Beautiful Barcelona

Several years ago, a friend of mine told me about El Camino de Santiago, a month-long pilgrimage that begins at the border of France and ends at the Cathedral of Saint James in the city of Santiago de Compostela in the northwest corner of Spain. The two main symbols of that pilgrimage are the shell and the arrow. The shell is the symbol of the pilgrimage, the pilgrim, and the journey itself. The arrow points the way, letting pilgrims know which way to turn, which path to follow - and lets them know that they are indeed on the right path.

On Friday, February 11th, just hours after my arrival in Spain, my dear friend, Judy, showed me her rooftop patio, a quiet place of respite above her lovely apartment in the Poblenou area of Barcelona. And there on the wall were the two symbols of El Camino. Two reminders to me that I am still on the journey and at that moment on that day, I was on the right path. I smiled and snapped a photo.

Later that same night, she and I went out for a walk near what was the Olympic village back in the summer of 1992. Above the street was this sculpture, this face looking down on us. Beautiful. Funny. Another perfectly timed and placed reminder: "Someone is watching over you - and smiling."

One of the many things that I love about Judy (and there are many) is how much she likes a good strong cup of coffee every morning. Followed by another good strong cup of coffee. Yup, she is a two-fisted coffee drinker... as am I. And she's not afraid to use real sugar in her real coffee lightened with real milk. She and I got along splendidly.

The first time I visited La Catedral de la Sagrada Familia was in August of 2002. That day there were no floors, just poured concrete slabs beneath our suspended scaffolding of a walkway. There were no walls at either end of the church and many holes in the ceiling where both sunlight and rain poured in. A lot has changed since then.

When I entered the church this time, I was rendered speechless. Senza parole. It is a truly breath-taking and spectacular sight. The walls, the floor, the windows, the columns, the staircases, the choir loft, the altar, the covering of the altar, the image of Christ on the cross, the splendor of the way the light hits that cross - it defies description. It moved me to tears and laughter and silence and praise - all at the same time. I took more than 200 photos.

Judy and I took an elevator to the top of the cathedral and walked down a rather long and twisting staircase. We stopped several times to take photos from the numerous windows and stepped out onto several small perches where we took photos of the city and of the church itself - which is still very much under construction.

After more than 100 years, La Sagrada Familia is still a work in progress. In our modern world where buildings, even the tallest skyscrapers, are built in weeks or months, the patience and trust and faith that keeps men and women working on this glorious building nearly 100 years after the death of its designer inspire me to continue to walk and work with faithfulness and determination on this my life's journey, 

this slowly and steadily progressing building project that is my own life. 

At one of the lower entrances to the building, there is a panel that highlights some of the stonemasons working to build this monumental place. Their eyes have seen great progress. Their fingers have been mashed and broken. Their spirits must soar when they step back and look up at the soaring towers, brilliant windows, and imposing columns. To be involved with such a hurculean task must be both humbling and life-affirming. I would imagine that, between back-straining tasks and hand-crushing mishaps, there must be moments when they think - "What I am building here will far outlive me. No one may know my name or what I did, but I know that I am participating in something far greater than me and the few stones that I have helped to shape."

As I walked around that building and that city, I was reminded that, although I am not building anything that large or impressive, what I am working on in my life - raising these two children I have been gifted with, teaching classes, leading retreats, counseling friends and family, and simply being a loyal friend and loving family member - what I do every day matters. Each moment matters. Every email, every phone call, every text, every hug, every visit, every word of encouragement, every prayer raised, every verse shared, every tear shed and wiped away, every story recounted and remembered, every smile - they are each and all part of something that is far greater, wider, deeper, more meaningful, and more important than I will ever know. 

Following our visit to La Sagrada Familia, Judy and I visited several museums, churches, restaurants, even a fortress or two. We stumbled upon a celebration of the patron saint of Barcelona, Santa Eulalia, and were dazzled by the parades of giants and a type of street performance that warrants its own future blog post. Judy is the consummate host and historian, regaling me with stories and history lessons and anecdotes that made my time there far more rewarding and enjoyable than it would have been if I had not been with her. I fear that the only thing I gave her was a newfound addiction to taking photos of her meals!  

The fortress at the top of Montjuic. 

The Monastery of Sant Pau del Camp, the oldest church in Barcelona.

The parade of giants that we saw twice in the same night and again the next day. 

One of the museums we visited had a mirrored sculpture on the roof. I hope the two lovers across the way weren't offended by the photos I snapped of them. Quite frankly, I don't think they noticed. The love they were expressing externally was what I was feeling internally: happy to be alive, happy to be there on that gorgeous afternoon, happy to be with someone I love dearly, and thrilled to be with The One I Love Most of All. 

 Can you see the line about a third of the way from the left edge of this photo where the mirror begins?

 There is my dear sister-friend, Judy.

One of my favorite sayings is an old one: "Time flies when you're having fun." And when I'm in Spain, I am almost always having fun and it seems like time flies even faster over there than it does here in the US. On Valentine's Day morning, I found myself strolling through the unexpectedly beautiful Barcelona airport, making my way to gate 95 for my flight to Valladolid where I would spend the next 48 hours with the same friend who told me about El Camino de Santiago years earlier and taught me the significance of its two symbols.  

What peace feels like

At Misty Meadows, where my daugther does horseback riding, I stare up at the sky a lot. 

Leonardo DaVinci knew why: "When once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return."

*****

On the morning of the day before I left for Spain, Wednesday, February 9th to be exact, this is what I wrote in my journal:

"This must be what peace feels like. Rest. Trust. Faith. Releasing the reins of this trip and my life. Move ahead in faith. With joy. All is well. All shall be well. All has always been well. Nothing to do but trust, obey, walk. 

In front of the terminal at CLT airport on the morning of my departure. 

Not a great weather forecast for Valladolid or Madrid. I hope and pray that things change but I'll have my umbrella and lots of zip loc bags, just in case. I'm looking forward to seeing how I do with the vest: keep it on. keep it zipped. keep my jacket on over it. And stay deep in prayer. Close to the Lord. Open eyed. Full heart. Low expectations. High hopes in the Lord. 


I've never felt this settled, this calm, this close to a trip. 
Peace. Glorious peace. 
Trust. Heartfelt trust.
Hope. Gentle joy.
Calm. Centered.
Loved. Remembered. It's all good."

 *****

The international terminal of Madrid Barajas Airport. 

It's one of my favorite sights in the whole world: it means I'm back at home.

Sitting at the gate awaiting my flight from Madrid to Barcelona. After only 3 or 4 hours of sleep. 

This is what early bleary-eye, hungry, soul-deep peace looks like.

Landing in Barcelona. I love sitting above or very close to the wings of the airplane - which happened on every flight I took. PLUS - on both transatlantic flights, I had a window seat and no one sitting next to me. Glory! Room to spread out, stretch my legs, and not worry about anyone reading over my shoulder as I journaled or thinking I was crazy for taking so many photos out of the window.

*****

On the morning of February 10th, Steve and the kids drove me to the airport here in Charlotte where we said our "farewells," took a couple of photos, and I was on my way. On yet another journey. Back to Spain. My itinerary that day included several flights - Charlotte-Miami-Madrid-Barcelona with two or three hour layovers at each stop. Security checks. Passport control. Pulling out my zip-loc bag of liquids and my laptop, taking off my boots, my jacket, and my ever-present vest, putting it all back on and away. Questions in English and Spanish. Forms to fill in. Correct change to pull out. At various points along the way, I would do what I refer to as a shoulder check: I sit still, close my eyes, take a deep breath, and let my shoulders drop. In tense moments, I have found my shoulders high and tight. Not so on that day: my shoulders were low and loose all day, all night, and on into the next day. The same word kept coming back: peace.

Looking out of the window of seat 27J on board flight 37, Madrid to Dallas.

One last look at the sky above Madrid.

*****

On the morning of February 21st, just after midnight, my mother picked me up at the airport here in Charlotte and brought me home - where I was met only by the excited barking of my funny little dog, Maya. Steve and the children were in Charleston, South Carolina at a tennis tournament (where Daniel finished 3rd in his age group, losing only one match all weekend!). I awoke early yesterday morning, still on Spain time, still surrounded and filled with peace. I had the whole day to unpack, think, pray, reenter my home and my life at a quiet, slow, solitary pace.

The one thought that returned to mind over and over again all day long was the same one that occurred to me 13 days earlier: "this must be what peace feels like."

Turning for home...

Three days left. Time flies, as they say, whether or not you are having fun.
In this case, I am having lots and lots of fun.

Here are a few more photos, offered up as proof...

 The cafeteria of The Palacio de Musica, Barcelona

 Parade of giants, Barcelona

Now THAT is a tall man. Big hands too...

Castellers - towers of people that walked across la plaza de Jaume, Barcelona. Amazing!!! 

Dessert at Origens, Barcelona. After a most delicious lunch. 

Iglesia de Santa Maria del Mar, Barcelona. 

Barcelona airport - awaiting my flight to Valladolid. 

Plaza Mayor, Valladolid. A drizzly, cold night - 

warmed by one of the gentlest, funniest, smartest people I have ever known. 

Sabes quien eres.

 Las Huertas, Burgos, Spain.

Friendships deepening, restaurants, museums, cathedrals, monasteries, bars, bakeries, paper stores, rain, sunshine, wind, the city, the beach, teeny tiny villages, books, gardens, movies, laughter, tears, stories, names, faces. A little bit of everything. Above all, beneath it all, in all, through all, and for all - deep, deep gratitude.

My first full day on the road... Barcelona captures my heart.

Words refuse to flow smoothly.
Descriptions prove impossible to pen down.
So I will let the images speak for themselves.

Confession: I am an adulterer...

“Wanderlust is not a passion for travel exactly, it’s something more animal and more fickle—more like lust. We don’t lust after very many things in life. We don’t need words like ‘worklust’ or ‘homemakinglust.’ But travel? The essayist Anatole Broyard put it perfectly: ‘Travel is like adultery: one is always tempted to be unfaithful to one’s own country. To have imagination is inevitably to be dissatisfied with where you live … in our wanderlust, we are lovers looking for consummation.’”
–Elisabeth Eaves, “Wanderlust,” World Hum, February 12, 2009
(from Rolf Potts' Vagabonding blog)




I am two days away from yielding to my relentlessly pulsating adulterous temptation to travel. On Thursday, I will head across the ocean once again to my dearly loved Spain. The place where my heart and soul feel most at home. I am hoping that this will be the trip on which I will be able to figure out why that is the case. But even if I never know why Spain reaches, touches, and fills me in my innermost secret places, I will continue to go there as often as I can for as long as I can. 


If you pray, please pray for traveling mercies for me and "staying at home" mercies for the rest of my crew. If you don't pray, you should. But until you start to pray, you can think good thoughts for all of us. 


I am planning to take my computer with me, and I will try to post a blog or two from there. We shall see how that goes. I will certainly have my camera and my journal with me to record as much of the journey as I can. 


I confess: I am an adulterer. I love my country, I really do, 
but my heart belongs to another, one that does not belong to me.
Starting in less than 48 hours, for the following ten days, 
I will give myself over fully to The One I Love.
With passion. With abandon. 
With a (wander)lust that hasn't abated - after 25 years.

Through the Fire...

A friend's daughter and her boyfriend watched in horror their house burn down a few weeks ago.
Unfortunately, their dog did not escape the flames.

Another friend spent a couple of days this week without electricity as a result of ice and snow.

Another is watching her daughter struggle with deep depression.

Yet another continues to search for a job more than eighteen months after being laid off.

A soul-sister's mother passed away recently.

Cancer keeps rearing its ugly head in the life and body of a young woman engaged to be married in June.

A young unwed pregnant woman without a plan for the future.

A brother in treatment for drug addiction.

The list is so long. And this is just the stuff that relates to people I know and love.


Then there is Egypt and all it is going thru.

Ice and snow and flooding are crippling entire states and nations.

Economic crises multiply on the personal, national, and international level.

There seems to be no end to the occupation of Iraq and the war in Afghanistan.

Our eyes and faces are darkened with terror and sadness.
Our sorrows run deep and wide. Our hearts break.
Prayers go up. Tears flow down.

Tonight I put my iPod on the dock and pressed play.
These are the words I heard:

So many times I've questioned certain circumstances and things I could not understand.
And many times, in trials, weakness blurs my vision;
that's when my frustration seems to get so out of hand.
Oh, but it's then I am reminded that I have never been forsaken;
I've never had to stand one test alone, no, no.
That's when I look at all the victories and the power of God starts rising up in me
and it's through the fire, my weakness it's made strong.


He never promised that the cross would not get heavy 
and the hill would not be hard to climb.
He never offered our victories without fighting, 
but He said help would always come in time.
Just remember when you're standing in the valley of decision 
and the adversary says, "Give in,"
just hold on - Our Lord will show up and He will take you through the fire again. 


I know within myself that I would surely perish
Oh but if I trust the mighty hand of God, He'll shield the flames again.


(Sung by the Crabb Family and the Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir.)

A tough hill to climb.

Tennessee, October 2010.

Every time I hear that song, I am reminded of the most difficult fire I have ever passed through in my lifetime - and someday I will share that story here on the blog, but I must first get permission from the other people involved in the story before I make it public.

Anyway, at that time in my life and in the life of my family, I was helpless and hopeless on so many levels. I was afraid all the time. I was convinced that I would never sleep through an entire night. I thought I would never be able to travel again or teach again or do much of anything other than try to keep that fire under control. I was convinced that the fire we were in would never subside, never mind go out completely.

As the songwriter wrote: I could not understand. My frustration was out of hand. Back then I was reminded through songs like the one I quote here, through emails and phone calls and text messages and warm meals that I was not facing that test alone. To this day, I am reminded through rereading the journals I have kept for over 25 years of ways that I have been brought through many fires and have always came out stronger. I have experienced over and over in my life that help always comes in time. Relief comes. Rest comes. So does peace.

The outcome of the circumstances of my life has not always been what I wanted. My father died of cancer even after two rounds of chemo and endless hours of prayer. Two of my brothers witnessed the end of their marriages anyway. Another continues a valiant fight against diabetes. Addictions continue. Instability and illness persist even after we have done all that we can, all that we know to do. None of those are the outcomes I preferred or hoped or prayed for.

But still, but still, God saw me through all those fires back then.
He continues to see me through fires now.
He will see me through them again and again in the future.


I know, I know. Can I prove that God did or did not do anything either on my behalf or against me? No. Can I prove that God even exists? Nope. If I believe so much in God, why do I still mess up in so many ways every day of my life? Because I am human, profoundly imperfect, deeply flawed. Why am I still this doubtful, fearful, and confused so much of the time? The answer to the previous question applies to this one as well. How dare I compare my situation to the things that have happened in Rwanda and Egypt and on the backs of trucks where humans are trafficked? I do not dare to compare myself to them. I never would.

But the fires that have raged in my life have been real; they have been hot; they have been destructive. And this faith of mine, this trust in The Unseen One, the comfort of calling upon His name, of crying out to the One who Sees me, the One who listens, the One who loves me most of all - it gets me through the fires of my life. Every single time.

I may be totally wrong about all this. My faith may be completely blind. I do allow for that possibility. But if God is who He says He is, if the Word of God is true, then what I have said to myself in the dark for so many years, what I have placed my hope in for so many years, what I have run back to after I have screwed up so many times for so many years is the best news of all time - help IS on the way. Joy WILL come in the morning. Peace CAN pass understanding. Then fear is NOT the only option. Then I CAN do all things - including getting up the next tough hill, winning the next raging battle, and getting through this fire and the next one and the one after that.