by Patrick Gray
But I’m becoming more aware of what they’ve given me, the love they have for me, and the beauty that exists in each one of them—a beauty that God longs for me to see. I’m also becoming more aware of the beauty in strangers—people like Joe and Richard and others who have helped us along the way. They are God’s gift to me, but they’re a gift I can’t appreciate if I don’t take time to rest with them, to keep them or hold them close, and let them know their value. I’m beginning to appreciate how we can practice Sabbath on any day, at any time, in any moment.
Taking the time to read a story to my son or daughter, being fully present.
Sabbath.
Taking a walk with my wife on a warm afternoon, holding her hand.
Sabbath.
Wrestling with my son, hearing his laughter as I tickle him.
Sabbath.
Lying next to my children as they drift off to sleep.
Sabbath.
Every moment we rest in the presence of others and appreciate the time, beauty, and joy they have to offer, we practice Sabbath. It’s a mentality . . . an existence . . . a way of life.
Sitting here in this square in the middle of Spain, I’m thinking of all the damaged relationships that could be healed and the broken relationships that could be mended if we all chose to stop the distractions, rest in the presence of those we love, and keep them close.
In many ways, I feel this is what the Camino offers: a prolonged Sabbath allowing each person to reconnect with who they are and who God created them to be. For Justin and me, it has been a time to open our eyes to all the moments we have practiced the Sabbath lifestyle in our friendship but have not truly appreciated them for what they are.
Pushing my best friend five hundred miles through Spain in a wheelchair, meeting the helping hands and hearts of so many strangers, surrounded by God’s creation.
Sabbath.
16PURSUIT
— PATRICK —
TODAY IS FILLED WITH MIXED EMOTIONS. The rest and relaxation we’ve enjoyed in Burgos hardly seem enough to refill our depleted energy tanks, but both Justin and I are hungry to get back on the trail. With each passing day, the weather has grown warmer, and we strive for early starts so we can beat the heat of the warm afternoons. This morning is no exception as we rise shortly after the sun and head west.
Beyond Burgos lies a section of Spain known as the Meseta. Some refer to it as a desert, but the word literally means plateau. The Meseta comprises almost 40 percent of Spain’s landmass, ranging in elevation from 1,300 feet to 3,300 feet. The next 150 miles of Camino trail cuts through this arid landscape, where wheat fields extend as far as the eye can see—much like Kansas. Most of the terrain is flat, and the roads are often straight for miles on end.
As we head into the first day of this long stretch, I struggle with being fully present. I am loving my time here, and there is no place I would rather be, but I feel the pressure to keep pace, to keep moving, as the end of my six-week leave draws closer with each passing day.
It has been difficult, but I have gradually shifted my focus from the destination to the journey. Still, the pressure of a career waiting across the Atlantic lingers in the recesses of my mind. I love the people I work with, but my challenging role at the hospital has been a source of monumental stress. As I work to serve the needs of the hospital, as well as those of the neurosurgeons and orthopedic surgeons I work alongside, it sometimes feels as if I’m serving two masters with diametrically opposed objectives. In spite of this distant urgency to return to the States, I am realizing these weeks on the Camino have made me happier than I’ve been in months. The freedom, the simplicity, and the sense of community bring a joy that is so often lacking in my daily life.
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Justin and I had intended to travel well beyond the town of Hontanas today, but when we arrive, we change our minds. As we approach the small collection of buildings at the hub of the town, Joe and Richard are sitting at a table enjoying their lunch. We also see Jess from South Africa, who walked with us for a while earlier in the day before going on ahead. Her friend Claudia stayed with us and helped us on a few hills.
When we stop to rest for a few minutes, Joe and Richard introduce us to Dave from Ireland, Jessica from Australia, and Andy and his son from New York. Surrounded by the hum of voices from four different countries, we sense a feeling of oneness.
The energy here is palpable. Every person we talk to is excited to be resting and spending time with other pilgrims. Joe and Richard invite us to join their group for dinner, and we’re having a hard time saying no. The need to make the day’s objective has been replaced by a desire to connect with these new friends. While a few of our day’s companions—including Christie—continue on, Justin and I decide to stay the night here.
There are few options for lodging in Hontanas, so we end up with bunk beds in an albergue in the center of town. After paying for our night’s lodging and dropping off our bags, we head outside to enjoy the company of our fellow pilgrims.
Joe and Richard take up a collection of a few euros each from everyone, which gives them enough money to purchase food for all. While they pay a visit to the local supermercado, the rest of us retreat to a courtyard outside our albergue. In a few short hours, with the help of Jess (who, it turns out, is a chef), we are offered a table laden with pasta, a delicious meat sauce, salad, bread, and multiple bottles of Rioja wine.
As we enjoy the meal, the energy we first felt when we entered town increases tenfold.
People lean in and draw close to one another as stories are shared. There is an intentional nature here, a quality to the conversation that is beautiful to watch unfold. There’s no pretense, no judgment, no hierarchy or status. We’re just a group of pilgrims eagerly wanting to know more about one another, wanting to hear each other’s stories and share in this beautiful moment together.
Some pilgrims talk of embarrassing moments they’ve experienced in coed albergues, and we all agree we’ve seen enough of naked strangers in the early mornings. Jess shares some of her experiences as a chef working on a yacht; Richard is wondering what to do next after graduating college; Joe is concerned about the direction of his career; and Andy is relishing the time he’s spending here with his son. Others share their reasons for embarking on the Camino, and many talk of what awaits them back home and how they wish their friends and family could experience what we are experiencing now.
Hearing their stories, I’m reminded of how much I have allowed my job to keep me from having the level of connection with my family that I’m enjoying here with complete strangers. My busy schedule and my obsessive need for control at work have caused me to take on more than I should. Here in Hontanas, all the distractions have faded away, and I’m able to offer more of myself to these people than I’ve given to my family. For the first time, I can feel the cords that tether me to my career begin to loosen. I’m ready to give my family more of what they deserve and desire—more of me. But I have to choose to do so. This is what makes my friendship with Justin work, and it’s one of the things that have been missing from my relationship with my wife and children.
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— JUSTIN —
Staying close with Patrick over the years hasn’t been easy. He and I discovered early on that we had to put forth some serious effort in order to remain connected. We made the conscious decision to make one another a priority, to pick up the phone, and to make sacrifices of time. We were willing to part with hard-earned money for plane tickets and road trips that helped to forge an enduring friendship.
Looking back on our childhood, the decisions we made to find time for each other seemed so much easier. We simply hopped on our bikes or rode our skateboards across town—but I’m not sure this is fair to say. While childhood decisions were easy and our proximity was much closer, we still had to make an active choice. We each had to decide that spending time together was worth the effort of riding our bicycles the distance between our homes. We worked in order to
steal time with one another, and that time has helped us build a friendship. As adults we can become distracted from realizing how simple spending time together really is.
This kind of intentionality—this willingness to sacrifice time, to be present for one another—is especially important when tackling the challenges that tend to separate people. I think back to our college years and to the early years of our marriages.
Both Patrick and I continued to wrestle with our addictions to pornography, but for Patrick, the struggles didn’t stop there. He had started smoking marijuana when we were in middle school, and this occasional habit continued into college. I still remember the phone call when he told me about the ultimatum he received from Donna: “You want to date me? Then no more weed.”
Though Patrick still frequently smoked pot, he was in the throes of falling in love and desperately wanted to live up to his girlfriend’s expectations. We both needed accountability and the ability to have open and honest dialogue with someone who wasn’t afraid to call us out on the stupid things we convinced ourselves were okay to do.
Our obsession with pornography could have easily closed us off from one another, causing us to hide our secret, but we intentionally pursued an honest friendship. We built trust based on having each other’s best interests in mind. This is what happens when we intentionally make the needs and welfare of others more important than our own.
Without experiencing this kind of vulnerable friendship, we probably would not have known how to embrace the courage Christie demonstrated when she shared her story. Being that open and honest with complete strangers takes a strength neither one of us possessed during our college years. Fortunately, we had each other to rely on, to trust, and to be vulnerable with. Any successful relationship—whether friendship or marriage—must have this level of honesty to the point of sharing anything and everything. But this can’t happen if we don’t pursue each other; it can’t happen if we don’t make time for each other. This sort of honesty can exist only if we know that, no matter what we say or do, the other person will still choose to love us and will still choose to pursue us.
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— PATRICK —
I’m not sure what I would have done without the support and accountability Justin has offered me throughout our friendship. Because of the strong foundation we have, we know we can tell each other anything, and we can trust each other with all that we are.
This doesn’t mean there haven’t been times when we weren’t totally honest with each other—especially about our struggles with pornography. However, more often than not, these moments are met with resistance, with loving pushback that says, “I’m sorry, man, but I don’t think you’re telling me the whole story. Are you sure everything’s fine?”
Occasionally, one of us will call the other out and say, “You’re full of crap!” Sometimes these words are hard to hear, but they’re always spoken in love and always come from a heart that says, “I want what’s best for you, and this isn’t it.”
Our pursuit of one another requires sacrifice. The effort we both choose to put into our relationship is indicative of the value we place on one another. We’ve both seen friendships and marriages fall apart, and every time there’s been a lack of true commitment—where one or both individuals no longer puts in the effort, no longer values the relationship, no longer pursues the other person.
As adults, it can be easy to lose sight of the fact that we must pursue one another, even when it gets in the way of our own priorities. We can tell people how much we love them, how much they mean to us, but this means nothing if we don’t pursue them. We have to pick up the phone, make time to be together, get in a car and make the drive, or hop on a plane and fly across the country. Like it or not, we are what we do, not what we say we will do. And what I’ve been doing is giving higher priority to my job than to my wife and kids. I’ve been a provider, but I haven’t been much of a husband or father.
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— JUSTIN —
The sun is now setting beyond the expanse of the Meseta, and each pilgrim is backlit by a sunset so bright they’ve all faded to little more than silhouettes. Patrick sits to my left, eyes closed as the sun warms his bearded face. Our hearts are filled with the love and connection shared here tonight.
Sharing a plate of food, Patrick gives me a bite of bread and helps me wash it down with a bit of wine. Bread and wine. A group of new friends gathered around a table sharing bread and wine. Though this meal is by no means a last supper, what it represents is powerful. A community of individuals has come together around a meal, sharing the very things that will provide the energy and sustenance needed to continue moving forward.
In the Bible, the Last Supper was many things—a farewell to Jesus, the outing of a traitor in their midst, the exposition of Peter’s coming denial of the Messiah. But something else happened around that table, something powerful. Jesus sought out each of these men; he pursued them and chose to break bread with them. Jesus invited them to live a different kind of life, a life of communion with him. The God of love and compassion, in whom Patrick and I choose to believe, lived his life with these men and invited them to break bread with him, to drink with him, to rest in his presence.
God’s two greatest commandments are to love him and to love others.[2] But what does this kind of love look like? The only people we feel loved by are those who pursue us. They pursue conversation with us, spend time with us, hold us when we are broken, and help us get up when we fall. Their pursuit of us is what shows us we’re loved. Our parents, our siblings, our wives, our kids, our friends, Ted, Christie, Joe, Richard, Claudia, John, Lynda, Bernie, Ray, and so many others—they have all pursued us in different ways. And though we are flawed and sometimes fail, we do our best to do the same.
When Patrick and I make the conscious decision to pursue one another, to actively give love and compassion to each other, we find sustenance around a very different table. We are the vessels through which the world can know God’s love. In this kind of love, we find the ability to be honest about our fears and the freedom to share our failings. We find a different kind of bread to relieve a seemingly insatiable hunger, and a different kind of wine to satisfy a seemingly unquenchable thirst. Just as our bodies hunger for food and drink, our hearts long for love, our souls long to be pursued.
17COUNTDOWN
— PATRICK —
THE LATE-NIGHT FESTIVITIES IN Hontanas mean morning seems to come earlier than usual. I wake first and dress, prep our water bottles, and pack my sleeping bag. I then wake Justin and get him ready for the day while listening to another spontaneous ditty about putting on his shoes. Then I lift him from the lower bunk and set him in his wheelchair.
Even though we are early to rise, many of our fellow pilgrims are miles down the trail before we leave the albergue. However, when we reach the road leading to the Camino trail, we find John and Claudia waiting for us. Both are planning to walk with us today. Grateful for the help and company, we head west.
Tightly packed dirt and rock make for an even path for the first part of the day. While pushing the 250 pounds of this fully loaded wheelchair is always difficult, it is remarkable how much of a difference a smooth trail makes.
With six miles of “easier” trail behind us, we pass the town of Castrojeriz. To the north of us sit the ruins of Castillo de Castrojeriz, an ancient castle atop a hill overlooking the town below. The sun is now high in the sea of blue above us, bathing our shoulders and backs in warmth. As we stop for a drink of water, Justin and I take stock of the path ahead. Directly in front of Justin’s chair, the trail leads west, but in the distance it turns sharply to the left, where it traverses up to a 350-foot plateau before disappearing over the edge. As we get closer, we can see the trail turns into loose rock and gravel, a very different terrain than we have enjoyed for the first half of the day.
Claudia and John recognize the challenge and offer to pull while I push. I unclip the red nylon harness from my backpack, un
coil it, and hand it to Claudia, who clips the two carabiners at the ends of the harness to Justin’s chair. Our two friends raise the harness over their heads, allowing it to rest across the front of their shoulders, and lean into the strap until it becomes taut. Taking steps in unison, they begin to pull while I push.
This section of the trail is tremendously difficult, and progress is slow as we inch our way up the hill. Soon two young Swiss women offer help and step in on either side of me. With three of us at the back and two out front, our pace briefly quickens, but the sheer force of gravity, as well as the heat of the day, has us all gasping within the next twenty feet.
This work is punishing for everyone. My calves are beginning to burn so intensely that they feel like they are going to explode, and my forearms tremble with each surge we make. John begins to fade and a passing pilgrim named Matt steps in beside Claudia. As we continue to climb, the weight pushing back on me increases as the grade steepens. My fingers are tingling with numbness from the pressure of the handlebars across my palms and the base of my thumbs, but slowly, painstakingly, we make it to the top, with Claudia pulling the entire way.