On the Way Home

I'm typing from the floor of the airport at Sky Harbor International in Phoenix, AZ. It's 101-degrees outside, but we're cool as cukes here on the floor. Just enjoyed a spectacular lunch from the Blue Burrito Grill (Jackson says, on a scale of "1-to-Moe's," this is a definite 9!), and Amy and the boys are playing cards. (No money has exchanged hands, at least to this point.) We're heading for Minneapolis and then back to Charlotte. We'll arrive at 10:15 p.m. tonight... just in time for a good night's sleep... a little grass cutting and unpacking... and repacking... and a final summer trip -- to the lake. We'll be in Greenwood until Sunday, and then we're back in Charlotte for school, and PRBC. Though it's been an incredible summer, we are all feeling a bit antsy to be back home and in a routine.

I woke up yesterday morning having endured a nightmare... Carson Allen's funeral was in a few moments. I was in my robe. Carol Cramer was there, hurrying me on to the sanctuary. We were at PRBC (though it didn't look like PRBC in my dream). I was to speak the eulogy. And I had not written a single word. Panick. And... I couldn't find any paper. Any paper! I was working through what I wanted to say... but I wanted to at least write notes... Give me some paper! I finally found a few scrap squares, but... there was no flat, horizontal space on which to write. NONE! I finally found a little square block of some kind and I turned it over, put the paper on it, and began to write, only to find that the block was filled with little knobs of some kind, so I had no smooth surface for writing. Carol wouldn't quit beckoning me to the sanctuary and I was PANICKED...

That's when I woke up and realized... I need to be home! It must be about time to be back in the pulpit (because this is a recurring theme for Saturday night dreams in our house!)

We're parked on the floor under a large ad for Sky Harbor's free Wi-Fi, and Jackson asked... "Who does that look like?" (the girl in the advertisement). Without hesitation we all answered in unison -- RACHEL STONE!

How good it will be to see Rachel... and Carol... and to have those Saturday night dreams again. Really. It's been an amazing summer. Can't wait to tell you more and show you all 2500 pictures the boys took (no shortage of Wednesday evening material for the fall!).

And again, we're grateful.

Trusting that we all will be made better by this absence. Our hearts are growing fonder by the moment.

See you soon.

Two Worlds. One Sky.

It was hard to reconcile the two. As I sat in Supai, Arizona, on Friday night, my niece, Ali, was in Orlando, FL competing in the Miss America Teen Pageant. A month ago she became Miss SC Teen, and the Deans of Charlotte were virtually the only members of the family who did not make the trek to the Miss America Teen pageant. But it was not as if we missed the festivities all together.

You see, last weekend was the annual Peach Festival in Supai. A pretty big Supain deal, and among the festivities were... you guessed it, the Miss Havasupai Pageant! The pageantry started at 7:00 p.m. (Well, it was actually 7:35 p.m. before the emcee welcomed us to the pageant, but who's counting.) The downtown "civic center" was the home of the pageant -- Supai's newly built outdoor basketball court, complete with bleacher seating, and extra chairs brought in by helicopter for the standing room only crowd... At about 8:05 p.m. -- not having seen a single Miss Supai contestant yet -- we left, but Don wanted to go back for the 9:00 p.m. concert, featuring "Midnight Red." So...

After putting the boys to bed, Don and I headed back down the street, hoping for some good evening music. It was 9:40 p.m. when we got there -- and the 3rd Miss Havasupai contestant was just on stage: "I haven't practiced anything for my talent... my mother kept bugging me, 'What are you going to do...' So... I think I'll... sing a traditional Indian song..." And this is where the obvious incongruity began to hit me. You see, Ali has practiced her original arrangement of "In the Mood" about 3.25 million times in the past three months (and she plays it spectacularly!), so as this little miss struggled through her traditional song, I thought of Ali, playing Glenn Miller's famous dance... and I looked around.

There were at least 25 dogs in attendance at the pageant. And occasionally, a bark from beyond the gym fencing would send 15 of them howling to that side of the stage growling and barking wildly. (If you're not a fan of leash-less pit bulls, I recommend another vacation destination!)

Several saddle-less horses ran through town, one "neighed" wildly -- sparking another bout of wild dog madness.

The 40+ children in attendance mostly gathered at the back of the audience, and beyond the fence, and spent the night loudly hooping it up, playing with the dogs, yelling at one another, tossing their glow-n-the-dark necklaces at each other. (Completely oblivious to Little Miss and her traditional song.)

Several of the contestants offered a traditional Indian "circle dance" as their talent, and as Don and I had walked through a gauntlet of teenaged Indian boys, who looked at us with great inquisitiveness, I was prepared to be unnerved -- but the piercing Indian war scream that was offered at an ear-splitting volume, over and over, just behind me was about more than my ears (and heart) could stand. I'm not prejudiced against Indians at all (the Havasupai prefer "Indian" to "Native American"), but I couldn't get out of my mind the image of the only two white men in the audience, scalped, hog-tied, and twisting over a spit, as the focal point of Miss Havasupai's celebratory circle dance -- just as her way of saying thanks to the judges!

Don and I kept looking at each other as the night wore on (the band was supposed to begin at 9:00 p.m.) -- and about 10:25 p.m. the emcee declared that the judges had made their decision. So, after a few more audience-participation traditional dances, "Little Miss" and "Toddler Miss" and the "Little Brave" were announced... and as the band noisily positioned their instruments and their stacks and stacks of speakers and amplifiers on the center of the stage, Tokea Euquala was announced as the 2009-2010 Miss Havasupai. There were a few claps, but they could barely be heard over the Bob Marley reggae that was now blaring from the loudspeakers. The emcee invited all the "royalties" to come forward for a picture (the runners-up would have to be announced the following night, since they were "almost out of time"!), and as they tried to find room on the stage, among the band members and their equipment, "Brown Eyed Girl" and then some R&B piece akin to "Gitt'n Jiggy With It" blared.

And I thought of Ali. And I thought of all those Miss Teens in their thousand-dollar dresses onstage in Florida... And I thought of Tokea. And as someone killed the stage lighting, to prepare for the band's light show, the outline of the Supai's red cliffs, and a billion trillion sparkling lights became visible. Through the middle of that sky, the Milky Way ran clear as a river of cloud, peering down on them both.

And I thought about Ali. And I thought about Tokea. And I realized that they live under the same starry sky, have the same basic hopes and desires, and are loved by the same infinite God.

Congratulations Ali (who made it into the Top Ten at the Miss America Teen finals), and Tokea.

I'm proud of both of you, and wish you, and your worlds, the very best.

(The first picture is Amy and the boys with her sister and brother-in-law, in front of Supai's only hotel. The second is a traffic jam in Supai -- it was delivery time at the only grocery store. Pictures were not allowed at the pageant, but the grocery store is next door to the "civic center.")

Catching Up...

It's been too many days, but we've been in between trips... unpacking... repacking... catching our breath... heading out again. Since I wrote, we've been to and through the Grand Canyon. What an incredible experience. 22 people on our 30-foot raft... 87 miles down the Colorado River, with some of the most spectacular scenery in the world. Spent two nights on the banks of the river, watching God's handiwork in a starry sky that is not available in any city in America... the Milky Way, flowing broad and clear through a dark Arizona sky... and a rising moon that lit the night almost as if it were day. (And Amy survived both of these nights without a tent!) And the food... well, it was not what John Wesley Powell and his men enjoyed on that first exploration down the river more than 150 years ago. The first night we enjoyed prime rib... the second night we feasted on a brilled halibut that was to die for. Roughing it on the Colorado!

From Phantom Ranch, the National Park Service's signature lodge at the bottom of the mile-deep gorge, we enjoyed a restful afternoon in the Bright Angel Creek and another fabulous meal. After a 5:00 a.m. breakfast, loading-up on eggs and bacon and pancakes (no grits in Arizona!), we hit the trail at 5:30 a.m. determined to make the 9.5-mile trek in time for lunch on the South Rim. We made the first half in record time, but a little queeziness set in for Katie and Sue on the second half, so we backed off our pace (taking Bennett out of the trail-blazing spot helped!) But still came through the tunnel just shy the top of the Bright Angel Trail before 1:00 p.m. And, though the thermometer in the campground registered 131 degrees the afternoon before (OK... so it was only 109 in the shade!), we had a beautiful-weather hike... Indian Gardens (the half-way mark) showed an incredible 81 degrees in the sun (almost brisk for the Canyon!) If you've not been to the Grand Canyon... if you 've not been IN the Grand Canyon (whether a mile or 10), you simply cannot know why it's called "Grand." We're grateful for these days to explore the beauty of this country from the river, and up that Bright Angel fault to the rim.

Amazing.

After reconnecting with our rental van we traveled West to Peach Springs, Arizona, and then down the 8-mile triail, through the Havasupai Canyon, to the "most remote city in the lower 48 states" -- Supai, Arizona. Supai, population 450 (or, 600 if you count the dogs!), is on the Havasupai Indian Reservation, and is one of the most interesting places we've ever seen. The small village is... interesting... the people are... interesting... the scenery, tucked into this canyon (still several miles away from the Colorado River) is... INTERESTING. What incredible views from the Lodge (the only "hotel" in Supai) -- towering red-limestone cliffs that rise hundreds of feet above the floor of the canyon. The hike in was beautiful, after the opening switch-backs, that drop to the canyon floor, the hike is a slow, easy descent into Supai.

We're getting ready to make the 2-mile hike down to Havasu Falls, which has been called one of the most beautiful waterfalls in the country. We'll take a few pictures, and let you know.

And, for the record... between the seven of us, NO lost toe-nails this time! And no need for "Doctor Katie's" toe surgery mid-trip!) Only a few blisters -- what a great trip!

We're planning to take the horses out of the canyon tomorrow morning (in pursuit of our pilgrimage by every means of transportation possible!), and then head for a few days of rest and relaxation in Sedona. We'll be in church at the Cathedral of the Rocks on Sunday, and then will be back in Charlotte on Tuesday.

I'll post more from Sedona, but again... thanks for the time and this opportunity. We wish you could be with us!

r

From Buenos Dias to Welcome to Moes... What an Incredible World

Yesterday morning began early with a beautiful breakfast spread at the Hotel Senator on Madrid's very alive Grand Via (street). "Buenos dias," we offered to the waitress on our way to a buffet of fruits, breads, meats, and cheeses. "Buenos dias," she smiled in return. A few minutes later we were packed into a small Spanish taxi, speeding through the city en route to the aeropuerta. I was doing my best in the front seat to converse in my "fluent Spanish." (The boys and Amy have had their share of laughs -- and they have no idea (nor do I!) how many gaffs I actually made through the week practicing my language skills.) I suppose it was worth the 33 "monies" we spent to get there -- not having to drag our full array of luggage through the underground (which we did several times) -- was probably worth the cost, alone. (Early on we realized that we couldn't keep up with pounds and euros and dollars, and all the relevant exchange rates, so we just started speaking of how many "monies" such and such would cost.) By 10:15 a.m., along with about 300 other passengers, we were at 30,000 feet and heading west at 600 miles an hour.

We had determined during our trip that we would fully emerse ouselves in the culture. Not long for home. Not complain that they don't do it (whatever "it" may be) like we do it back home. And we stayed true to this commitment -- until the last evening. During that, final, 9:30pm dinner we did allow ourselves a little leeway. "I'm looking forward to eating meals when you're SUPPOSED to eat -- not lunch at 3:30 and supper at 10!..." "I'm looking forward to ICE..." "I can't wait to have FREE REFILLS..." "I want to eat tomorrow night at... MOE'S!" So it was set... wake up in Madrid, have supper at Moe's. What an incredible world.

So when we walked in the door and heard that (too) familiar, "Welcome to Moe's!" we knew we were home. Ice. And Refills, to our hearts' content! (We did laugh with the irony that though we were eating supper at the "right" time according to our re-set watches -- according to our body clocks (which woke up 6 hours ahead of Charlotte time) -- we were really still on a Spanish schedule for dinner!)

From eels and nettles to steamed octupus to those little bitty cups of strong-enough-to-walk "coffee," we put our best Spanish foot forward for nine days. But there's no place like home, is there!?

Back in Madrid for one afternoon before our return flight, Amy and I commented that though we could spend another week or so on the Camino trail, we had both had our fill of European cities, and being tourists. As fabulous as was our time in Westminster Abbey and the Eiffel Tower and the Palacio Real, etc... give us 12-hour days covering our 16-or-so miles "a pie" (by foot) ANY DAY. What a trip!

As I type, the boys are at the pool and we're enjoying the comforts of 3126 Eastburn Road. Amy's up to her eye-balls in laundry (and thanking God for clean clothes and washing machines with each load!), and we're enjoying three days before we shove off again. On Saturday we head for Arizona and our third pilgrimage.

I'll post more this week, but wanted to let you that we're home. Safe. Happy. And missing you.

Gracias!

On Arriving in Santiago

At 4:00pm on Saturday afternoon, we named Amy “Lorena.” Camino tradition has it that the first person atop Monte de Gozo (mountain of joy) who spots the long-awaited cathedral in Santiago becomes king, or queen, for the day. The boys were vying for the privilege of becoming “Le Roi” (King Lee Roy!), but Amy spotted the spires among the tall pines across the valley first. Since the Spanish word for queen is “reina,” Lorena seemed the most appropriate designation. After a quick visit to the nearby chapel, and another requested round of both of our two original pilgrimage songs, we again headed West, with Lorena leading the way through the valley and into the city of Santiago.

Our last night was not spent as a traditional pilgrims would have spent their last night along the Camino… but it didn’t bother us one little bit to spend it in the lap of luxury instead of curled up by a fire along a creek or in a densely forested wood! The Paxo do Areana, a few miles off the Camino in Pedrouzo, is a 300 year-old Spanish manor house that is now a county inn, a haven for pilgrims and other Galician travelers. The original stone stables have become a very comfortable suite of rooms for tired pilgrims, and the grounds and gardens are still immaculate. Dinner, three courses served in the main house, was amazing, and we were treated to an unusual, slightly spooky indulgence following the meal.

In the middle ages, when penitents began walking to Santiago to pay homage to the bones of St. James and to seek absolution for their sins, more than Christian mystery and ritual (and a healthy amount of its own superstition) was alive and well in the hills of Galicia. There were spirits and goblins, witches and warlocks running loose. The “queimada” (kay mahdu) was developed as a pagan ritual to cleanse its participants of the curse (or the power to curse) of the evil spirits which ran amuck in the land. A potion of coffee beans, sugar, lemons, and a liquid spirit that might as well have been kerosene, was boiled in a black cauldron and then lit and stirred until the flame died. While it's burning, the fiery brew is lifted high with a ladle and released, over and over, back into the cauldron. As the potion was prepared, a pagan priest/ess read an incantation which, in combination with the consumed potion, was to protect the innocent from the harms of the night. As our hostess prepared the traditional brew (including the traditional kerosene spirit!), Kate, our guide, read the enchantment – the only line of which any of us can remember is the naming, among dozens of other evil spirits, of “the eternal flatulence of everlasting bums” (OK, so that was Kate’s Bri’ ish interpretation, but our Galician host agreed that she had pretty well nailed the original content!) Well… a sip or two of this magical potion was all we could take – but it must have been enough. At 5:45 pm today the Deans of Park Road Baptist Church were standing in the plaza of the spectacular cathedral, and a few minutes later, had collected our official “Compostela,” complete with our Latin names, and authorization of Rome.

Our "compostelas" will make a nice souvenir, an interesting conversation piece – but arriving at the cathedral, though spectacular in its architecture, and collecting our official document, was almost a let-down. I simply cannot put into words this experience… the physical exertion, the camaraderie along the way, the inspiring views, the connection to a thousand-year history (walking in the footsteps of countless thousands of other pilgrims), the family bonding, and the spiritual anticipation… Our prayer had been that we might find “The More” along the way… and “more” hardly scratches the surface.

Daily, we prayed and sang together. Daily, we read letters that many of you had prepared before we left Charlotte. Daily, as we passed the frequent marking stones, engraved with the ubiquitous scallop shell and either a directional marking or a number indicating the diminishing distance in kilometers, we placed a rock on the top, naming a friend or family member, or a family member from Park Road Baptist Church – so many of you, literally, became our prayers of thanksgiving as we walked. And when we arrived in the square in front of the cathedral, upon that final shell, etched in the stone pavement, we placed a rock and named Park Road Baptist Church. So even here, so far from home, you are connecting us to an ancient Christian history… you are woven into this experience of a lifetime… you are helping us to see God…

Even here, you are with us, and even here -- we are grateful.

Russ, Amy, Jackson and Bennett

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.