bronchitis, which is a whole other issue).

And I’m coming to the point where I have to make a decision.

I am going to Europe, no question about that. I am going to walk the Camino, Lord willing. I’m so stubborn that I know it’ll have to be my teammates who stop me if I’m clearly in un-walkable pain, because it definitely won’t be me who stops my feet from moving.

The choice is in how I view pain.

Not just physical, either.

The pain of inevitable homesickness,

of weariness after long days of travel,

of being in uncomfortable social situations, even when it’s my ministry to talk to strangers.

It will not be an ideal summer, by any stretch of the imagination.

But I’m trusting that it will be full. For every moment of pain, it is inevitable that I have the choice to be joyful.

And it doesn’t begin on the Camino of weeks 3 and 4. It begins now.

Seeking Santiago, our destination city, isn’t an end goal.

It’s a mindset.

Seeking Santiago starts with how I love my family and friends continuously. It’s how I treat that person who just hurt my heart. It centers on walking with God in these final days of preparation, because being in Europe won’t suddenly make me more spiritual.

I am a broken vessel.

Some days I feel it more than others, and I can only pray that I stay on my knees this summer, understanding that whatever mood I have in whatever city I’m in, I am loved and carried, and can hopefully express that to others.

Being broken is just as much an opportunity as anything else.

Enter Sleeping at Last, my favorite musical genius, with his song Jupiter:

Make my messes matter

Make this chaos count

Let every little fracture in me

Shatter out loud.

Amsterdam.    Seville.    Bruges.    Barcelona..

Paris.         Madrid.       Haarlem.

Valencia.    León.

Santiago de Compostela.

 May every crack I carry only be a way to let more light escape.

May I seek Santiago and that holy key to that holy door.

(And have a little fun along the way).

¡Buen camino!

To Twenty Years

To Twenty Years

It struck me as I wrote the title. I have lived an even number, two perfect sets of ten slices of life.

Everyone always asks, “Do you feel older?” on your birthday, and I think it’s safe to say that this is the first year that answer is yes. I am now in my twenties. The time that I have always thought about as life really starting. The years when all of my sought-after plans could begin to come true- travel, graduate college, go to grad school, get married, start a family…the age to be.

            

            Lord willing, all of those things will happe at some point. I suppose spending the summer hostel-jumping in Europe is a good start.

            But today I carried all of the contents out of my dorm room and realized that I am halfway done with college, with more confusion about where I want to end up than when I started as a naïve freshman.

            See, that’s my problem. Everything in my mind is two steps too far, and when the present yields no answers well, I get frustrated.

            So tonight I thought the best thing to do is to turn 180°. Instead of hyperventilating when I see my lack of direction, to reflect on the ways that God has blessed me. I take comfort in this verse: 

“Your own ears will hear Him. Right behind you a voice will say, “This is the way you should go,” whether to the right or to the left” (Isaiah 30:21). 

God isn’t dragging me along, making footprints for me to step into, a flawless future with no room for hesitation. God is there, but He is behind me, nudging me forward when I am timid, or pushing me with complete force when I’m stubborn, which is most of the time.

            Future? Yes, it’ll be hard. It will also be right, because it’s ultimately God’s. Past? What a beautiful time to think back.

           

So here are twenty thoughts for twenty years of life.

1.     This world we live in is pretty darn amazing. I’m so thankful God has blessed me with a heart that longs for nature and feels so deeply trapped by buildings and spaces that aren’t open-air.

2.     Sometimes people suck. A lot. Making friends is tricky business and keeping them is even harder (those of you who have stuck by my side- I love you more than you will ever know).

3.     Vanilla pudding is heaven in a plastic cup.

4.     Growing up in the area, the sentiment I’ve always heard is, “You may move out of Wheaton, but you’ll always move back” and, “Wheaton is too safe and boring”. True, it may be a bubble, but what a wonderful bubble to grow up in. I’m not going to be crabby about something that most people would be thrilled to have.

5.     Know how many people are in the world? A lot. Know how many people you are? One. That’s right, we’re pretty insignificant.

6.     …But we are significant enough that the person who most loves us just so happens to be the Creator of the universe. No big deal.

7.     Education is the best career field. Try to argue, and prepare to be proven wrong.

8.     No child should ever have to lose a parent.

9.     In the same vein, empathy is an incredible and fragile gift. Use it carefully, and use it often. And if the only thing you can think to say is “There’s a reason for everything” or “I understand, I just lost my dog last week”- it’s probably best to shut up.

10. People really are kind. Talk to a stranger, they’ll surprise you.

11. It took me way too many years, but I am so thankful I am at the point where I can break into spontaneous song and dance without feeling embarrassed. Everyone should reach that point.

12. Become friends with people who will make you do things that scare you (here’s looking at you, Ali…)

13. There is always time to watch another episode of Friends (this bullet point reflects a recent discovery).

14. Make lists to look back on. It may not be an 84-qualification list for your future husband at age 13, but I guarantee, any kind of list with goals will make for a good chuckle.

15. Heartbreak is real. But mourn and move on, because if they don’t have enough decency to tell you what the problem even is, then the problem is no longer yours.

16. Spend time with people of all ages. You may find that the advice you get from a four-year-old makes the world stop spinning.

17.    58 is a lot of National Parks, but I will make it to all of them.

18. Always try to find ways to surprise people. Hide little parts of your identity–it’s a lot of fun to let people discover you love to rap or that at any given moment you think you would like to drop out of school and move to Nashville.

19. Mental illnesses are neither fake nor funny, so stop making jokes before you unintentionally hurt people you love.

20.  Life gets too complicated and messy because we forget that all it takes is loving God and loving others. The days I intentionally wake up and say “I’m going to try be pleasant today” always end up so much better.

I don’t think I’ll end with a clever conclusion, I have to go explore this whole “twenties” thing.

Love,

Emily

Oh yeah, and here's a picture. Reference #2.