Disorientation — “Who am I now? What matters now?”
Despair — “There’s no way out.”
Stillness — “Maybe I don’t need a way out.”
Softening — “I can’t control this, but I can feel it.”
Reverence — “Even now, life is sacred.”
Devotion — “What can I tend, even in the dark?”
And there are many more……
What we do with those emotions is so important. Stuffing, hiding, ignoring, aren’t good options. We are emotional beings and those emotions can guide us along our life’s way.
Psalm 139:14 reads: “I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well“.
Waves of mercy, waves of grace. We are called to ride the waves.
Lord, keep us from making crosses out of the splinters of discomfort in our lives. Help us recognize the true crosses you call us to bear, those whose weight lends to the freedom and provision of others. Amen.
Several nights ago, Westcliffe Colorado, a beautiful small town at the foot of the Sangre de Cristo mountain range, shut down Main Street, bringing the entire community together at the table.
The 9th year for the annual ‘Valley Strong’ Community Dinner, we know (and the research shows!) a community is strengthened as relationships and trust is formed.
Here’s the beloved 13th-century Sufi poet Rumi’s classic meditation on being human – extending cheerful, respectful hospitality not only to our neighbors, but also to ourselves.
Poem
This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all! Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows, who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture, still, treat each guest honorably. He may be clearing you out for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice, meet them at the door laughing, and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond. + Rumi Translated by Coleman Barks
A joy of walking the Camino de Santiago is the forever family you gain. I find that fellow kinship in the stories shared – powerful words of reflection – that remind us of our shared experience in this life.
I found these words from a fellow walker this morning and they inspired and reminded me once again. Buen Camino.
Words From Emma McNamme
After leaving Muxía towards the airport, I knew I had to return one last time. Back to the heart of it all – Santiago. To sit quietly in the plaza and let the magic unfold.
As a Scot 🏴, the sound of the bagpipes reached me first. It always does. Something ancient stirs in my blood when I hear them, a sound that belongs to longing, to home, to all the places where joy and sorrow meet.
And so I stayed. For hours. Watching. Listening. Feeling.
I saw couples arriving hand in hand, leaning into each other’s tired shoulders – proof that love can be carried across every mile. Their laughter cracked open the sky, their tears told the story of promises kept and battles endured together.
I saw the solo travellers, wide-eyed, stepping slowly into the square. Some clutching their chests in disbelief, others sinking onto the cobblestones as if the ground itself had been waiting to catch them. Their faces were lit with a quiet pride – the kind you only know when you’ve walked yourself into your own truth.
I saw reunions – friends who had met days or weeks ago on lonely trails – spotting one another in the crowd, running forward, colliding into embraces that felt like family. The kind of connections born on the road that don’t need years to be real.
I saw pilgrims removing their packs with trembling hands, laying them down like burdens finally released. Some kissed the earth, others pressed their foreheads to the stones, whispering gratitude into the ground that carried them here.
I saw tears fall freely – tears of grief, of release, of joy too great for words. I saw laughter rising up through exhaustion, ringing out like bells against the cathedral walls. I saw strangers embracing as if they had known one another a lifetime.
I saw feet bare and blistered, swollen with the miles. I saw socks pulled off, shoes tossed aside, and pilgrims wincing as they stretched into relief. But in every ache, I saw triumph – evidence of the courage it takes to keep moving when the body begs to stop.
I saw people standing alone in silence, gazing up at the cathedral with lips moving in prayers that belonged to no one else. Some crossed themselves with reverence. Some simply stood, eyes closed, faces tilted toward the sky – as if to say, I made it. I am here.
And as I watched, I realised: I did not know these people, yet I felt them. One pilgrim to another – we see each other. In their faces, I saw my own story reflected back. In their tears, I recognised my grief. In their laughter, I remembered my joy. Connection wove us all together – strangers tied by the same road, the same longing, the same light of arrival.
This is the magic of Santiago. It is not only about reaching the end of a journey. It is about standing in a plaza alive with centuries of footsteps, and knowing you are part of something greater. Every story. Every soul. Every sacred step.
If you have walked, you know this feeling. If you have not yet walked, know this: the plaza will be waiting for you. It will welcome your story as it has welcomed ours. It will see you, hold you, transform you.
So I sat there one last time, as the bagpipes played, as the stories of strangers became my own, and as Santiago gathered us all – every soul, every step, every lifetime – into her timeless embrace. — feeling blessed in Santiago de Compostela, Spain.
Watching the sun rise and set in all different places this year – different continents – different international cities and villages – west and Midwest of the US – I am reminded of how we all live under and within this creation. What a beautiful thing it is and can be. And sometimes we really mess it all up. But the truth remains, sunrise to sunset, for better or worse, we share this planet.
“From the rising of the sun to its setting, the name of the LORD is to be praised”
Our synod Live Project is a wonderful ministry that seeks to open us to full life in our faith. As we learn and grow, we are encouraged to ask, “what does this mean?”
The question from the book of Acts today is: “In what ways is God surprising you in delightful yet confounding ways?”
My list to this question is long and growing – on both sides – both delightful and confounding.
At the Table we are fed together. Thanks be to God.
Losing two friends to death in our congregation this week has my heart aching and weighed down. In full honesty, these losses get harder and harder as time presses on. Silent wrestling. Tears. Prayer. What to do?
I lift my eyes to the mountains—where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth. Psalm 121
John Chrysostom said, “Prayer is the light of the spirit, and the spirit, raised up to heaven by prayer, clings to God with the utmost tenderness. Like a child crying tearfully for its mother, it craves the milk that God provides. Prayer also stands before God as an honored ambassador. It gives joy to the spirit, a peace to the heart. I speak of prayer, not words. It is the longing for God, love too deep for words, a gift not given by humans, but by God’s grace.”
Johnson 2025 Sabbatical 