Day Three (Hump Day!) - Arzua

The Road Hotel (Pension Rua) is just inside the city limits of Arzua, Spain, on the left, at the top of a long, long, long walk across the beautiful green valley just east of town. We approached the valley in awe of the view. Then someone noticed that the peak of the other side was higher than the location from our viewing point. And Kate’s words came back to us from our last stop in Boente: “This last 8 kilometers (5 miles) is down and up and down and up and down and… up.” There was a slight hesitation and a British-tinted accent on that last “up.” And for good reason.
We walked in the front door at 8:30pm – exactly eleven-and-one-half-hours after we set out this morning. A considerable amount of those eleven-and-one-half-hours were spent on our “pies”… putting one foot in front of the other, marching to Santiago. The first three coffee bars were closed, so it was nearly noon before our first stop – and a rather-usual 3:00pm before lunch. That left us with 13.6 of our 27.5 kilometers (17 miles and a little change) to complete after 4:00 p.m. According to Tony and Kate’s pedometer the day took at least 44,974 steps. But who’s counting.

Along the way, a biking pilgrim (that’s bike con pedals, not bike con rumble!) stopped to inquire of Bennett: “Quantos an[y]os tiene?” When I told him our boys were 12 and 10 years old, his eyes widened. “Y quantos kilometers… hoy?” Our noticeably young fellow pilgrims led the way, strengthening their stride as we finally found the Pension Rua: 27.5 kilometers for the day (but were just as glad to see those four beds, lined up like a barracks, as we were!)
We tried to have a coffee in Casanova, in honor of Amy’s Spanish-descended maternal grandfather, Miguel Cassanova, but no one was home.

In Melide, as promised, we dined at the Pulporia. Though the octopus is imported from Morocco, it’s a local favorite, and at the open, street-side window, an employee lifts eight large, purple arms from a steaming barrel and chops it into bite-sized pieces with a pair of scissors, offering samples of the clean, tender, white meat (along with the soft suction cups) to passersby. Covering it generously with olive oil and cayenne, served-up on a wooden plate, it’s ready to be served – and he never slowed his pace throughout our meal. As fast as he could ready a plate, a waitress was there to deliver it, usually along with a bottle of “home brew” white wine, which they serve in white, ceramic bowls.

In the old town of Furelos we viewed the contemporary, life-sized crucifix, depicting a (too graphic) savior, with only one hand nailed to the cross beam, and the other showing a bleeding stigmata, but reaching downward to mediate between earth and heaven. The church attendant was pleased to tell us that though there are three similar crucifixes, this is the only one of its kind – in the world.

So it’s 11:34pm pm as I type, and the boys have just turned in. Because of the customary Spanish siesta, a 10:00pm dinner is not uncommon – even if you’ve walked 48 miles in the last three days and can hardly keep your eyes open till the first course is served.
At this point, we have 40k left to walk… and at this point, a 20k day sounds like a gift from heaven.

Just like today.

Day Two - Portomarin to Palas de Rei

We finished our second day, a 15-miler, at about 8:00 p.m. We are enjoying the days… taking our time… stopping at the local “bars” for a “café con leche” or a coke (not to mention a “ban[y]o”!)… enjoying conversations with our new friends… still inspired by the beautiful countryside…

Today we took a little side trip, by van, to visit a 13th century Greco-Roman Church. It’s old beauty was oddly awe-inspiring. The members of our group had heard a hint of our family singing somewhere along the way, and made a request while at this church. Before we could sing another group had gathered, but our friends insisted, so our guide inquired of the church attendant. When we walked back into this vaulted stone cathedral, to our surprise, the gathering of pilgrims had taken seats, as if preparing for a concert. This was not what we signed up for! But we quietly took our place in the apse, behind the altar, beneath the high dome covered in fading frescos of saints and martyrs, and Bennett began the 10-bar prayer that has become something of an anthem for our trip: “Do not be afraid…” When we finished the last notes, “Peace, be still.” There was complete silence except for the harmonies swirling high overhead. Though our serendipitously-gathered “congregation” were mostly non-English speaking pilgrims, the harmonies communicated, even when the words could not, and to our amazement, there were tears on several faces as we walked quietly out into the world and back onto the Camino for our final 5 kilometers.

There is a surprising expectancy to the spiritual aspect of this walk – which is, undoubtedly, why the path to Santiago has now been worn by countless thousands of pilgrims, Christian and otherwise, spiritual and those who begin the pilgrimage as non-spiritual pilgrims (I don’t know that anyone finishes it with no spiritual insights gleaned). We’re not seeking absolution. Not offering penance. We have no need to pay homage to St. James… but there is something more than a 62 mile walk across a beautiful countryside that is attracting us to that cathedral. Something more.

Something more.

Which is, after all, what we came in search of.

Day One - Sarria to Portomarin

It’s hard to imaging looking forward to anything for two years and the event living up to the kind of expectation that comes along with that. And it’s hard to imagine how much we underestimated our expectations for walking El Camino de Santiago.

I simply cannot tell you what I feel. For two years we’ve wondered about the weather… today could not have been any more pleasant – early morning “mist,” burning off into a beautiful 75- degree, humidity-free afternoon, warm at times, but mostly clear, blue skies and shady, near-perfect walking conditions. For two years we’ve wondered about the company on the trail… Andrea, Tony and Katie, and Kate (our guide), have quickly meshed as a very comfortable group, entertaining good conversation and lots of natural, good-hearted laughter, on the trail and at meals together. For two years we’ve wondered about “Spanish Steps,” the company who is guiding our trip… Kate could not be any more accommodating, helpful, and pleasant, and our guided journey is first class, all the way around. For two years, we’ve wondered about the Camino… and today exceeded our expectations – beyond measure. (You can have Paris – give me 16 miles on the Camino, any day!)

1,000 years ago pilgrims began walking to the cathedral in Santiago, de Compostella, Spain, to pay homage to the bones of St. James, which had purportedly been discovered there. Eventually the Pope named Santiago one of three pilgrim destinations (Rome and Jerusalem) worthy of full absolution. Though there are actually several routes, the path we have chosen is apparently the best known and most well-marked. Along this 1,000 years a trail has been carved through the landscape. The kilometers we walked today (nearly 16 miles), took us along paved and dirt roads, up rocky routes amidst cows and corn, along winding quiet streams, through narrow tree lined lanes, and parallel to miles and miles of moss-covered, stacked-stone walls which have bordered pastures and property lines for centuries – and at every turn, literally, following painted yellow arrows, and stone markers embossed with the scallop shell, and enumerating the dwindling distance to Santiago. At every ½ kilometer marker of our nine-hour walk, we joined countless other pilgrims by placing a single stone atop the stone, naming one of you, for whom we are thankful.

In one community we entered the Romanesque church with the other members of our group and sang and prayed our morning prayers. Two or three times along the way we stopped at the local “bar” (café) for a coffee or a snack, and for the “sello” (stamp) in our Compestella Passapuerta (without two stamps a day, proving the legitimacy of the walk – at least 100 kilometers – pilgrims are not eligible to receive “The Compestella” in Santiago. In Fereirro we ate lunch at the Café/Bar Crucieros (“Bar of the Cross”!) My “squid pings” (calamari) and olives stuffed with anchovies were even better than last night’s eel and algae!

The views were spectacular. The fellowship along the route was inspiring – with our group and the dozens and dozens of other pilgrims with whom we exchanged “Buen Camino”s as we passed. The anticipation of our destination, even after only one day of walking, is virtually tangible. (The marking stone at Portomarin, from where I’m typing this, reads “89.5 km” [to Santiago].) Tomorrow holds another 20+ kilometers, and another day to exceed expectations. I have no doubt.

We share your notes, prayers, poems, and well-wishes every day, and in so many ways, they are keeping us going.

We’re glad to be walking with you.

Buen Camino!

The beautiful Rio Min[y]o flows through the Spanish town of Sarria, fast and clear. From the little bridge that crosses at the Rua Malecon, the fish are thick as thieves, and look like Appalachian brook and rainbow trout – though the river is famous for its eels. We settled down with our new group of friends at one of several restaurants along the Malecon plaza, overlooking a little section of rapids in the Min[y]o river. When I found a dish of scrambled eggs with nettles and eels, I’m thinking, “Who could pass that up!?” Kate, our new Spanish speaking guide with a north England accent (she’s from Lancaster) had just asked in our orientation if we “had nettles where we come from.” On our recent hike to Chimney Rock I had pointed out stinging nettle to the boys, so I clarified the Spanish brand: “Stinging nettle?” “Yes,” she said. “Watch out for it… though they actually eat it around here!”

So as Amy and the boys shared two plates, steak and pork loin (we had originally been told it was “tail of pig”), Andrea, our Canadian/Qatarian fellow traveler, enjoyed a brothy cabbage soup, Tony and Kate, our blind companion and his wife, who hale from near Manchester England(!), tried out the baked hake (a filleted white fish), and Kate, our vegetarian guide, filled herself on a plate of hot, green peppers… I worked my way through a dish that looked for all the world like scrambled eggs in spaghetti noodles, with a good measure of blue-green, sautéed algae thrown in. Though I have no regrets in my order (I would honestly say the dish was good), I confessed to Amy back at the hotel that the faintest hint of a gag reflex slowly crept up my esophagus throughout the meal. Though it’s against my personal culinary ethic, I had to leave two, maybe three bites of little baby eels undigested!

And so we begin – as benignly-eventful as I had hoped. The six-hour bus ride out of Madrid was the closest thing to airline-quality First Class we’ve ever enjoyed, and when we arrived in Lugo, at least a dozen obvious pilgrims filled the station. We followed three of these travelers (from Milan, Italy) to the ticket window, and 45 minutes later were following them, and their broken Italian-Spanish (which is one “pescado grande”-of-a-lot better than my Spanglish), through the streets of Sarria, in search of the Alphonso IX hotel. (Which, by the way, is probably the nicest digs we’ve had in all of Europe.)

More on our Camino campan[y]eros later, but we like them all so much, at this point, and have a premonition of good things to come regarding our rapport on the trail and off. What a nice bonus this will be if it comes to fruition.

Several hours ago, on the bus from Lugo to Sarria, as we passed (with way too much speed, I might add, for our comfort!) through the beautiful rolling hills of Galithia (the province/“state” which looks something like the Shenandoah Valley and contains much of the Camino), I said to my three closest companions, “This is my best day in Europe, so far – hands down!” After our night with these new friends, I’m even more convinced.

We will begin our travels, “a pie” (“by foot,” not by pie) tomorrow at 8:30 a.m. And as we prepare to embark, we’ll be thinking of you, and wishing you, too, on whatever road you may be “traveling,” a “Buen Camino!”

Two Quick Posts Before El Camino

1) I Just Never Thought to Pray

It's not as if I'm a world traveler -- hardly is that the case, but over the years, I've seen a few Cathedrals in my wanderings. With every visit I've been amazed at the architectural grandeur, awed by the depth of history (did I say they've had an evening prayer service at St. Paul's in London every night for 1,400 years... talk about being connected to something larger than yourself), and moved by the mysterious power that something as mundane as stone and glass can glimpse... I've gawked and staggered and groped for words and felt the inspiration of the Christian story in these places...

I just never thought to pray.

I mean pray, beyond the gawking and staggering and groping and being inspired (which I believe are kinds of prayers in themselves). But in this summer's visits: Washington's National Cathedral, and London's St. Paul's and Westminster Abbey and Bloomsbury Central Baptist, and Notre Dame and Sacre Couer of Paris, and Madrid's Cathedral of Our Sister de la Almudena, all became places of prayer for our family. Specific, stop, and sit, and talk (about who or what), and kneel and sing and meditate, places of prayer.

Today, in Madrid's very Catholic cathedral, we prayed for our hopes and expectations for a pilgrimage that will only begin, in earnest, tomorrow: safety... a good time... endurance, strength, patience... that we may experience God with all of our senses... Prayers offered, simply, quickly, quietly... it's amazing what that kind of experience can do to a cathedral.

An intentional, thoughtful moment. All the difference.

Maybe you can find yours, in some "cathedral" today.

May it be so.


2) It Only Starts Tomorrow

The last week has been too wonderful. Before we left, I was prodding the boys a bit, trying to get them ready for our adventure, and at lunch one day I said, "Hey guys... let's do something really wild this summer... let's go to... London! And, maybe while we're there, we should go down to Paris, too -- we may miss the Tour de France, but I hear there are a few other things to see, too! And, maybe we could take in Madrid, Spain. And, hey... what would it be like to... like... walk across Spain!? And... while we're dreaming... well, why don't we just get someone else to pay for all of this!? OK? Who's in!?"

Who could have dreamed anything wilder than what we've just experienced as a family. All I can keep saying is... amazing... and thanks, to all who've made it possible.

But it really only starts tomorrow. The real thing. The reason we're here. So tonight, as we prayed together, we talked about how tomorrow's "touring" would be different from the kind we've done for the last 9 days. No museums -- unless you call the towns of Spain a museum of life... no exciting travel -- unless you call 62 miles of walking in the heat exciting... no crowds, pushing and shoving -- maybe the four of us, and God, will be crowd enough. It's called "pilgrimage." And it starts tomorrow.

The clock is set for 5:30 a.m. Some of you will just be turning off the late night news and tucking in when we set out for the Metro station... one transfer, and we'll arrive at the city's south-side Autobus Station. From there, we're in for a 6-hour ride up to Lugo. And then all the fun is to begin. We have no tickets, you see -- and our travel agent (who couldn't make reservations) encouraged us to brush up on our Spanish, as we'll be completely on our own to get from Lugo to Sarria, to meet our "Spanish Steps" guide, and our three fellow Pilgrims.

Pray for us. We may need it after arriving in Lugo at 1:30p.m.!

From there, I have no idea how much internet service I'll have, but I'll do my best to post a short clip each day, and maybe a picture.

It starts tomorrow. And after almost two years of talking about it. We can hardly wait.

The Perfect Day in Paris (July 24)

I think we had it today...

Got to Notre Dame at 9:30 a.m. We had toured the church already, but wanted to climb the bellfry, so we got there before it opened. Still waited in line 90 minutes, but the views and the gargoyles were worth it!

While standing in line we ate breakfast (crepes with... strawberry, apricot, and chocolate [yes, for breakfast!]), and when we finished, it was time to eat again. "Remember yesterday." So we headed to the Cite Metro station for tickets and a subway ride. After having been really overwhelmed by the friendliness of the French on our last trip (everyone asked: Do the French hate the Americans?), we have, unfortunately, found the stereotype, in the flesh, on more than one occasion this trip! The woman at the information booth would hardly even look at us to help us with the automatic "Vente" machine to buy our billettes. It helped a little bit to see her be just as inconsiderate and rude to a French family who walked up as we were walking away in disgust. Anyway... with the help of other folks in line (none French), however, we managed to get the tickets we needed, and about a half our later were at Montmartre, the artsy community on the hill, north of the main tourist part of town. (This is the home of the famous Moulin Rouge -- they boys and I wanted tickets for the show, but couldn't convince mama!)

Sacre Couer (sacred heart) is a beautiful stone cathedral overlooking Paris, that we had seen only from the outside three years ago. As we entered, an attendant "shhhshed" the crowd just ahead of us, made the women cover their bare shoulders, and required the tennage boy to remove his ball cap. The quiet sanctity we found in the heart of this very Catholic church was renewing. We explained to the boys, as well as two protestant pastors could, why the woman had brought a dozen red roses to the statue of Mary along the ambulatory, and what all the lit candles were for -- just before we spent a few moments of prayer thinking of/thanking God you (and not in the name of the Blessed Virgin!)

After these holy moments, we found our way to the square that makes Montmartre a favorite for tourists, and though it's a bit overdone, it's still a wonderful visit. Artists are packed in to the square, offering their wares, oil and watercolors of Parisian scenes, and portrait artists, busily at work, in pencil and chalk and brushes of various media. Amy had wanted the boys portraits, but, they were a bit pricey on the square (not expensive, but "pricey," for the poor/cheap at heart!) So, after an excursion to find a public "twallette," we ran across Njegos (go figure the pronounciation -- I can't say it even after he introduced himself!), selling his artisic services in front of a little cafe, a block from the square. "Guaranteed. You don't like. Don't buy." So Jackson sat first. Fascinating it is to see a portrait artist at work, and to behold your son's face -- and more -- emerge. With one faint line, a pensive mood is revealed... when Bennett sat, a nuanced curve of the lip captured mischief in the making. In the midst of the sitting, a Parisian downpour. "Don't worry," Njegos assured, "This is Paris. We wait. It will clear." So we waited... under the cafe awning. "I am not in good relationship with the owner, " he said. So, when the rain slackened he suggested we purchase a drink so he would finish his work there. So, the boys enjoyed a $6.00 glass of coke (with no "free refills" -- anywhere in Europe!), and the pencil rendering, just as Njegos promised, looks "just like them."

Taking the train back to the heart of the city, we arrived at Charles de Gaulle Etoille, and emerged from the subway to an incredible view of the Arc de Triomphe. We viewed the spectacular arch, but passed up the tour to the top, in favor of dinner on the Champs Elyesees. Though the boys seemed a bit beyond one more interesting fact, when we sat down under the streetside tent of George V restaurant, we reminded them that they were now dining on one of the most famous streets in the world. (Yea. We want spaghetti!)

Following the meal, we walked the famous avenue all the way to the Tuilleries gardens, outside the Louvre, and finished our day with a visit to the city carnival that was set up parallel to the street. (The city is in the midst of planning for its largest annual incursion of visitors -- as the Tour de France bike race concludes here tomorrow!) So after an icecream, the boys and I rode the swings, and the four of us finished the night riding the huge farris wheel we had been seeing from views all around town. It was an appropriate end to a wonderful day.

You don't have to come to Paris for this -- we've had these moments on occasion at home -- but enjoying one another as we did yesterday and, for me, watching Amy and the boys laugh and play together in a day of exploration and discovery... well, this is what life is about.

And I'm grateful to all who have made this possible.

Mama... when are we going to EAT!? (July 23)

Only two things on the agenda today: Versailles and the Eiffel Tower. Easy enough.

Let's get up early (which we didn't -- because I was blogging until about 1:00a.m. [as I'm doing again right now!])... go to the RER station, get a train ticket to Versailles, and eat breakfast in Versailles. Great idea...

All went according to plan until the RER station. "I'm hungry..." We bought a muffin a piece and shared two orange juices. Who would know this would be our last meal until 10:30p.m.?

If you've not seen Versailles, there are simply no words to describe it to you. (The 800 pictures the boys took today would be a start, but even these would fail to do it justice!) Amazing, the scale, the scope, the architecture, the investment of time and money... 40,000 workers spent 50 years building the place. Also amazing, the thoughtlessness of such an opulent waste -- when the people were going hungry. (As Louis and Marie-Antoinette found out later... as it cost them both their lives.) Most fun we had was on the Grand Canal. Too bad Jackson couldn't row any faster -- would be a PERFECT place for a good slalom or barefooting run -- but the rowing expedition was great. I'm sure just what King Louis intended.

Several times we thought of eating, but we were never near a cafe... of the one we were near wasn't right (wrong food or wrong price, etc...). So, we snacked. We had to pay weight-overage to bring all the food Amy brought, to keep her boys fed! We'll eat... at the next cafe. Snack... wait... pass up the cafe... snack... look for another one... etc...

In the town of Versailles, we stopped for dinner, but of course the Europeans don't eat supper at 5:30 p.m. (literally couldn't find a restaurant open -- but after having walked about 10 miles at Versailles, we weren't looking too far!) We'll eat dinner at the Eiffel Tower, maybe in that restaurant in the tower. Great plan.

Arrive at the tower... lines are shorter than usual... better take advantage... only an hour in line, and we're on level two... looks like the rain is coming... let's go on to the top... we'll eat later... another snack...

Amazing thing at the top of the tower. Clear when we arrive...within 15minutes we can see what appears to be a big storm coming... watch the rain cross the city of Paris and very quickly the top of the tower is shrowded in a cloud (can't even see the bottom)... so we head down... time to eat... we chose to walk the stairs rather than wait in line (need to eat)... but at the second level the food was 1) too fast-food-ish or 2) too expensive... After a snack, we head down, walking again, to the street. We'll stop at the first restaurant we pass. (By this time the weather has cleared, and there is the most brilliant rainbow that any of us have ever seen... more time... more pictures... supper still on the way...)

Down the street there's a restaurant... Amy and Imiscommunicate. She thinks I think it's too expensive. I think she thinks the food isn't right for the boys. We'll stop at the next one. No matter what. Forty-five minutes and another mile down the road (walking, of course), and now we're told the restaurants are closed -- unless you want to drink. (Which actually sounded like a pretty good idea.) "One restaurant is open... 200 meters down this boulevard... but you must hurry..."

At 10:30 p.m., still light outside, we arrived at a restaurant on Rue Solferino, not far from the Musee D'Orsay, and our little (LITTLE) hotel... First actual meal of the day. OK... so it cost $137 USD -- Bennett said it was WELL worth it.

Don't tell our parents. Don't call DSS. We were all having too much fun. But tomorrow, we're looking for three square meals. Around the time they are supposed to be eaten.

Now, it's 1:00 a.m., and we're headed back to the belfry of Notre Dame early in the morning, so I better stop...

It'll be time for breakfast before you know it!

Too Much... Too Late (July 22)

... to write much. Another wonderful, full day:

Notre Dame Cathedral (amazing history and architecture, but note skepticism about the actual crown of thorns worn by Jesus, a piece of "the actual cross of his agony," and one of the three actual nails used in his crucifixion, held in the church's treasury... Oh, ye of little faith!)

Musee du Louvre (incredible museum... at 3 seconds per artifact, would take 3 months to see everything. We did not see everything, but were very impressed with the Code of Hammurabi, and very unimpressed with the Mona Lisa. "What's the big deal. Just a picture of a woman..." -- But that didn't stop us from taking about 20 pictures. Glad to share.) And the immodesty... just HAS to stop!

River Cruise on Seine (from Notre Dame to the Eiffel Tower and back... just before the rains came)

Dinner at La Petit Flore (nice little Parisian restaurant along the Rue Croix de Petit Champs a block over from the Louvre... interesting to actually know our way around this part of Paris well enough to return home sans map... Lighted Pyramid at entrance to the Louvre was a highlight of the day as we returned... and the rains came down!)

More tomorrow... Headed to Versailles and back for an evening at Tour Eiffel...

Just Too Much to Say (another July 21)

Monday (still typing from the train, still somewhere west of Paris)…

We ate a breakfast of leftovers (stretching our fifteen-pound purchase into three days!) before taking the Tube to the Tower Bridge. As is our habit, we spent more time than expected, loving every minute of every view, and every information plaque posted up and down the 198 stairs, and all along the East and West foot-bridges connecting the two towers and spanning the River Thames. Tearing ourselves away we enjoyed one, token, “Fish and Chips” on the plaza outside the Tower of London. Once inside its walls, the Tower became our home for the next three hours, as we completed three of the five audio tours available. The high-point for most folks was the source of curiosity for the Dean boys… all those Crown Jewels. And for what!? Just to be worn (only) when there’s a new king or queen? (If Bennett were king, he would hold a wooden baseball bat signed by Hank Aaron, instead. Just in case you were wondering.) And all that history. Amazing… “800 years ago, guys… Someone stood right here and laid these stones, mortaring them in place… right here… 800 years ago…” (Maybe he was, like, your Great-plus 19-more-greats-Grandfather!)

Too late (read above!) for a tour at St. Paul’s (amazing) Cathedral, we did make it in time for Even Song (a “said” service, since the choir is off in the summer). This brief Anglican service of scripture and prayer was a meaningful experience for the religious pilgrims in the crowd, even if we did pray for God to “save the Queen.” (Yes, and all the paupers, too.)

Since we prayed for her, we thought we should pay a visit to “Buckerhand Palace” (you can thank “B” for this fun naming!). The flag told us that she was home, but, unaware we were standing out front, we didn’t get an invite for dinner, so we moved back to the Thames and had an amazing meal on the R.S. Hispaniola, a floating restaurant “with a Mediterranean flare” just across from “Big Ben” and the London Eye.

No trip is complete, if you’ve read all the Harry Potter books at least once, without a stop by the 9 ¾ Platform at King’s Cross station, so we located the gate to Hogwarts and took a few pics before another later-than-we-had-planned arrival at 300 City Road, and a bed that could hardly have felt any better, anywhere.

Today’s lesson was from the faces and the sounds of the world’s people who call London, England their home. Speaking of amazing… from everywhere... Every shade... Every shape (except over-weight!)... And every sound. Amazing. All these people. Doing their thing. Living. Learning. Loving. Just like me… and not at all like me. World views hardly recognizable to the boy who grew up a Baptist preacher’s son from Clinton, SC, “their” world, is a different world. Their God, a different God.

And yet, as I now believe, it’s the same world -- regardless your “view.” And the same God.

May our World, and our God, be enough – for all of us!

Can't Seem to Get Out of Church! (July 21)

So it happened again -- We're in church for half the day!

That this church happened to be built a thousand years ago is beside the point. It was church. And it had much of the same effect it always should. Awe... mystery... gratitude... remembrance...

Since our pack-a-day mentality had left us with travel-to-France day (but we still haven't toured Westminster Abbey yet!), we left our short-term apartment this morning, early, and bolted for the Angel Station. From there we traveled to "Bank," noting all the coats, ties, and brief cases (is there a BoA in London!?), and transferred lines, winding up at the Westminster Station at 9:15 a.m. We waited 15 minutes in a drizzling rain and were among the first guests in the Abbey -- but it was elbow-to-elbow by the time we had our individual audio guides tuned for exploring.

There's that beautiful altar screen, gilded and ornate... the intricately carved choir ("quire") stall... Edward the Confessor's tomb -- and Mary's and Elizabeth's and about a thousand people we'd never heard of before -- before Oliver Cromwell's little niche in the floor (at every opportunity, I'm trying to put all the pieces of pilgrimage together for the boys: "Cromwell's rule [mid 1600s] was related to the Puritan dissatisfaction with The Church of England that also led to the Separatists and the Baptists and the Pilgrims (remember them, guys, from a few weeks ago in Plymouth -- "Plymouth Rock 1620"?..." [I know it's too much, but they humor me anyway!]) And then "Poet's Corner," with Chaucer and Tennyson and Hopkins and Shakespeare... and the museum, with the patient English guide who clarified all 27 of Amy's questions about who will succeed Queen Elizabeth if she ever dies and why ("...and will Camilla be 'Queen Bowles,' etc... etc... etc... etc...)... and back in the nave, there's Sir Isaac Newton and Charles Darwin -- what a likely pair -- there on the lefthand side... and Amy (hear this, people, Amy, not me this time!) lecturing the boys on Creationism and Evolution, Darwin and the Church... because at this point, I'm trying to GET OUT OF THERE!

All you need to know is that we made it. Back to Bank. Back to Angel. Back to the apartment. Back to Angel, again. Over to St. Pancras International. Onto the train. And into Paris.

But before we leave London, my favorite moment, maybe on the trip, so far.

Just beyond Poet's Corner, before Handel's tomb, is a small wooden door labeled "St. Faith's Chapel." The sign in front indicates that the room is used for quiet prayer, but the obvious lack of tourist attention tells us, perhaps not now. I inquir of a guide, though, and he gladly opens this beautiful chapel just for the 4 of us. Pausing there, where God's people have prayed for nearly a millenium, we did, too... Naming a few of our Park Road friends who are dealing with special issues this summer (and Bennett's Sunday School friends... and, yes, "Miss Wendy"), we paused for a moment of silence. And then "B" started: "Do not be afraid," and the quartet followed: "Peace Be Still!" It's just a simple little refrain I wrote, with tight harmonies for this trip, but when we ended, "Peace, Deep Peace, Be Still (Amy: Do Not Be Afraid!)," the almost perfect intonation of a G Major chord resonated in those stones... as if it had been lingering there for a thousand years. Just like it was supposed to sound.

And for a moment. As long as it took that sound to decay into those living stones. All things were right with the world. And the Deans were at peace.

If you have to travel all the way to Westminster for just such a moment -- whatever the cost -- don't pass up that potential. Such moments can hold us for a very, very long time.

Peace. Be. Still.

The Witness of the Church (July 20)

Now that we have internet service, I'll add some pictures soon, but just catching up on old blogs...

(I’m typing onboard a train, that appears to be going well over 100 mph, and we’re somewhere along the countryside of England – or maybe we’re under the English Channel by now [the windows are completely dark]… When we arrive in Paris, one of my first missions is to get the whizbang computer guy at the hotel to make the doomaflotchy and the gadget talk, so I can post all this stuff. So, if you’re reading this, know that I found the computer doc… or you’re witnessing a cyber-miracle of the most impressive sorts.)

Here are my notes, filled in, from Sunday’s touring…

We did something today that few tourists do… we spent three=and-a-half hours at church. (And we’re supposed to be on Sabbatical!?) At Matt and Martha Kinney’s recommendation, we took the tube over to Bloomsbury Central Baptist Church. The building has been standing since 1848, but the welcome and the sermon and the wonderful meal following worship were all completely up to date. During the service, a student from Wake Forest Divinity School (yes, the one just down the road from you) was interviewed. Will Henderson was finishing a two-month internship, at the recommendation of our former professor and current friend, Dr. Bill Leonard (Dean of the divinity school); following worship we introduced ourselves. As it turns out, Will is the son of Bill Henderson – the same Bill Henderson who was one of my childhood heroes. (As the, then, youth minister of FBC, Rome, GA, we met Bill over a series of summers when my family traveled to Jekyll Island, GA, for a week of youth retreat. My parents are lifetime friends of the former Minister of Music there, hence our connection to Rome. As an impressionable young boy, I was quickly taken with the enthusiastic youth minister. One summer, Bill sported a blue, denim hat all week. I opinioned how much I liked it, and at the end of the week, it was mine for the taking. For many years, that had stayed in my room as a reminder of Bill’s influence. I haven’t seen him since then (35 years?), but it was good to be reintroduced to his son, in London!)

We dined with friends of Brian and Jenny Haymes, Brian and Faith Bowers, and their son, Richard. Richard, an adult who suffers from Down’s Syndrome, offered the blessing for the meal, “Grant bread to those who are hungry, and a hunger for justice to us who share this bread,” and during the meal he offered us a copy of a book of blessings used for these meals. Apparently Richard always offers the blessing – this is his “ministry” at the church, as the suggestion of a former minister – and a collection and printing of various of his offerings was sold to the church, the proceeds of which Richard returned to the church for a fundraiser. (He proudly contributed over 400 pounds to the offering.) This meal is offered every Sunday, prepared by volunteer teams, and diners include church members and guests – most who are comprised of some of London’s homeless and hungry.

One of our problems, quickly noted in this trip, is our proclivity to stay too long at EVERY PLACE… pushing us into the next and the next and the next item, at increasingly delinquent hours. No difference here… we arrived at the British Museum not long before 3:00 p.m.

NEWS FLASH… light just appeared in the windows, and the first road sign was in French. So I suppose we have emerged from the Chunnel dry and unscathed. (Just the thought of it is a little creepy!)

In trying to hit the highlights we spent too much time with the mummies. But we were not alone. You can hardly see all the swaddlingly-clothed for all the morbidly-interested, pressing their noses (or their lenses) to the glass. (Just ask the boys if you’re interested in seeing the 5,500 year old Egyptian – or any of the others – I think we’re bringing home a picture of every one!) And we glimpsed the Rosetta Stone, but only from a slight distance. Apparently the masses are even more interested in this black slab, inscribed with three languages, than they are the dead.

Which only proves that nothing ever dies – a language… a culture… a mummified corpse… Resurrection IS all around, if only we dare to see the ways God continues to give life, and to make it more abundant.

As a thumbnail of the rest of the day: though the shows were sold-out, we stopped by Mr. Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre for a sneak-peak… took in a cruise along the Thames (which the boys are still learning to pronounce)… and ate a real English dinner, at Porter’s restaurant in Covent Garden… before Tubing on home. (And navigating this underground maze is almost the highlight of the trip, in itself!)

The lesson for today was our impression of the work of the Church in the world. From our recent visits to the National Cathedral in Washington, St. Martins-in-the-fields, and Bloomsbury Baptist, we’re inspired by what Sam Lloyd, Dean of the Washington Cathedral, calls the “gospel work” they’re all doing. Even as world-class showplaces of art and architecture and history, places which could easily make their mission the taking of admission and selling the audio tours, these churches remain churches first – committed to worship and service in their own communities and throughout world.

A museum is a nice place to visit. But the world still needs to witness of the Church.

Thanks be to God.

What a difference a Day Makes (July 19)

Posted on Monday, July 21, after finally getting email service in Paris.

[Written Saturday night, July 18] We woke up “this morning” at 7:00 a.m. in Cooperstown, NY. After a quick but thorough cleaning and packing and loading, we stopped by “Jackie’s” for breakfast on the way out of town, and then followed “Nora’s” advice (Nora is our GPS; see a prior blog about this spectacular woman) all the way into and through New York City, navigating flawlessly through the Big Apple – by LaGuardia and all the way to the Hertz return station at JFK International Airport. After a weather delay on the runway, we lifted off at about 8:00 p.m., EST, but a handsome Easterly tailwind kept us on track for a 7:25 a.m. touch down at Heathrow Airport – London Standard Time. As I type this, it’s just 4:40 p.m. according to the body whose internal clock went to bed last night in Cooperstown (actually it was about 1:00 a.m. this morning). That body slept very little over the Atlantic, and so is working on around 5 hours of sleep in the last 65… and that with all the transitions – and a full day of London Touring. (Bennett commented during the day that he was afraid to blink – because he might fall asleep!)

Since I’m an idiot with this computer, I can’t get the whatchamacallit in the laptop I’m dragging all over Europe to talk to the gizmo here at our London hotel, so at the moment, none of you knows that we’re actually alive.

We are.

Very much. Though we all had our sleep-walking moments today, as we made our way through the London Underground… the 400+-foot London Eye… some fascinating street performances (in one of which I was the star performer)… Nelson’s Column in historic Trafalgar Square… and then an incredible meal at St. Martin-in-the-field’s “Dead Body Deli.” (OK, the actual name is “Crypt Café,” because it is a café and because it’s smartly outfitted in the now-bodiless crypt of this 300-year-old structure. The boys thought it was cool to eat in a morgue, but they preferred the alliteration of the “Dead Body Deli” [my own name], to the Martin’s official name.) Anyway… it’s probably the best meal we’ll have in Europe, and now that all the sarcophagi are gone (those “flesh-eating” stone slabs), it’s a pretty appealing place to dine out.

When I can get “my people” to talk appropriately to “their people,” we’ll send this blog along. By that time, though, we’ll have taken in church at Bloomsbury Baptist and the British Museum, at least…

Somewhere in London.

On Being My (Big) Brother's Keeper

We arrived at Cooperstown Dreams Park last Friday, and since the crack of dawn on Saturday have been in baseball heaven. Opening in 1996, this amazing park represents the fulfilment of a dream for the (North Carolina native) Lou Prescutti family, who had visited the Baseball Hall of Fame more than a decade earlier, and then began to dream of a place where boys could play the game,which is so thoroughly represented at the Hall of Fame. (There's more baseball there than you can shake the proverbial stick at!) Dreams Park came to fruition with the purchase of a beautiful tract of upstate New York farm land, within a few miles of the Hall of Fame, and the construction of a player's village and a dozen fields. For the last thirteen years Cooperstown has been the site of lifetime memories in the making, for thousands of 12-year-olds across America.

Now expanded to 22 playing fields, the every-week-of-the-summer tournaments host teams from every state in the union, and beyond. Jackson's team, the Charlotte Crush, has, so far, faced competition from New York, Maryland, Ohio, Illinois, and Michigan. Even as I type, we're awaiting the seedings for the single-elimination tournament, which begins at 8:30 a.m. tomorrow morning. Cooperstown boasts baseball "as it should be," and in a word, it is. Everything is first class, and the boys are the beneficiaries. Memories for a lifetime.

Though, after six games of preliminary play, we approach the tournament with a 2-4 record, and ranked 62nd out of 104 teams, we've lost three games by one run, and have come from behind to contest every outing we've lost. Our two wins were convincing, including a 17-1 rout. "Show me some heart," Coach Pat exhorted, and this team has played its best ball ever.

We've had a great time watching. In addition to the families of Jackson's teammates, some of Amy's family -- Rut, Ginger, and Katie Jacks, and Susan and Don Adams -- have also made the northern trek to catch a little of their favorite Charlotte Crush on the mound. None has been disappointed. We've cheered and groaned, been elated by victories and downed by hard-fought losses. We've laughed, held our breath in high hope, and been amazed at the maturing we're seeing before our eyes, as individuals and as a team. As to our player, he's not ready for the Majors just yet, but he's throwing a pretty good game these days. One of our wins was at the hands of a complete game he pitched, with impressive control.

Now, the little brother is a ball player, too... but this week is about Jackson.

And there has been no better fan.

It's good to see. In addition to all the "brotherly love" expressed in those not-so-loving ways (from personal experience, I'm guessing that's "normal"!?), there's a good bit of it expressed genuinely, through cheers and hearty 10-year-old congratulations. Let's hope the goodwill continues for at least two years, because Bennett already has his sights set on playing here.

We'll just have to see what kind of cheerleader his older brother will be.

Thanks, "B," for what you're teaching your old dad about being a brother's keeper!

r

So Far, So Good

So... we're finally away.

And not a minute too soon! The last three weeks have seemed like three months. "What would you do if you won the lottery?" I can tell you that after these three weeks, it would not involve giving up my job! I am thoroughly enjoying the time with my boys, and thoroughly enjoying a morning mainly structured around reading... but I can't shake this restlestness... and this quiet tinge of guilt that I'm not doing something.

So I'm glad to be on the road, again.

In the last week or so my reading has alternated between No Armor for the Back, a detailed recounting of the imprisonment and death of dozens of our early Baptist forebears, mostly 17th and 18th century English Baptist pastors and visionaries, and Into the Wild, the disturbing narrative of the last two years of the life of Chris McCandless, the Washington, DC native who, upon his graduation, with honors, from Emory University, abandoned his name, his family, and his future in the American dream, for a life of increasingly solitary... pilgrimage... which ended when he starved to death in an abandoned bus in the Alaskan wilderness. I recoiled a bit when Jon Krakauer, the author, called McCandless's strange voyage a "pilgrimage." (We're counting for a better culmination to our summer!)

But this parallel reading, depressing as it has sometimes been, has suggested to me an element of pilgrimage that we've not yet acknowleged. This is, that when we are fully immersed in a passion, that immersion will necessarily move us -- and that movement may, of necessity, involve some element of... danger.

Mind you, we are taking a map with us, and Amy has made sure there will be plenty of food for the trip (McCandless did not), and we have no plans to speak out against the Queen when we pass by Buckingham Palace (as so many of our Baptist founders did)... so we hope to get nowhere near any prison, other than the Tower of London, and we have full plans to stay together, enjoy the company of relationships, old and new, and to harbor no alienating grudge against the world -- but I will admit that there is a little anxiety tucked uncomfortably away in our backpacks.

Two boys... three countries... 62-miles of unknown Spanish land to cross on foot... some of America's wildest whitewater to conquer... nearly 30 more miles in and our of the deepest ditch on the globe to brave, on foot and horseback...

We're trusting the challenge will do us good -- not kill us. All I can tell you is, so far, so good.

But we'll keep you posted!

r

seeing familiar faces

I know Russ is planning to blog in a few minutes about our happenings since last you heard from us - but I thought I'd jump in first to say that our last "training" walk last Thursday went very well. We walked almost 11 miles from our house to NoDa - much of it in the rain (some of it pouring rain!) and the lightening - which once struck WAY too close for comfort!!! We took refuge under Selwyn Presbyterian Church's front porch where Bennett suggested that we sing a new song that we have learned that Russ has written. The words are very simple - "Do not be afraid. Peace, be still." It helped. It was good to try out our rain gear and to practice what it feels like to walk this distance with our packs and hats and shoes. It was even more important to get mentally prepared. We did well. We had walked a 3 mile trek and a 6 mile trek, but I'll tell you, something happens to your hips at about mile 9 1/2 - they start to hurt. And nothing pleased me more than when Russ had to take several rounds of Ibuprofen for his aching joints - misery does indeed love company!

But the best part of the journey was the conclusion. We arrived at Cabo Fish Taco a little early. It was great to serve as the welcoming committee as Dave and Sally Silden arrived. And then Wendy Watson. And then Anne Hunter Eidson. And then Gray Clark. And then Jim and Jean and Liza Veilleux. I had not realized how much I missed everyone. I felt myself honestly lighting up from the inside out to be with members of our church family. They served as representatives of our larger PRBC family and it was simply good to catch up. We didn't talk church. We simply shared a meal and friendship and laughter. And it was good.

Bennett was the one that really made my day though. We were walking somewhere around Presbyterian Hospital - he and I side by side - when he said to me - "You know the favorite way I like for you to look?" Could be a loaded question, but I took the bait . . . ok . . . what's the favorite way for me to look? "With your baseball hat (which I've worn about 50% of the summer), no make-up (more than 50% of the summer), shorts and T-Shirts." What??? Better than the way I dress for work? "Yep - you look more relaxed." Don't you just love it when a 10 year old absolutely makes your day?!

More to come from Russ about Cooperstown and baseball . . . but today you may just find me in my baseball hat and hoarse voice from all the screaming that all good baseball moms do!

Amy

Getting Ready... Will You Join Us?

We leave Friday... and we're not quite ready yet! The packing is, itself, a major undertaking. We're going for a week of 12-year-old baseball in Cooperstown, NY before spending a week in London, Paris, and Madrid, before walking 100km across Spain. And all the packing has to be done together -- and there's a 30-pound per person limit, due to the requirements of our Camino walk. What a challenge!

To get ready, then, we've been doing lots of preparing... last minute emails with our travel agent... last minute financial preparations... last minute practice packing (really!)... and some last minute walking.

Interesting what funny looks you get, walking in Charlotte! I guess we just don't do that much of it -- especially with packs and water bottles. Here we are on today's walk, from Eastburn Road to the "Taj Mateeter," on Morrison Boulevard. Have you noticed the spectacular architectural arch there? It's fascinating what all you see, really see, when you are walking.

On Thursday, we'll take a final walk -- and we'd love to invite you to join us. We'll leave our house early in the afternoon, and plan a 12-mile hike through down-town Charlotte, ending at the Cabo Fish Taco in NoDa. We'd love to see a few of you, if you're interested in a Taco and a hug... and maybe someone will show up to bring us home, so we don't have to walk another 12 miles! We'll plan to eat at 6:30 pm at Cabo's place, 3201 North Davidson. Hope to see some of you there.

The rest... we're still thinking of you and praying for you, and will be doing so throughout this next pilgrimage.

As a reminder of our schedule: Cooperstown (July 10-17), London (July 18-21), Paris (July 22-24), Madrid (July 25-26), El Camino de Santiago de Compostella (July 27-August 2)... back to Madrid... back to Charlotte on August 4. (And as much as we're looking forward to all of that travel, we know that we'll be glad to see our plane touch down at Charlotte-Douglass at 4:13pm!)

Hope to see you Thursday for a taco... But if you can't make it, keep us in your prayers.

r

Until We Find Our Rest

St. Augustine, one of the giants of Christian faith, once prayed, "Our hearts are restless, until they find rest in Thee."

I can relate.

Restless.

After two weeks of active sabbatical-ing, we've mostly been home for the last three weeks. Resting. Reading. Reflecting. It's good work for a sabbatical.

I can't say that I much like it.

Amy said yesterday that she, too, was feeling a bit restless. "These weeks have been hard," she noted. We passed by the church yesterday morning at 11:00 am, and it was good to see a few cars there(!), as we drove to Friendship Missionary Baptist for their 11:30 am service. Weird. Restless.

When we arrived, I had another momentary experience of that "Deep," tugging at my emotion -- JUST WALKING IN. The beauty of that sanctuary, the vaulted ceiling, the mahogany facade, the pipes of that glorious organ, the splendid color of the stained glass, which tells the story of Christian liberation on one side, and African-American slavery-to-freedom on the other... I enjoyed the nearly two-hours we experienced there, but I didn't need nearly that long -- for that moment, "just showing up" (a hint at Amy's last blog post), was Worship in itself.

Last night we had a wonderful conversation with our boys about church... and baseball! It never seems to end for us, this conversation about our commitments. We're already talking about fall teams, and playing options, most of which (ok, all of which!) involve some Sunday time on the diamond. The bottom line for us, and I think our boys understand this, is that church is about the community of fellowship we experience -- and are missing now -- not about some legalistic/moralistic obligation to please God, or to ease our consciences. When they're playing baseball on a Sunday, it's not so much that God is disappointed, as that they are missing time with their family of faith. And the more time we miss with you, the more restless we feel.

I think that will end, come Friday... not because we'll stop missing you, but because we will leave for our second Pilgrimage, and for the next three-and-a-half weeks, I think we'll be too busy to be anything near restless! Cooperstown, NY for a week of non-stop baseball action... London for three days... Paris for three more... Madrid, en route to our 62-mile Camino pilgrimage... an extra day in Santiago... and then home.

So I'm looking forward to hitting the road again -- and hoping this restlessness is not an indication of some failed spirituality (are our hearts not at rest, I'm asking, because they are just not at rest with God, or do some hearts actually "rest" better "on the run"?)

Running from this restlessness...

r