Read Online Sunrises to Santiago: Searching for Purpose on the Camino de Santiago by Gabriel Schirm - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gabriel Schirm
Ads: Link
and turn into fields of sea
green wheat spotted with bright orange and red poppies. My stomach
growls. Time for breakfast. We stop at a bar and sit with other
pilgrims who are hungrily scarfing down tortilla
espa ñ ola, or Spanish
potato omelette, fresh squeezed orange juice and café con leche. I
spot our new friend Pepe from Tarragona who pulls up a chair at our
table.
I
am beginning to grow quite fond of Pepe, and today he tells us about
the castells from his region within Catalonia ,
Spain. He whips out his camera and shows us pictures of these human
towers that are built during festivals in his hometown. Pepe is such
a kind soul, and I love how proud he is of his culture.
“ Did
you meet your future wife yet?” I ask jokingly, recalling our
conversation from a few days ago.
“ Not
yet!” he replies. “Not yet.”
The
day passes, and I am starting to feel like I am physically improving.
The knee pain is tolerable even though it seems a new part of my body
hurts every day. The limbs take turns, and today my right Achilles ’
heel begins to ache. We make it to our destination for the day, Gra ñ on,
without further issues.
This
sleepy little village exists because of the Camino de Santiago. We
enter the town, passing some pilgrims with a donkey carrying their
packs and decide to stay in a donativo .
Simply meaning, you donate what you can afford for the night. There
is no set price.
The
donativo is part of The Church of Saint John the Baptist, which has
an albergue attached. We make our way through an old door marked only
with a brass Camino shell knocker. Immediately this place has a great
sense of history as we head up an old stone stairway . It feels as if we have entered a castle, and we are greeted by a
friendly hospitalero as we take off our shoes and survey the room.
It
appears that we will be sleeping on the floor tonight as we are given
two thin brown mats and,
imitating those already there, we pick a spot in the corner to make
our beds. I know I won ’ t
be sleeping much tonight. We are informed that there is a pilgrim ’ s
mass being held in the adjacent church and decide to check it out. I
am not Catholic but am open to the spirituality of the experience,
and we limp into an empty pew. An opportunity for silence. A time for
thought.
I
have definitely prayed for purpose before. Quitting jobs where
everything seems right on the outside but everything seems wrong in
your soul is a hard thing to do. During these times, I have prayed.
Growing up, my church was nature. My mom would drag me into the
woods, find a tree, and make me sit in silence. She would tell me
that this is where you will find God. This is where you should pray.
I hated it at the time, but nature is still the place I feel closest
to something more, something out of this world, something spiritual.
I pray now, here in this small church, in the middle of nowhere in
Spain. Why
am I here? What am I meant to do?
I
often wonder if I want too much out of life. Does anybody really love
their job? Does the perfect job even exist? I think about my
current job back in the United States. It is OK. I work for a
nonprofit, which provides me with a small sense of purpose. Most days I feel
like a replaceable cog in a giant wheel. But the job is neither good
nor bad. I have had worse, and I have had better. I send up another
prayer in hopes
that somebody is listening. Should
I be happy with good enough? If so, please help me feel content.
Pilgrims
are intermixed with a handful of locals, most of whom appear to be in
their 80s. I glance around the small but beautiful church. Many of
the stained glass windows in the walls have images of pilgrims and
the symbolic scallop shells of the Camino de Santiago. The deep
colors lit by the late afternoon Spanish sun. The service is quite
moving as the priest eventually brings all of the pilgrims to the
front, places his hands on our little circle, and says a prayer for
us all. Wishing us a buen Camino and safe
green wheat spotted with bright orange and red poppies. My stomach
growls. Time for breakfast. We stop at a bar and sit with other
pilgrims who are hungrily scarfing down tortilla
espa ñ ola, or Spanish
potato omelette, fresh squeezed orange juice and café con leche. I
spot our new friend Pepe from Tarragona who pulls up a chair at our
table.
I
am beginning to grow quite fond of Pepe, and today he tells us about
the castells from his region within Catalonia ,
Spain. He whips out his camera and shows us pictures of these human
towers that are built during festivals in his hometown. Pepe is such
a kind soul, and I love how proud he is of his culture.
“ Did
you meet your future wife yet?” I ask jokingly, recalling our
conversation from a few days ago.
“ Not
yet!” he replies. “Not yet.”
The
day passes, and I am starting to feel like I am physically improving.
The knee pain is tolerable even though it seems a new part of my body
hurts every day. The limbs take turns, and today my right Achilles ’
heel begins to ache. We make it to our destination for the day, Gra ñ on,
without further issues.
This
sleepy little village exists because of the Camino de Santiago. We
enter the town, passing some pilgrims with a donkey carrying their
packs and decide to stay in a donativo .
Simply meaning, you donate what you can afford for the night. There
is no set price.
The
donativo is part of The Church of Saint John the Baptist, which has
an albergue attached. We make our way through an old door marked only
with a brass Camino shell knocker. Immediately this place has a great
sense of history as we head up an old stone stairway . It feels as if we have entered a castle, and we are greeted by a
friendly hospitalero as we take off our shoes and survey the room.
It
appears that we will be sleeping on the floor tonight as we are given
two thin brown mats and,
imitating those already there, we pick a spot in the corner to make
our beds. I know I won ’ t
be sleeping much tonight. We are informed that there is a pilgrim ’ s
mass being held in the adjacent church and decide to check it out. I
am not Catholic but am open to the spirituality of the experience,
and we limp into an empty pew. An opportunity for silence. A time for
thought.
I
have definitely prayed for purpose before. Quitting jobs where
everything seems right on the outside but everything seems wrong in
your soul is a hard thing to do. During these times, I have prayed.
Growing up, my church was nature. My mom would drag me into the
woods, find a tree, and make me sit in silence. She would tell me
that this is where you will find God. This is where you should pray.
I hated it at the time, but nature is still the place I feel closest
to something more, something out of this world, something spiritual.
I pray now, here in this small church, in the middle of nowhere in
Spain. Why
am I here? What am I meant to do?
I
often wonder if I want too much out of life. Does anybody really love
their job? Does the perfect job even exist? I think about my
current job back in the United States. It is OK. I work for a
nonprofit, which provides me with a small sense of purpose. Most days I feel
like a replaceable cog in a giant wheel. But the job is neither good
nor bad. I have had worse, and I have had better. I send up another
prayer in hopes
that somebody is listening. Should
I be happy with good enough? If so, please help me feel content.
Pilgrims
are intermixed with a handful of locals, most of whom appear to be in
their 80s. I glance around the small but beautiful church. Many of
the stained glass windows in the walls have images of pilgrims and
the symbolic scallop shells of the Camino de Santiago. The deep
colors lit by the late afternoon Spanish sun. The service is quite
moving as the priest eventually brings all of the pilgrims to the
front, places his hands on our little circle, and says a prayer for
us all. Wishing us a buen Camino and safe
Similar Books
