Camino De Santiago

NCF Office – August 15, 2023 1 Comment

Gale Walden shares her journey and the helpers that attended her, a message of hope that feeds our faith.-Renée

Because I asked New Covenant for prayers regarding my walking the Camino De Santiago, I told Renee I wanted to give a bit of an account of my trip, which I did not intend as a religious pilgrimage but as a way to walk into whatever my next stage of life would be after my father’s death. My father prayed for me every day of my life, I knew.  Would I be safe without that?  Spoiler alert:  I came home in a wheelchair but I was always safe.  

My father said he never believed in angels until he had teenagers and they survived and then he did. I had my own revelations about angels on the Camino. 

Right before my first day of walking, I was suddenly terrified. I took a bus to a small town outside of Burgos.  At about 1:00pm I began to walk.  I was the only one on the path. I had plenty of water, hiking sticks, a hat, a backpack, and a reservation at an albergue (a sort of dorm) along the path, but after walking about three hours and not knowing how far I had to go, I started to worry. My phone would not work out here.  Most people walk in the morning before the heat, what if something did happen to me? How long before someone would find me? And then, I went around a bend and there was a white van and a black dog and a woman making tea in the van. Outside the van there was a chair that said emotional support chair.  So I sat in it. The woman asked if I would like some tea, and I said no, I had to get to this place by 6:00pm because they lock the gate.  She said it was only a couple more miles (underestimation) and said she had faith in me.  I had no idea how she had gotten there– no tracks, no road. Did she just live there?  I arrived at the albergue at 5:25.  There were two Italians at one outdoor table and a British guy, Phil, at the other. He had been walking since France—probably about 250 miles. I had walked about 7 miles.  Over dinner, Phil said that stretch was more deserted than most.  I said thank goodness for the woman, van, and dog.  He said what woman, van, and dog?  

My injury appeared after about 10 days of walking and, on orders of a doctor, I had to quit the Camino. But I had a commitment in the South of France separate from the walk and now I was in pain and I do not speak French. From Spain to France a man said I am going to help you.  And he did.  All day we traveled from station to station. When he got off the final train he kissed me on both cheeks and said, “have a good, good life”. There were people to meet me in France, but when I had to leave them to travel to Paris to fly home, I was worried—by this point I had crutches and could barely walk—from the small town in France to another medium-sized town, I wondered how I was going to manage with my pack and bag and crutches. An older woman said, “I am taking your luggage and not leaving until we get to where you can sit.”  I have no idea where she was going or what she needed to do but her time held still to help me.  Each day needed help appeared and then vanished.  I was also able to help a young man from Pakistan who had his backpack with passport stolen; the Spanish police had arrested him until he could prove who he was, then dropped him at the border of France/Spain, where he had to get a train ticket without a passport.  He spoke English and Urdu, the ticket office lady spoke only French, the French guy helping me spoke French and Spanish.  I translated the boy’s story into Spanish to the French guy, the French guy translated to the ticket person and after a long, long time we got him a ticket.  The three of us were elated. 

In Santiago there is a pilgrim house to debrief and meditate and a young woman approached me to talk about my trip.  She was very kind–a college student from Taylor College in Indiana, a Methodist college so small most people don’t know about it, but I did because that’s where my father, who I had tried to keep with me on the walk, went to college. 

I had a great and magical trip. I was met by another angel at O’Hare, who wheelchair raced me through customs and multiple security points and gates to get the last flight into Willard. And now I believe in angels and in trying to be one.  Or, as Mr. Rogers would say, “the helpers.”

Gale Walden, August 2023