The resistance I feel tells me that I haven’t yet fully integrated this into my practice, so just know this, dear reader, lest you think me better than I am. (As proof, I just came back from an avoidant “urgent” social media check.)

I realized after starting this year’s pilgrimage just how cocky and naïve I was coming into it. I assumed that since I had done another pilgrimage last year and that it had been such a beautiful experience that this one could only go up and to the right. After all, the terrain wasn’t nearly as difficult as my last one. Sure, it’s a few more kilometers, but how bad could it be?

My, my, my. I think one of the points that the ancients intuited of pilgrimage is that it has a nasty way of finding your hidden weakness and revealing it. Who knew that simply walking a long distance, carrying needed supplies on your back could accomplish such a feat?

“The Camino provides” is a saying passed along in lighthearted tones among modern pilgrims, but what about when it provides discomfort? I mean, there’s the expected discomforts of thin mattresses, raccous snoring, ridiculous early-risers, and the occasional blister. But what about when it provides pain because I tried to go too far too quickly? Not so sure I want to stay on board for whatever else this Camino would provide. Sorry, bud. I’m out.

The reality is that I’ve had a pretty comfortable life, with much less pain and suffering than many others around the world. No devastating diseases, broken bones, or catastrophic accidents. And I was perfectly fine to stay that way. In fact, I’ve always been a bit risk-averse to activities that could cause bodily harm. While some of my aversion are echoes of my Mother’s worry (uninsured with loads of kids — Lord, have mercy!), it’s also because Pain is the bully that I’ve dealt with by trying to stay far, far away.

But out of all the (mostly) lovely companions I met along the way, it was Pain that decided they wanted to journey with me. And though I tried to shake them off, even purposely get a little lost, they always found me again. And though at first, I resisted, I sensed that part of the reason for this journey was to transform my relationship with pain.

I’d been reading a book this summer1 that states that suffering can be a gateway to union with the Divine. We see in the person of Jesus, how he accepts, fully and completely accepts the cup that is His to drink even though he knows it will cost him everything. I knew this intellectually and even spiritually to an extent, but I hadn’t yet experienced it in my body.

There are many levels to knowledge, and I’ve come to believe that bodily knowledge is one of the deepest ones. It is one of the reasons that I love the Christian message so much, is that at the very center of our worship is a Body. The highest sacrament we partake of is a Body. The incarnation of the Divine coming to us in a body is the pinnacle of our knowledge of who God is.

So much of the internal rhetoric in between my body and Pain had been marked by resistance and negotiation. I was either trying to find a way to get out of the way or I was doing whatever I could to limit the extent of the damage. And this is natural. I mean, look at Jesus crying out, “Take this cup away from me!”

As I walked, I remembered the principle Eckhart Tolle shared, “Whatever you fight, you strengthen, and what you resist, persists.”2

Now this runs counter to every element of human and spiritual wisdom that I was given in my childhood, but I have found it to be experientially true. The resistance and negotiation only served to strengthen the Pain. Viewing Pain as an enemy that I must defeat only caused the discomfort to increase. Spending all of time and energy wishing that things were different blinded me to seeing the gifts that were present for me.

So gingerly, I started repeating a breath prayer over and over as I slowly walked.

“Pain is not my enemy.”

“Pain is not my enemy.”

“Pain is not my enemy.”

I welcomed the healing presence of Jesus and my long-feared bully, Pain, to sit and break bread together. And I found that Pain quite liked that.

Over the coming days, I experimented with other prayers, repeated with each breath, sometimes hours upon end:

• “I smile at my pain.”

• “I walk in peace and total relaxation.”

And I found that while the pain was still there it was more manageable. As I breathed deeply and prayed, I found acceptance for this experience, and acceptance grew over time into gratitude.

And gratitude gently began to transform the fear that I’ve lived with into a more healthy respect. Yes, Pain is a powerful force and can completely wipe me out like a tidal wave. But through acceptance and gratitude, it’s possible to ride the wave and allow it to carry me closer home.

But first, some context. I had set out walking for my fourth day with an angel from Israel, Nitzan, who knew of my foot injury and said that she would keep pace with me since she was also dealing with plantar fasciitis. We had tried to find a place to stay over WhatsApp messages, and circuitous phone calls, but alas, there was nothing. But we set out trusting that “the Camino would provide”. When about half way through, we stopped for coffee and a rest, I was already in pain. But I reasoned that I could still make it, after all we weren’t attempting 30+ km as was recommended. I was already reducing the distance. And I was being passed on the trail by many people twice my age who were walking the full distance without any problems.

As we reached the village of Azinhaga, I knew I couldn’t go any further. I was desperate to find a place to rest. We stopped in the first cafe that we found. We explained that all the albergues (hostels) were full and asked if we could sleep on the floor at the church. They said that it was not possible. So me and Nitzan sat and waited, as a group of villagers sat around the table and discussed what to do. Finally, a villager named Nelson came and motioned for us to come with him. He walked us down to the river where there was a lovely shaded park with picnic tables and restrooms and he gestured that we could stay there.

By this point I was so exhausted that this seemed like an oasis, particularly after the dusty, dry, and shade-less walk of the day. I lay down in the grass, my feet elevated against a tree to reduce the swelling. Nitzan propped up against another tree a few feet away and rested. Finally I got up only to be hit with nausea and chills.

I knew in my bones that I couldn’t continue. My body was simply rebelling against the pace that I was subjecting it to. I’d be amiss if I didn’t admit that it hurt my pride, my self-perception, my expectations, my ego — to accept that I wouldn’t get to walk the whole Camino Portuguese route. I had ignored my own advice to allow for margin, and it was coming back to bite my butt. I only had one rest day scheduled. For the entire pilgrimage.

As I lay on the grass, staring up at a blue sky filtered through summer leaves, the tears came. And with them, acceptance. Peace. Freedom.

No matter what, I am okay. I am learning (albeit reluctantly) to be content. It still feels like death — to my ego. But it also, paradoxically, feels like freedom.

I laid back down, unable to move, and Nitzan brought me lemon water to drink and a half of lemon to suck on. This helped. And then I drank just over a liter of water and felt stable but still sick. I felt so out of it that had Nitzan not been there I’m not sure what I could have done. Truly, God knows how to send just who I need when I need them.

A pharmacist just happened to be available only a two minute walk away. I got meds and a sandwich from a local shop, along with the report of rain coming overnight. But not a worry, our helpful friend, Nelson, showed us to a covered stage that the village used for plays where we could sleep protected from the rain.

As night fell, I wrote a few lines:

My back against a wall, my belongings in front of me on my outstretched poncho.

Somehow after spending a lifetime working to keep myself from having no place to go,

And when for the first time in a long time, I have no place to go,

I find that I am still okay

Yes, sleeping in the open without the protection of locks and bars, I’m a little more alert

Yes, I have no pillow, but thankfully my extra clothes will suffice.

Yes, I have no blanket, but thank God for wool socks and a fleece jacket

Yes, I do shiver a bit now, but how much better will the caffé taste once a new day has come?

I spend my life trying to avoid pain and discomfort, trying to mitigate risk, and trying to self protect.

Out here I feel radically exposed but also radically free.

I hadn’t even realized how much energy in my life has been consumed by the ceaseless drive to self-preserve. To make sure that no matter what I will be safe and sheltered. And yet, I was brought face to face with the reality that whether I have shelter or not, I am okay. Whether I sleep on the cold ground or in a warm bed, my personhood is not affected. I am still solid, stable, and free.

Now, I don’t want to sleep on the cold ground more than necessary, but I know that when it comes again, that I’ll be okay. For the One who feeds the sparrows is watching over me.

First, a disclaimer: There are many people that are experts in pilgrimage, and I’m not one of them. I’d encourage anyone going on a specific pilgrimage route to look online to find tips and best practices. However, most of these tips here, I discovered through experience, even after reading a number of expert’s opinions.

General Tips

• Don’t get cash before you go or through exchange upon arrival. Look for an ATM at a local bank (not airport or touristy area if possible) and get out cash in local currency. Don’t accept their conversion rate (your bank’s will almost always be better).

• Use a normal SIM card for your phone number so that you can use the e-SIM for data only.

• As soon as you arrive at the airport for departure, set clocks to time zone you are going and act as if it were already the time where you are going.

• Don’t start on a rainy day if possible. It can be a bit disheartening and increase likelihood of blisters to start in the rain. I would have waited one extra day so as to start in better weather.

• I prefer to take a rest day every 7th day. When I didn’t do this, I started to find that every day blurred together.

• Tip from Jean-Marie (2024) - two weeks before starting pilgrimage, wash feet with lemons to help harden them.

  • Update 2025 - I tried this and didn’t have blisters during my whole Camino! Not sure if it was just this change, but I am so grateful!

• Tip from Nicole (2024) - every evening and morning, use moisturizing cream on your feet. After 8-10 km, stop and let feet air out. If socks are wet, then change them out. Keep feet dry. Use a Compeed stick or Vaseline on any spots where you tend to get blisters.

• I found that I preferred to eat light at lunch, typically picking up something in the evening before. I typically liked to have sandwich, bread w/ honey, nuts/raisin mix, dates, apple, or banana for lunch/snack. I left extra room in backpack for this food. If affordable, avocado is great choice.

  • Italy 2024 - If available, pick up peanut butter to use at breakfast since most breakfasts are simply packaged toast and jam, cookies, and coffee. Use the insulated mug for food or drink for lunchtime.

• For dinners, check to see if provided by host. If not and there’s not a really good restaurant option, good options are chickpea pesto pasta, or soup mix with legumes added for protein and some bread.

• Carry 1.5 liters of water.

  • 2024 - I did a 20 oz metal bottle with 1 liter milk jug

  • 2025 - I did two metal bottles, but wouldn’t recommend

  • 2026 - I want to try using a water bladder instead + small plastic water bottle

• Wear one pair of weather-resistant hiking pants with zip-off for hiking and then wear the other one after arriving so that you don’t have to wash every day.

• For the “tourist” spots along the pilgrimage, I recommend going to tourist office first, get a paper map, and recommendations for route/what to do.

• For major cities, look up one travel guide online and mark the important things that you want to do on Google Maps or better yet, save a map offline.

• Copy passport, drivers license, and all bank / credit cards and put in the cloud. If you have multiple cards/emergency cash, separate to keep in different places so that if one bag is stolen, perhaps you have another option.

• Travel medical insurance is not required in the EU but it is recommended. I went with GeoBlue but found they were kind of cumbersome to use. I only had to use their Teledoc service but they couldn’t prescribe meds so I had to find an Italian doctor after having a tick bite get infected.

Services/Apps

• For translation, I used Google Translate. The camera feature to translate was very useful. I found the conversation translator to be quite cumbersome and though the languages were downloaded it would only work with good network connection.

• Nomad — It was the best price for a data only plan. I used between 10-20 GB of data each month. I had the ability to receive text.

• Tello — I switched my USA phone service over to Tello to just get one of their cheapest plans, saving money every month. Plus they allow for WiFi calling and receiving SMS and phone calls to my phone number through their app.

  • I didn’t do this in 2025, and had to deal with being disconnected from getting and receiving messages to my phone number for most of the time.

• (2024) All Trails+ — I paid for the membership and used it for offline GPX Tracks for the route. Having offline gps routes was really helpful for me on the Via di Francesco.

• Train line — Best app and website I found for all long distance (non regional) trains in France, Switzerland, and Italy. UPDATE 2025 - now I recommend Rome2Rio or Trainline to find the train schedule that works best, but sometimes it can be cheaper to book directly with the train operator to save the booking fee.

• BlaBlaCar — One day all the trains were super expensive, so I did a ride share from Paris to Bordeaux which was a good experience. I also used the BlaBlaCar bus from Lyon to Geneva which saved money and was a super convenient option.

• Bolt — best for shared rides in France, mostly used if needing to catch a flight or train super early in the morning. Like Uber.

• DoctorsinItaly.com — I got an infection while traveling and used this service to do a video visit with a doctor and get my prescription. Great experience and only cost 30€ for the visit!

• Rick Steves Audio Europe — Great, free downloadable walking tours of important sites across Europe! I found this towards the end of my trip and found it so informative in Rome! I’d just put in an AirPod and start the tour.

Camino Portuguese - September 2025

• Buen Camino app was the best one I found, once I figured out how to use the features. The stage planning section can be accessed for free, though it encourages payment.

• Most guidebooks show doing this route from Lisbon to Santiago in 25 days, but I would extend that to about 30. I found that averaging 20-25 km a day was good distance and more enjoyable. I would start with a 12-15 km day and gradually increase to allow time for the body to acclimate.

• I like the thought of doing the whole route of a pilgrimage but in this case, the route from Lisbon to Porto is not that pleasant— lots of hot, dusty walking through flat farmland and industrial areas. Instead, I would consider flying into Lisbon and using a train or bus to visit some of the most important and beautiful cities along the way (Santarém, Tomar, Coimbra) and start walking in Porto.

• I would recommend doing the Spiritual Variant, and using a pre booked boat to cut out the 35 km day, making it the same distance as the central route (unless you have extra time to walk the extra distance).

• There was a lot of pilgrims in September 2025, which means that this might not be the best route for those looking for solitude.

• Booking at least a day ahead of time can provide some peace of mind that you’ll find a place to stay, because of the amount of pilgrims.

• I did the Coastal and sometimes the Litoral route and really enjoyed walking by the coast. If I did it again, I would consider doing coastal for the first part and transition to the central route at the first opportunity to get a bit of both.

• Many of the churches and monasteries along the route were not open, or available as emergency shelter if the hostels fill up. The lack of church involvement made this Camino feel more secular than the Via di Francesco which many of the lodging options are provided by churches, monasteries, and convents.

• I wore trail running shoes (Altra Lone Peak 9) on this pilgrimage and they worked well since the route was very little true hiking and more walking on paved or gravel surfaces (which I actually found to be harder on the body than hiking trails).

Way of St Francis [Via di Francesco] - May 2024

• I used Trekking The Way of St Francis guidebook by Sandy Brown. However, I was disappointed in the book. In part, because it hasn’t been updated recently to include important changes. For instance, the whole first stage from Florence to Pontassieve is a completely different route in the guidebook from the GPX tracks, the accommodations are not up to date, and the budget has increased from the book.

• Budget- expect to spend higher than what most guidebooks say. While I did stay at places for as low as 10€ a night, there were also nights that were 70-100€ for the night. In general, anticipating about 90-100€ daily budget should allow for some margin. I typically chose to eat affordable options, cook for myself when I had a kitchen, and stay at the more affordable options.

• Use Via di Francesco official sites and Gronze.com to find accomodations. Additionally, ask fellow pilgrims for accommodation recommendations, especially those using different guidebooks. Often they were able to confirm the accommodation for me when they booked their stay.

• I prefer using Gronze.com to the guidebook for daily overview and accommodations list. When there are two phone numbers for accommodation, the second one is often the WhatsApp one.

• Best packing list ➡️ here

• I strongly recommend waterproof lightweight hiking boots with ankle support. LaSportiva and Vivobarefoot were recommended by pilgrims. I went with stability running shoes and regretted it though I did make it through the whole trip in them.

• Hiking sticks are needful in some sections, particularly in muddy areas, crossing creeks, etc. The section from Florence to Assisi, in particular, has mostly narrow trails with often steep and muddy climbs/descents in which without sticks, stability is a big problem.

• I recommend going from Rome to Florence, instead of the opposite direction. If time is short, go just from La Verna to Assisi, or Rome to Assisi. The stages in the ViadiFrancesco.it website should be considered instead of just the English guide.

• You’ll find that different guidebooks have different stages and routes at times. I typically followed the blue and yellow trail markings but sometimes chose the red/white markings.

• I often preferred the German guidebook’s stages to the English one so compare if/when you come across German pilgrims.

• I encountered very few American pilgrims on this trail, but many pilgrims will have at least basic English skills. Many pilgrims were from Germany, France, Belgium, and Italy.

• I recommend staying at Eremos and monasteries whenever possible. Often they will provide dinner and breakfast. If there is a donativo (donation based hostel), I recommend staying there since typically you’ll find a true pilgrim experience there.

• I didn’t book very far in advance. I found that I preferred booking in the evening for the next day or booking the same day.

• Get the phone number and check to see if it’s on WhatsApp. If on WhatsApp, translate your message in translator app and send through WhatsApp.

• If not on WhatsApp, call them and ask if they can speak English or find someone who can speak Italian to ask them for you

• In Italy, I preferred “Postamat”, the ATM machines at most post offices, since they don’t have any fees.

• On the stage before La Verna (if approaching from the north), I recommend staying at Biforco instead of Badia Prataglia so that you have a short day going into La Verna.

• I would recommend booking an extra night at La Verna, which must be booked in advance.

• Watch a few YouTube videos on basic Italian phrases, since they will come in handy. Even better if you can do a DuoLingo or other language course before going.

Packing List

If there’s a specific brand or model I recommend, it is linked.

Includes what is worn during travel.

• 1 liter Fanny pack / sling with carabiner [Costco Lululemon knock-off]

  • Phone, cable

  • AirPods, cable

  • Power bank

  • 4x6” Journal and pen

  • Passport

  • $100 emergency cash & debit/credit cards

  • wired earbuds (for flight + as backup)

  • Credential and bag for credential

    • might be available upon arrival

    • as an alternative, I saw people that used their journal as the credential, and they would journal along with the stamps. Not sure if it will be accepted everywhere tho.

• Backpack (30-40 L) with raincover (I chose the Osprey Stratos 34 and was able to carry on instead of checking)

  • Daypack

  • AirTag in backpack

  • 1+ liter water bladder (purchase plastic water bottle to supplement)

  • Plug converter (European usb and usb-c adapter)

  • Neck gaiter/buff (multi-fuctional — eye mask, scarf, handkerchief)

  • Ear plugs

  • Sunglasses, case, & cleaning wipes

  • Gum or mints, chapstick

  • Hand sanitizer

  • spoon, fork, knife in snack size bag (save from the plane flight)

  • 2 quart plastic bags (for snacks)

  • Pill container with ibuprofen, magnesium, any other supplements

  • Rechargeable head lamp (red light, white light, no flashing)

  • Small mirror

  • Poncho

  • Sandals

  • Hiking boots or Trail Runners (depending upon the route, and the level of hiking)

  • Hiking sticks (helpful for stability even on flat surfaces)

  • Sleeping bag liner

  • Sun hat / cap

  • Clothespins (5-6)

  • Wrist watch

  • 1 fleece pullover

• Small compression cube (doubles as shower bag)

  • 3 pr wool hiking socks (Decathlon 900 series are my favorite, but hard to find in USA)

  • 1 handkerchief

  • 3 Underwear

  • Microfiber Towel (24x48)

• Medium compression cube (doubles as laundry bag)

  • 1 sun hoodie

  • 1 quick dry short sleeve t-shirt

  • 1 button up long sleeve shirt (columbia tamiami shirt)

  • 2 hiking pants (one - zip-off)

  • 1 swim trunks

• See through durable toiletries bag

  • Deodorant

  • Soap cotton pouch and bar soap

  • Toothpaste

  • Toothbrush (cut down length to fit comfortably in bag)

  • Floss

  • Cerave facial moisturizing lotion with SPF 50

  • Moisturizing foot cream (small travel bottle)

  • Vaseline (small travel bottle)

  • Neosporin

  • Eden’s Garden Fighting Five essential oil (dab a couple drops on in the morning and inhale)

  • Electric razor, charger

  • Fingernail clippers

Optional

• Guidebook

• iPad - I liked having it for reading, but it did add a lot of weight. If I’m only using it for writing, then consider getting the folding Bluetooth keyboard and phone stand instead.

• Windbreaker/rain coat - look at the weather and elevation for the route. Only if it will be cool/cold consistently would I bring this. For Camino Portuguese I could have done without it.

BONUS: Exercise Routine

🌅 Morning (before walking)

Goal: loosen muscles, warm up joints, prevent over-tightening during your stage.

1. Ankle circles (1 min each foot)

   • Gently rotate ankle in both directions, loosening tendons and preparing the arch.

2. Hamstring warm-up (2 min)

   • Stand, place heel on a bench or step.

   • Keep back straight, hinge forward slightly until you feel a stretch behind the thigh.

   • Hold 20–30 sec each side.

3. Glute/hip opener (2 min)

   • Stand, cross right ankle over left knee, squat down slightly as if sitting in a chair.

   • Hold 20 sec, repeat 2x each side.

4. Calf raises (1–2 min)

   • Stand tall, rise onto your toes, then lower slowly.

   • 2 sets of 10 reps to wake up calves + improve circulation.

5. Gentle marching (1–2 min)

   • March in place, lifting knees to hip height.

   • Warms hips, glutes, hamstrings.

🌙 Evening (after walking)

Goal: release tightness, reduce inflammation, encourage recovery.

1. Legs up the wall (3–5 min)

   • Lie on your back, hips close to a wall, feet straight up.

   • Improves circulation, reduces swelling in feet/ankles.

2. Glute stretch (2 min)

   • Lie on your back, cross right ankle over left knee.

   • Pull left thigh toward your chest until you feel stretch in right glute.

   • Hold 30 sec, repeat 2–3x per side.

3. Hamstring stretch (2 min)

   • Lying on back, loop your strap/belt/towel around foot.

   • Straighten leg toward ceiling, gentle stretch behind thigh.

   • Hold 20–30 sec, repeat both sides.

4. Calf + arch release (2 min)

   • Roll foot on water bottle or ball.

   • Then stretch calves by leaning into a wall, heel on the ground.

5. Glute massage (2–3 min)

   • Sit on a ball (tennis ball, lacrosse ball, or even water bottle) placed under your glute.

   • Slowly roll over tight spots.

   • Spend more time on the right side.

Throughout the Day

• Take a 2–3 min stretch break every 5–7 km.

• Keep your stride shorter, avoid over-striding (which pulls hamstrings).

• When climbing, focus on pushing through the heel and engaging your glute.

I noticed that the recommendation was for almost 20 miles of walking— mostly flat, so I should be fine, right?

As I wandered out of Lisbon along well worn, masterfully crafted mosaic sidewalks, I met Rainer from Germany who carried a massive pack on his back, a smaller strapped to his stomach, and carrying bags in his hands. As I mentally congratulated myself for my packing prowess, I caught up to him and started talking. He shared about being homeless for the past 12 years, being a missionary for Jesus on the Camino paths. He shared about how he would simply walk as far as his body would allow and then stop, only staying inside once a week or so to wash clothes. I was humbled. Perhaps it’s not so much my minimalism, but my wealth that allows me to walk so lightly.

The Camino continued for the first day through Parque das Nações, a modern river-side city, built for the 1998 World Expo. Grand and a bit over the top, I was ready for the boardwalks that would follow. But I wasn’t prepared for how long I would be walking, over 30 km.

The first day’s path was flat but endless, weaving between peaceful river views, and noisy industrial plants. I tried to be present, but I would vacillate between presence and all the doubts that came to my mind. Surely I hadn’t prepared well enough for this journey. Why was I doing this? Is this a fools errand? Another chance to try to prove myself?

When I arrived 9 and a half hours later in the village of Alhandra, I was completely exhausted and my muscles were screaming. I couldn’t think about walking to a restaurant so went next door to the supermarket to get food. I felt the need to keep up with people. All the voices of what I should be doing to make this a true pilgrimage did war in my mind, my peace their prisoner. But the exhaustion and pain won the day, leading me to bed so I could get up early and start again.

The second day wasn’t as far, only 15 miles, and was painful but no more than the previous day. I was beginning to accept that the pain was simply my due reward for not training better. I arrive in Azambuja, where I find more pilgrims. A highlight was celebrating pilgrim’s mass at the local church, thanks to a pilgrim priest staying among us.

The third day I head out early in the day, enjoying the sunrise over the green fields that will be my companion for the day. As the sun rises though, so does my pain. The muscles in my right leg throb with every step. This day seems endless, as the day turns from warm to hot, and I run out of water without any options to refill my bottles. Dust fills my lungs from the farm trucks bouncing along the gravel road I walk. And finally, to reach, the city where there is lodging, I must climb a massive hill.

Some of my fellow pilgrims later shared the story of how I stumbled into the hostel with one thing on my mind, water. After getting some water, I laid down on a bench, unable to wait until I checked in and found a bed. As I hobbled back to the hostel after dinner, I realized I would need to take a rest day.

I didn’t have a rest day planned in my schedule yet, but knew that I wasn’t ready to walk on. A growing sense of disappointment tugged at my energy. I was falling behind. Others were continuing ahead without me. Voices of comparison whispered, others were handling this walk just fine, but I’m not measuring up.

After one day of rest, the pain was still present, but I decided to take it slow and walk on. Nitzan, an Israeli pilgrim that I met the day before accompanied me as we walked on down the trail. After 10.5 miles of walking, I broke down. Lying on my back under a shady tree, I realized that something had to change. I couldn’t keep walking. And there were few services available in this tiny village, so I would have to accept help.

I’d have to do the thing I’d secretly judged other pilgrims for— take a train to the next town. I’d have to take a break before continuing on.

I allowed myself to feel all the shame, disappointment, and sadness of my best laid plans falling away. I asked myself where I had gone wrong.

And in the stillness, I realized that I had been listening more to others than to the Voice within. I was more committed to my plan, informed by others projections, than I was to following the pace that was right for me.

I immediately saw the parallels to the rest of my life.

How much pain and suffering did I choose to make others happy and proud of me?

How many times do I ignore what my body tells me, what my spirit whispers, what my soul longs for— just to work a little more?

How often do I follow the prescriptions from a book, instead of sitting in quiet prayer allowing God to reveal the path architected for me?

How often do I minimize what I really believe just to make others more comfortable?

In that moment of realization, I felt the invitation to let go of the outcome that I wanted. To let go of saying that I walked the whole Portuguese Camino. To let go of even arriving in Santiago. I thought that I believed that the pilgrimage wasn’t achieving a goal, or arriving at a destination, but about becoming more present to the Presence of God all along the way. But somehow, my pride and perfectionism laid a trap for me.

Father Richard Rohr says that he prays daily for one good humiliation. I’m beginning to understand why he would say such a thing. For it’s often in the moments of my best laid plans going awry, that I find the lesson that I needed to hear.

And most of the time, it has something to do with letting go. Recognizing my tight fisted clinging and striving. Remembering once again that my faith teaches me that there is no longer any need to strive or achieve, but that all I need is graciously given to me and through me to others.

In Christ’s example, I see how so many times people tried to lay expectations upon him, and how many times he let them down. He seemed to make it an art of doing the things that most would not expect, sidestepping the social and religious conventions of the time to reveal the heart of the matter. How did he do that?

He says it plainly time and time again, it was because he was in constant communion with the His Father. “I do what I have seen the Father do” (John 5:19). The wonders that Jesus performed were born out of the loving union in which he dwelled (John 15).

And this union, this abiding that Jesus embodies is available to me. It’s so simple that it’s hard. Because it’s not something that I do, so much as it is how I am. As I listen to the Holy Spirit abiding within me, I am able to walk the path that I am called to walk, and allow others to walk the pace that they are called to walk.

So what’s the lesson from this Camino? Listen to the Inner Guide, more than the voices around me.

My life became very present and elemental. Each day, I simply needed water, food, and shelter. Many days I didn’t know where I would sleep that night. At the beginning, that freaked me out, but as I walked I found answered prayers strewn along my pathway like little miracles, kisses of heaven. And over time, my sense of self-protectiveness and grasping to control every outcome began to fade by the sheer weight of my own helplessness.

I got to experience the struggle of being in a country where I don’t know their language and having to return to my childlike impulses, pointing and gesturing for what I needed, accompanied by the few words I knew. And yet, I found that somehow, with those who were open there was a great well of understanding that opened, even when we couldn’t speak each other’s language.

I was pushed to my limits physically, most days climbing up a mountain or hill to a village or eremo (remote spiritual place) and then the next day to descend and climb the next one. I celebrated the little wins that I don’t even think about normally— clothes lines and sunshine, grocery stores and trailside water spigots, or finding a stick to balance with when crossing a creek.

I met strangers along the way that became for me the hands and feet of Christ, sharing their blister patches and foot cream, spreading out their meager offerings to create a smorgasboard feast. I encountered places that were embued with so many prayers that I felt as if they were breathing too.

Over a year later, it’s not some magical moment of arrival, or some holy place that causes me to pause, but it’s all the ordinary moments stacked up so high that their collective weight staggers me.

And so, even before I finished that pilgrimage, I began to dream about the possibility of an annual rhythm of pilgrimage, perhaps not always to some historic and religiously significant site, but to holy sites, nonetheless (for there are no unholy places, only desecrated ones1).

I argued with myself. Isn’t it a bit luxurious to take off for a month, leaving responsibilities behind? Shouldn’t I be spending that time doing more productive things, like hosting meetings, and growing a business?

And yet, I look at the life of Jesus who modeled for us the ebb and flow of life, going away to desolate places, far from responsibilities, and then returning in the power of the Spirit to serve the people in front of him. I consider the impact of his ministry and how he directly says that his work flows from what he receives from the Father. I have been drawn to this example and have experimented with different ways to follow this pattern in my own life. Some of those experiments include going on long walks, turning my phone off for a day each week, and exploring nature as much as possible.

And yet, I still long to take it a little further. I find a desire awakening within me that calls me forward towards stepping out of the traffic2, towards opening myself up to a risky journey, looking for how God might meet me.

Back in November 2023, I attended a couple of lectures by Barbara Brown Taylor which helped provide some language and a framework for how I think about pilgrimage. She introduced me to “peregrination”, a practice that comes from the Celtic Christian tradition. Peregrination is a pilgrimage without a destination, except for one’s own resurrection. It’s a journey that doesn’t necessarily end in a famous holy place, but rather that depends upon the blowing of the wind of the Holy Spirit to the liminal space where God wants to meet us. It’s about looking for the movements of God all along the journey, not just waiting for the encounter at the end of the road.

And so I’m trying an experiment, stepping away from my responsibilities for the month of September and to go on pilgrimage. I don’t know if I’ll do it every year, but I’d like to try.

I’ve often struggled to describe my spiritual vocation, to find understandable words to share my longings with others. And yet I came as close as I ever have on this last pilgrimage (except when I saw myself as Beloved), as I began to describe myself to those I encountered as a pilgrim.

I like to think of a pilgrim as someone who is on an embodied journey with a spiritual end, who is interdependent with God and others along the way. I resonate with the following qualities that I have witnessed in pilgrims, and in which I hope to grow on pilgrimage this year.

1. Practice gratitude and flexibility. I think these two go hand in hand, because it’s often when I feel the most entitled that I become the most rigid. But practicing gratitude, practicing welcome and acceptance, loosens my muscles from their tight grasp upon life and introduces ease of movement.

2. Listen to the body. Walking daily and depending upon my feet to carry me where I need to go, compels me to get to know my body and to be mindful of when to push and when to rest. I learned (after developing 5 blisters my first day) to stop when my feet get wet and allow them to dry out. There are lessons here that I can carry back into the rest of my life so that I can pace myself for longevity and endurance, rather than burning myself out.

3. Live lightly. There’s nothing like carrying everything on my back to help discern what is nice to have, from what I must have. It provides a very visual lesson that causes me to reflect upon my life choices and where I am living with excess that is not helpful for my journey, even though it might be good for someone else’s.

4. Be present. There’s nothing farther along I go on my spiritual path, I discover that one of the most clear invitations from God, and that which provides the greatest freedom and joy, is through being fully and wholeheartedly present wherever and however I am. The Apostle Paul says that he learned in whatever state he was in to be content. To not resist or avoid it, but to be in it.

I’ll admit that I’m a beginner at these practices. I may find that I’m even worse at them after this pilgrimage. But I guess that’s the whole point of an experiment, isn’t it? To try something which has an uncertain but possible outcome.

This year, I’m traveling the Camino di Santiago, one of the most popular pilgrimages in the West. I plan to follow the Camino Portuguese path for about 385 miles northward from Lisbon, Portugal, into the Galician region of Spain. I’m hoping to arrive in Santiago di Compostela in my birthday, September 27. But, I hold this loosely since I never know what surprises God might have for me along the way.

Now not everyone can take a month away. But I would invite you to consider, what experiment might you explore to deepen your practice?

Hit reply and let me know! I’d love to hear from you.

I realized that this fundamentals of this argument are that there is a separation between Christ and myself, such that I can pull them apart and analyze them separately. That I could speak of Jesus from a detached observer’s perspective. But I do not feel that to be the case with me, nor do I wish it to be so. I do not primarily know Christ through my mind, through the thoughts that I think about Him, or through the words written about Him, but rather I know Him through my heart. My greatest longing in this earth is for union. To be united fully to the One whom my soul loves. 

Though I do not understand it, and it seems sacrilegious to speak of it too much, I have tasted foreshadowings of union. And the beauty of that experience is too deep for words.

From the place of union, I cannot speak of God as the External Other, but rather as Everything to me. From the place of union, “I” am no longer separate from “Him”, but we are one. In that place, God is the One in whom we live and move and have our being (Acts 17:28). In that place of union, I discover that the kingdom of God is truly within me (Luke 17:21) and I am “hidden with Christ in God” (Col. 3:3). 

Just as we cannot experience the fullness of the vine apart from the branches, so I know myself through Christ and I get to know the Divine through knowing my own heart. As my heart is transformed by the beauty of grace, when I look inward I see the face of my Beloved reflected in the mirror of my essence. When I look outward, I see the shimmering of God’s radiance all around me. 

I understand that this might seem as gibberish to you and that is okay. It is a reality that I tremble to share because I know that it will be unintelligible to many. Indeed, sometimes it is unintelligible to me! 

There is danger in looking at our own selves too much, but only when we are looking through the “carnal mind” or the rational methods of scientific inquiry. When we look through the mystical lens of love, there is great treasure to be discovered within ourselves. From the mystic’s standpoint, allowing ourselves to become conscious of the loving gaze of God known to us through experiential revelation and following the gaze of God to the object upon which it rests leads us to union. 

There will come a day when our minds will fail us, whether in small or great ways. And yet the discovery of union is not dependent upon our mental cognition but upon the orientation of our essence. If we fail to look within, to allow the loving gaze of God to reveal ourselves to ourselves, when we reach the point of our mind failing us, it will provoke great fear and a sense of separation. When we can no longer recite the facts that we know of God, we might feel as if we have lost the God that we knew, for we only knew Him in our minds. 

The revelation of Jesus as “The Word” (John 1:1) in the world is the greatest manifestation of mystical invitation to relationship that I know. Jesus did not come for us to know more about God, but rather so that we could know God. When Jesus walked the earth, most of his teaching seems designed to disrupt the notion of mental assent to truth as sufficient. It was not that the knowledge of God was bad (for it was necessary) but it was not the end point. The law merely served as a teacher to point the way to wholehearted encounter (Gal. 3). 

I do not seek to know myself as separate from God, but rather I seek to know myself in God, and to know God within me. I truly believe this is the pilgrimage of Love to which I am called and which sparks the greatest joy of my life.

While some take to stage life with vigor, I came trembling and with so much fear. A constant low-grade tension accompanied all my days, which I leveraged to shoot for perfection. Much like a tight-rope walker, I knew that one misstep could end it all. And I was praised as I kept up the role and even turned my missteps into ways to strengthen my character’s persona.

My role was shaped by public opinion, and I learned to scan my surroundings from childhood to see how I was supposed to perform. A sensitive amateur, I had a gift for intuiting implicit messaging and it served me well. I edited my character’s likes and dislikes through the mere glances of the critics. I learned the superpower of shrinking my large self to fit in very tight places and discovered that gave me much more access, even if it meant that not all of me could show up. I discovered how to selectively see what fit within the script and to let go of the rest.

Over time, I’ve developed amnesia in which I have equated my role in the stage play to who I am. It’s hard not to do that when that’s all I know. When it’s more convenient for everyone around me to interact with me as the character in the play that they are a part of. When the complexity of my humanity is not wanted. When it gets in the way of efficient image management.

Sidelined from the stage, I’m discovering that the persona I know isn’t really me. And it feels devastating to my ego. Dare I say that I don’t even know the contours of my own inner geography? I’m embarrassed to admit I’m sometimes repulsed by the creature that I am. That I like my character’s role more than who I really am.

I remember my grandmother going through dementia and the anguish on her face when her mind played mean tricks on her day after day. And yet sometimes, I feel that anguish too when I discover that what I thought was a feature of my true self is simply a line from a pre-written script. A trick of selective memory that edits out what is deemed “bad” so that I can be “good”.

My masks have been slipping lately and though I have exerted so much effort to keep the shiny outfit in place, it’s starting to vanish like a golden mirage. And I’m left naked. I feel vulnerable and weak. Uncertain if my persona will survive this exposure.

I’ve spent much of my energy over the past few months finding projects to busy myself so that I don’t have to sit in the quietness and view my unmasked self. I know that the primal panic that fuels this activity is real and yet the more I run, the more the pain comes back with a vengeance. I knew that I was being invited to return to my loving life rhythms as an intentional practice during Lent, but instead I often chose distraction. In the moments when I allow God to lead me towards seeing myself through God’s eyes through contemplative prayer, breath prayers, journalling, walking and sitting meditation, and examen prayers, I find that my capacity to love my off-stage self grows.

And yet, if I’m honest, I still don’t fully love myself. A product of capitalistic perpetual improvement culture, I fixate on what I wish were different more than what I love about myself. It’s messy and complicated to own both my shadow and my spotlight. My inner saint and my inner sinner. The paradox of longing for holiness and knowing the unholy parts of me. And I realize that I like the idea of who I am much more than I actually like myself (whoever I am). 

But it’s not all doom and gloom. I’m also experiencing freedom in ways I never knew before. For as I have less to lose, I have more to gain. I’m learning to look at my true self and my persona / ego with lovingkindness and compassion. I’m finding that God loves, even likes, my true self. 

Reading Falling Upward by Father Richard Rohr, I find comfort in the reminder that the journey to integration and holiness is precisely through the downward path of falling, failing, and missing the mark. It doesn’t compute with the stage script I’ve depended on, but it resonates with the Living Word within my heart. As I fall over and over and over again, I’m discovering the heights of ecstasy that I have longed for since eternity past.

I spin myself into a shell. Who knows why?

I hope that I can rest in peace, free from the vulnerable act of living, truly living.

For a while, I do. I rest. I pause. The world’s noises grow quiet. The shell provides me the space that I need to grow. Love weaves its silky threads around me, tenderly holding me in an Eternal embrace.

The exhaustion and danger of the jungle give way to a little cocoon, protected from the Pharisaical boot. As I settle into safety, my defenses drop and my own metamorphosis begins.

In the waiting, I can feel myself changing, even though I cannot yet see in what ways and towards what end the changes are leading. This changing is not something that is happening by my own striving, but it’s something that is occurring through my surrender.

I start to wonder if I can just stay in this little cocoon. If I am changing and growing here, surely more time here will only increase my growth?

But I know I can’t stay. There is a desire that refuses to be doused. Desire that draws me beyond the present darkness to the Light beyond. Desire that recounts to me my purpose. Desire that leads me towards intimate loving relationships.

The darkness envelopes now, suffocates even. Initially, I cry out but my voice echoes back to me, hot against my face. My fight to live kicks in and struggle against the web stretched tight against my skin. My instinct stretches and pushes outward and yet the shell feels impenetrable.

I wait. I release. I know that my journey into fullness will not come instantly. My journey outward is a recurring practice, painstaking labor, careful direction. It’s not a sprint but rather a ultrathon.

I pace myself. Success morphs from the euphoric to the mindful. My focus is upon attunement to the desire within me and the presence surrounding me, not simply upon the future glory that I imagine for myself.

My only call is to remain present to this moment. To feel the shell against my skin even as I see inwardly the brightness that breeds hope.

I inhale. I exhale. I smile.

I’m no longer a caterpillar.

I’m not yet a butterfly.

But I’m in the liminal space between and that is enough.

As I grew a little older, I heard consistent warnings from pulpits that the eyes of God see everything and nothing can be hidden from him. This was typically in the context of curbing behavior deemed inappropriate. I heard about Ananias and Sapphira who lied to the Holy Spirit and were struck dead. The thought of being killed for lying induced terror in my little impressionable brain. 

I had a very sensitive conscience and would often go to my Dad and confess when I had done something that I perceived to be wrong. I was always filled with fear at the thought of confessing, but I held even greater fear if I should hide what I had done. 

But as I got older, a paradox developed. On the one hand, I was told to speak the truth, but then I saw how that those who shared their realities were often ostracized, manipulated, or ignored if their reality didn’t fit “within the box”. One of my siblings in particular was full of inconvenient questions and I saw the condemnation and judgement he received which confirmed the reality that what I heard wasn’t actually what was meant. 

I heard that questions were welcomed, but I learned that safe and easily answered questions were welcomed. 

I heard that we were seekers of truth, but most people who sought truth outside of our church movement were labeled as deceived or compromisers. 

I heard that the most fundamental truth was that I was unconditionally loved, but I found that the degree to which I experienced that love was based upon my performance.

I heard that the most fundamental truth was that I was unconditionally loved, but I found that the degree to which I experienced that love was based upon my performance.

It all came to a head when I could no longer suppress or deny the reality that I was attracted to guys. It was such a great irony because the very person who tried very hard to be honest now had one massive secret with one massive problem. 

My massive problem? The very people who taught me to speak the truth would now rather me hide. I was to remain out of sight and out of mind— except I wasn’t to be sent away, I was to be silent. 

If no one knew, then they wouldn’t have to deal with an inconvenient question of how I could be both honest about my sexuality and also be a deeply devoted follower of Jesus. Some of the most scathing responses I’ve received since coming out have been from pastors and you want to know why? “Because now our young people are going to have questions.” One pastor went so far as to ask me to no longer call myself a Christian because it was “too confusing” for those in his church to comprehend.

Not only would they rather me hide, some would actually rather that I lie. They would rather me say that I am a heterosexual man who is “tempted by same-sex attraction” than to admit that I am gay. Instead of reading the dictionary definition or asking me what it means to be gay, they cling to their ill-informed stereotypes and social conditioning. Some would actually rather that I live with self-hatred and self-loathing than to accept the story of my life.

But I can’t point the finger too much at one group of people because the reality is that I do not like to face inconvenient truths. It’s a reason why I like to bunker down with my tribe. I always seem to have clear vision of what’s wrong with others, while ignoring my own prejudices. 

I believe that one of the primary reasons we are uncomfortable with inconvenient realities is that we tend to live in a state of fear. We often live with walled up exteriors to defend ourselves from the pain and danger of the world. We are constantly on the guard for what is coming around the corner.

The reality is that it’s very hard for defensive and fearful people to hold space for questions that challenge our perceptions. When we are living with a mindset that we are always being attacked and that we must always be on guard, then every shadow becomes a monster. Every unfamiliar story becomes dangerous. We draw our lines closer and closer, and build our walls higher and higher. But the reality is what we build to keep us safe becomes the chamber that eventually suffocates us. 

We draw our lines closer and closer, and build our walls higher and higher. But the reality is what we build to keep us safe becomes the chamber that eventually suffocates us. 

So how can we hold space for inconvenient questions? 

I believe that the way we are prepared to deal with inconvenient truths is when we fully believe that we are unconditionally loved. When I come before God and embrace my belovedness that is based upon His Goodness and not my performance, my heart starts to crack open. Defenses start to crumble because they simply cannot stand in the face of divine love. When I am at rest in the presence of Love, my outlook is transformed and I can offer that same unconditional love to others. 

They may not agree with me, but I can still love them. I can hold space for paradox and mystery when I am entranced with the mysterious and majestic love of God. I can look for the divine spark of love in everyone around me and find that God often shows up in the most unexpected places. 

I can hold space for paradox and mystery when I am entranced with the mysterious and majestic love of God.

When I was in the throes of coming to terms with my sexuality, I met Rachael through opening my home for a weekly Meetup for lonely people. I was a conservative Christian from the south, she was a liberal, cussing red-headed Bostonian who dabbled a bit in every religion. Yet, as one dinner turned into another and then another, we became family. When the church that nurtured me grew silent and distant, she showed up with chips and dip. We never agreed on much, but we loved each other as siblings. On Christmas Day 2019, she asked if she could pray before dinner and she prayed one of the most loving and special prayers that I’ve ever heard. She unexpectedly passed away a few weeks later, and I felt the loss deeply. As I handled her affairs and hosted her memorial service, I could see that God revealed his love to me through this person who was so different from me. 

If I were to have fostered a spirit of fear, I wouldn’t have opened my life to her. And I would have been the one to have missed out. Though she was nothing like me, I needed her in my life. My life was richer because she was a part of it. 

Brene Brown says that vulnerability is the birthplace of connection. If that is true, then holding space for inconvenient truths may be the most vulnerable and yet the most connective risk we can take. 

I don’t know if I believe that seven is the number of perfection, because this seventh year feels far from perfect. This morning as the anniversary draws near, I let my mind drift back as I watch the video I put together for her funeral.

I remember as just a preschooler when Mom shared with us about an experience that she had in which she was filled with God’s love. Every day she would pray that God would continually fill her with His Love for her husband, kids, and everyone that she would come into contact with that day. In little and small ways, I got to see what love looks like in the face of Mom.

Love looks like getting up in the middle of the night to change the laundry from the washer to the dryer. 

Love looks like giving up reading novels so she could spend more time with me. 

Love sounds like a holler of excitement at each achievement or important milestone that I hit.

Love feels like soft arms holding and gently rocking me in a mauve La-z-boy. 

Love tastes like my favorite birthday dinner — beef chimichangas and all the fixings.

Love smells like grape juice mixed with barley green, which was sure to keep me healthy.

Love looks like choosing not to speak critically of anyone and apologizing if she slipped.

Love looks like her tear-filled eyes that stung more than any spanking when I disobeyed.

Love looks like deboning fried chicken because she knew that I didn’t like the bones.

Love looks like inviting me to walk around an RV park with her. 

Love feels like shaking with pain from a migraine in one moment and nursing a crying child in the next. 

Love looks like constantly coming with ideas so that all of her kids could have ways to earn money “for your futures”. 

Love looks like regularly budgeting my money with Mom’s help. 

Love looks like learning my favorites and ensuring that I had them for special occasions. 

Love looks like opening the mailbox as an adult to find a surprise gift card and “love note” from Mom.

The Scriptures say that in Christ, we are able to see what God’s love looks like. And perhaps that is good enough for most people, but I’m glad that I also was able to see what God’s love looks like through Mom. 

I love you bunches, Mom.

But alas. Those were the years that I was experiencing rapid growth spurts and after just a few months, those cool jeans weren’t so cool anymore because they were a bit too short. I tried to pull them down on my hips to make them a little longer, but capris weren’t in style yet and my mom wasn’t exactly a fan of low-riders. My ticket to teenage coolness had failed me. 

While my growth spurt days are years in the past now, this image came back to me recently as I was chatting with a friend. “I’m more in love with Jesus than I’ve ever been and yet the forms of faith that I’ve practiced no longer fit me.” When I shared that statement, my mind immediately went back to a dream that a dear friend had months earlier.

In the dream, she saw me standing in a Walmart. I was standing in front of clothes racks, picking out new clothes. She didn’t know fully what the dream meant but I began to pray about what it might mean. It wasn’t until this moment that it clicked. 

My faith no longer fits. Just like that pair of jeans that I outgrew, my faith was growing and the forms that once were sufficient no longer seemed expansive enough. What if the answer was not found in continuing to wear a faith that no longer fits, but to adopt a new style of faith? What if the restlessness that had begun to crescendo in my heart was an invitation to discover God in new ways? Am I willing to adopt a style of worship that is different from those that I know around me? Am I willing to accept a more spacious faith that has room for different forms of expression?

What if the invitation of a faith that no longer fits is towards discovering God, even if that means expanding the ways in which I relate to him? What if God might be using the angst that I feel to prepare me to embrace something new? What if faith wasn’t designed to retain the same forms for my whole life, but instead to be active and alive — always growing, changing, and morphing?

What if faith wasn’t designed to retain the same forms for my whole life, but instead to be active and alive — always growing, changing, and morphing?

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I grew up with a faith that was stable and secure. It was characterized by very clear teachings on what was right and wrong. There was very little room for ambiguity. We had an answer for everything, including the length of your pant’s hem. This certainty was comforting, until questions began to arise. 

It was then that I received contradictory messages. Explicitly I heard that you should always speak the truth and that questions were welcomed. But then I saw that when people shared their real questions, they were either shut up with a pithy quote; looked down upon; or outright rejected. I saw how people who were honest with their spiritual journeys were only celebrated as long as it fit within the box of what the church required. I saw how those who questioned were labeled as troublemakers and compromisers. 

As I began to encounter Christians in various cultures around the world, it began to challenge the legalism of my faith. I’ll never forget being in the Middle East and partaking of communion, only to be shocked that the grape juice had a certain zing to it. Yes, it was the first time I ever tasted wine. I thought any alcoholic beverage was off limits to Christians. I mean, we were taught that Jesus didn’t turn the water to actual wine, but rather to grape juice.

In graduate school, I studied the intersection of faith and culture across the world. It was even more challenging to the faith that I was raised in. Here were people who held many different styles of faith and yet all professed allegiance to Jesus. Along the way, as I began to journey with Christians from many different cultures and theological distinctions, I became convinced that my style of faith wasn’t the only one, but rather God was big enough for all cultures to encounter Jesus without having to become acculturated to my culture and preferences.

So I have to ask myself — am I holding onto the “cool” jeans of faith that once served me well, or am I open to accepting new ways of knowing God that fit the season that I am currently in? Am I submitted to God, even if it means being led out into a new way of knowing God?

Right now, silence and solitude fit more than loud worship sets and fiery preaching. I long for Communion, more than for church potluck dinners. Liturgy accompanies extemporaneous prayers. I delight in seeing Jesus not only in Scripture, but also in the faces of the marginalized. I enjoy experiencing the beauty of Jesus as I hike, run, or bike in nature. 

I have a sneaking suspicion that the life of faith that God invites me into might include changing the styles of how I interact with him from time to time. I just want to be more in love with Jesus than I am the style of how I worship Him. Even when it means giving up my ticket to coolness.

P.S. — If you’d like another take on this topic with more practical guidance, check out this article from Shauna Niequist.

What would it be like to have a forever home? This question was one that I would fantasize about as a child, while also feeling a bit ashamed because I was getting to live out the dream of many people. After all, I got to travel the USA in a fancy RV — going up North during the summer and to the South in the winter. Basically, I got to live a snowbird’s life while still having the vigor of youth.

Perhaps this is why ever since I moved out of my parent’s house to form my own home, I’ve always lived as if I would stay there forever. I hosted dinners; invested in my community; and formed traditions with friends who became family. I always longed for my home to be a space that could welcome in others. And even greater, why as I’ve grown in self-acceptance, that I’ve desired to be a safe and welcome person for people to feel at home with.

And yet, for one reason or another, home has remained a place that I visit instead of a place I reside. Sometimes those visits are extended and I begin to hope that this will be my forever home, only to find a stirring from within that leads me on. The longing for a forever home is perhaps one of the greatest aches of my heart. 

But to find that forever home, I must know what I am really looking for. Am I simply looking a house that I can purchase so that I have a physical space to reside in? Am I looking for a special person or special people to build a home with? Am I looking for something more?

While my forever home might include a house, it’s so much more than just the ideal house in the perfect environment. I’ve stayed in luxurious houses that were void of the intangible but very real feeling of home. And I’ve been able to stay in bucolic settings; vibrant cities; and convenient suburbia— and find glimpses of home in each one of them.

And my forever home cannot just be centered upon the people that I love — for my time with them will come to an end, whether at the end of the dinner, the holiday, the season, or their life. Not only that, but perhaps due to my transitory life, my biological and chosen family are scattered throughout 10 different states and even if I wanted to, it would be humanly impossible to build a life that is in close proximity to all of them at the same time. 

And so, I wonder, What if my forever home is not a place, or a person that I have to look for outside of myself, but rather it can be found way down deep within my soul? What if this striving, craning, and pining for home is a desire that can only be satisfied within myself, in the inner space where God resides?

Brene Brown, in her inspiring work, Braving the Wilderness, quotes Maya Angelou who says —

When I first read this quote a few years ago, I didn’t grasp it. I was convinced that if I worked hard enough, I could find a place to belong. And to a large degree, I have found that. Some of the most amazing human beings alive have chosen me as their own and I’ve chosen them as my own. And yet, there are some parts of my journey that they will never be able to fully understand. There are some places that they cannot go with me.

In this season of my life, I am exploring what it looks like to foster space within my soul for me and God to dwell. I look at the life of Jesus and how he returned to his home through silence and solitude — through fostering union with His Father. He who had no earthly home was able to be at home everywhere while also understanding that his forever home was beyond earth. I want that freedom that Maya Angelous speaks of — that Jesus lived — so that my forever home cannot be destroyed by calamity or strife, but is found in Christ and He in me. 

Perhaps my insatiable longing for a forever home is simply a seed of eternity that is planted within my soul. Perhaps my greatest ache keeps me alive to what is beyond this life. Perhaps I don’t have to search for a home. Perhaps I’m already at home. 

1. Relax into the presence of God

I have a confession…. I can’t swim. Learning to swim has been on my bucket list for a long time, but every time I try to learn to swim, I get panicked. I have to practice deep breathing and repeat reassuring thoughts. Every time a friend tries to help me learn to swim, they say that I need to relax in the water. I need to learn to float and trust the water to carry me. It makes logical sense and yet it feels ridiculous to my body. What? I don’t need to relax. I need to do something to keep myself afloat.

It’s not just in the water that I feel the need to strive; to perform; to be enough. I’m realizing that I have an addiction to perceived control. And one of the first principles of control is that I can’t just relax. I must stay on top of my game. I must juggle all the balls. I must spin all the plates. I must not just sustain; I must gain. For if I don’t, I might just realize that I’m not in control at all.

It is only as I slow down that I realize that I’ve lived so much of my life with a low-grade tension. A tension that stems from a desire to be safe; to be enough. A tension that is complicated by a need to please everyone. A tension that is evidenced in my body through increased heart rate; shoulder and neck pain, and headaches.

Jesus has been inviting me to lay it all down. To learn to relax into the presence of God. To bring nothing except for the fragmented pieces of myself; and to expect nothing except for His Sovereign Goodness. To truly trust that God is good and that he is big enough that I can simply rest. The invitation of Matthew 11:28-30 (MSG) has been a constant refrain for me over the past few months:

“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”

There are multiple modalities that embody how I’m attempting to live into this value.

Deep breathing. Simply becoming more conscious of my breath and seeking to invite Jesus to fill me as I breathe in the air that he gives me.

Contemplative prayer. Learning to sit in silence, instead of continually feeling a need to talk while in prayer.

The One Minute Pause. I learned this through John Eldredge’s book, Get Your Life Back. He encouraged me to stop throughout my day and take one minute to repeat a simple prayer — “God, I give everyone and everything to you.”

2. Detach from everything that is not Jesus

I’ve been drawn over the past few years towards the older practices of Christianity that I’ve not learned as much about within my faith tradition. One of those practices is detachment or surrender. It’s the practice of letting go. It’s the place of realization that I might enjoy a position, relationship, or possession, but that I can still be content without it. This has been such a hard and painful practice for me, because it’s revealed the multitude of attachments that I build to try to insulate myself from pain and rejection.

The strange thing that I discover is that it’s actually through detachment that I can actually enjoy what I am given because everything that I receive can be viewed as a gift. The look of love in a friend’s eye. The meal shared with my chosen family. The hug from my niece or nephew. The money to purchase new shoes. The taste of freshly roasted and brewed coffee. When my line of contentment is only Jesus, then my gratitude for everything else becomes greater.

Now, before you think that I’ve got this mastered, let me just tell you that I don’t. Most of the time, I feel like a baby taking a few toddling steps and falling flat on my face. But every time I fall down, I feel God’s gentle arms picking me back up and inviting me to try again.

3. Listen to Jesus

One of the practices that I am most grateful to see modeled in my parents was a deep prayer life. Most every morning, I would wake up to hear my Mom and/or Dad praying. But not only did they know how to pray fervently, they also knew how to listen to God. As I grow into myself, I learn more of how rare that is to find in this noisy world.

Far too often, I accuse God of not speaking, when the reality is that I haven’t created much space for him to talk to me. I want him to fit into my schedule — to distill his guidance in convenient ways that don’t interrupt my life, when he longs to overhaul my way of life and how I live the life that he has entrusted me with. I expect him to shout above the noise of my life, but that’s just not his way.

To be able to listen to Jesus, I’ve been trying to quiet the noise that swirls around and within me. I’ve been seeking out physically quiet spaces to spend time in with God. I’ve given up social media. I’ve tried to limit my time on electronics and prioritize other forms of communication and connection. As I try to do this, I’ve had to confront my addiction to noise and activity.

I realize how much I use noise to camouflage the brokenness of my heart. How I use activity to inflate my importance and protect myself from my own frailty. But the more that I turn off the noise, the more I hear the Voice of the One who calls me beloved. And it’s in that place of listening, that I experience the joy of true belonging.

These three markers of transformation are what I’m feebly attempting to focus my attention upon during this season. I see an invitation in the Gospels to a beautiful and whole life. Though I don’t know fully what it looks like for me to contextualize good news for this season of my life, I’m taking baby steps. And it all comes back to simply relaxing.

Detaching.

Listening.

Silence and Solitude are two of the spiritual disciplines that Jesus practiced and that have been instrumental in my own spiritual development during this time in my life.

The basic premise of the talk is that through silence and solitude, we are able to unveil our masks, revealing our true identity and God's true identity.

For me, when I say “Gospel”, I mean the Good News that Jesus came to bring to us. But this Gospel has only become good news to me over time. Yes, I believed the message as much as I could when I knelt as a little six-year-old kid and asked Jesus to be the Lord of my life. But much like lovers that grow old together, my relationship with the Gospel has grown to be better news to me as I have matured.

There are two underlying components to the Gospel that I had to grasp.

1. The Gospel says that “we are more loved…than we ever dared hope”. 

2. The Gospel says that “we are more sinful… than we ever dared believe”.¹

I had to believe in both premises for the Gospel to be good news to me. “More loved than I ever dared hope”² is only fully understood in contrast to the weight of sin that I bore. But my sinfulness alone produced deep despair and it was then that I had to experience the depth of unconditional love of the One that calls me Beloved.³

While both premises are equally true, there is a ranking of primacy, which I began to discover through my process of letting go.⁴ For most of my Christian existence, I had focused on the sinfulness of myself and others and had striven to “do better”, including doing those actions that would position me more in alignment with the Word of God. However, this focus led me to viewing God’s love through the lens of my sinfulness instead of viewing my sinfulness through the lens of His Love. 

Part of the Gospel becoming good news for me was formed as I began to grasp how God sees me. God does not see me through my sinfulness, but instead he sees me through Christ’s perfection. Theologically, I professed verbal agreement to that reality, but, practically, I didn’t live that way. I lived like I had to achieve perfection. Like I had to put myself together. True, I said that I was “growing in holiness” through Christ’s power, but there was a lot of human effort involved. 

The Gospel starts from a place of unconditional and unimaginable love. It’s God’s love that compels him to find a way to reconcile mankind back to himself.⁵ If you like love stories, this one is almost unimaginable. We find the consistent teaching throughout the Bible that God has unfailing “steadfast love” for humanity and that he desires a relationship with us.⁶

To tell you the truth though, for a long time, I couldn’t imagine God or other people wanting to be friends with me. Sure, I knew that people could want to be friends with who they thought I was and who I tried to be, but what if they knew the secrets that I buried deep inside? Surely, they wouldn’t be my friends then. It was this prison of fear and shame that the Gospel message cracked the lock off of and threw the door open for me. 

For this Gospel message to become “good news” for me, I had to let go. I had to let go of the hatred for myself that characterized my existence, because I couldn’t fully believe that God would love me if I couldn’t love me.

I couldn’t fully believe that God would love me if I couldn’t love me.

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It look a long time to believe, but through God’s grace, I realized that I was truly loved, unconditionally loved. Not loved if. Not loved but. Just loved. And slowly, as I began to see myself through that lens, I began to love myself.

Thomas Merton says it well: 

[We] must repudiate nothing that is our own, nothing that we have, nothing that we are. We must see and admit that it is all ours and that it is all good: good in its positive entity since it comes from God: good in our deficiency, since our helplessness, even our moral misery, our spiritual, attracts to us the mercy of God.

Thomas Merton, Thoughts in Solitude (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1956), p. 35

Now the other side of the coin is that the Gospel says that I am more sinful that I ever dared believe.⁷ This is a painful subject for me, because this premise has often been wielded like a giant sword to gouge those who didn’t line up with another’s standards of perfection. It’s been used as a barrier for me to realize my value and self-worth. That’s a shame. It denies the whole point of the Gospel. 

You see, the Gospel message is essentially one that declares that I am of infinite worth. The Gospel says that I could never rescue myself, and that God longed to have relationship with me, so he paid the highest price so that I could be restored to proper relationship with Him.

At this point, I must stop to define what I mean by sin. By sin, I mean willful turning away from God. I am thankful to be raised in the holiness Christian tradition, which emphasized the severity of sin and the need to follow Jesus in our everyday lives. However, every movement or denomination has weaknesses, and ours was that cultural norms, traditions, and political stances were often conflated and equated with “sin”.

Therefore, for a long time, I carried false guilt for aspects of my experience that were proclaimed to be sinful. I wasn’t receiving the grace that I needed because I was trying so hard to be the best Christian I could be. I was not the outwardly rebellious teenager—I was the self-righteous one. Want me to prove it? Read on…

• “Never wearing short sleeve shirts makes me more holy?” I’m in. 

• “Television is bad for me?” No problem, I won’t even watch sports at the restaurant. (Confession: I’m not a sports fan anyway so that wasn’t such a sacrifice!!)

• “Not wearing the color pink will make me more Christ-like?” Check. I got this.

• “Only listening to Southern Gospel music will make me more pure?” No problem, I won’t even listen to Jingle Bell Rock at Christmastime.

Now, before you laugh and think that I was crazy or that I am making light of the faith that I was raised in, I am not. I was blessed to be raised by parents that held the standards that they did because they loved Jesus and honestly wanted to please him above all else. I applaud that and seek to emulate that heart attitude in my own life. But the reality is that I professed faith in Christ alone through grace alone, but lived as if my works made me worthy of his love.

I professed faith in Christ alone through grace alone, but lived as if my works made me worthy of his love.

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Therefore, when I fell short of the impossibly high standard I had set for myself or accepted from others, I felt deep condemnation. I would emotionally “beat myself up” in an act of penance and then would come back and try harder. I had no trouble believing that I was broken, however, my actions demonstrated that I didn’t believe that I was utterly broken. That all I could do was try to cover up my weakness and brokenness with the cheap makeover of self-righteousness that ultimately started to fade. It was when I was able to pull off the sham of perfectionism that I was able to accept the gift of imperfection. Yes, I am broken, but much like a mosaic, my brokenness is not something that detracts from my value, but rather that accentuates it. 

I had to let go of trying to fix myself—of trying to fit into the mold of who I thought I had to be, and instead relax into the arms of Jesus who is continually transforming me through his power into who He wants me to be. It was this truth, this reality that provided me with the power to accept all of my experiences that once brought me shame. 

And that, my friend, is why the Gospel is good news to me.

1. Timothy Keller, The Meaning Of Marriage (New York: Penguin, 2013)

2.  Ibid.

3.  This terminology comes from Henri Nouwen, The Return of the Prodigal Son (New York: Convergent, 1992).

4. God’s kindness leads us to repentance (Rom. 2:4).

5. John 3:16

6. Exodus 15:13; Exodus 34:6-7; Psalm 33:5

7. Timothy Keller, The Meaning Of Marriage (New York: Penguin, 2013)

I was born into a pastor’s home in rural East Texas, where I was joined by 9 other siblings. My parents provided a loving and sheltered environment for me to flourish in, but from a young age, I let fear and shame dominate my story.

I was a sensitive child, and had a strong desire to do what was good and right. Fear of doing wrong became a theme that colored my activities and brought a seriousness to my personhood. I had a sensitive conscience, and distinctly remember the guilt and shame I felt when I would offend someone or go against what I was taught was right. I never wanted to be a bother to others. I encountered fear that I wouldn’t be good enough and that somehow, I would let God and others down.

I internalized a sense of responsibility for situations that were outside of my control. If there was a problem, I was taught to look first to see if I could have done something to cause that problem. I anticipated people’s expectations of me and sought to meet them. From a child, I appeared on stage in church with my family and carried the weight of my family’s reputation.

Then about 12 years old, a strange and confusing awakening started to happen– I was physically attracted to guys. My home-schooled, church-reared, Jesus-loving, adolescent self had no language to express what I was experiencing, but I instinctively felt shame. I didn’t dare to tell anyone, nor did it seem that those around me really wanted to know the reality that I experienced.

It wasn’t until my late teens that I began to develop language to express what I experienced. It was on a Christian ministry’s website when I saw the phrase “same-sex attraction”. As soon as I read it, I knew that’s what I experienced. But then I was only more confused because the article provided a list of reasons that might cause me to be attracted to guys. The article said that it could have been because of a lack of positive male role models; exposure to pornography; being sexually molested; or simply choosing this attraction. The only problem – none of these were true for me. An article that proposed to help me only furthered my confusion.

As my attraction to guys continued, I experienced a deep sense of condemnation that was only worsened by the harsh words, disgusted gestures, and ill-informed explanations of homosexuality that would occasionally be hurled from behind a pulpit or across a table. So, without intentionally setting out to do so, I hid from others—and even from myself. I tried every trick I knew to stop the thoughts that would come unbidden to my mind—I prayed; quoted Scripture; dug my fingernails into the palms of my hands; and looked away.

I focused on others. I attempted to relieve others pain, while only suppressing the pain in my own heart. I became legalistic and held myself to higher standards than most anyone around me. And for a while, I received the affirmation of feeling that I was pleasing both God and those around me.

But at the end of 2014, after the sudden break-up of my engagement to a woman and the death of my mother to cancer, all of my efforts to be perfect and do it all right seemed to disintegrate in front of my eyes. Depression. Sleepless nights. Tear-soaked pillows. I began to look inside my heart and as the shame, fear, and insecurity surfaced, and I found that I couldn’t fix it all, self-loathing began to mushroom within.

I had reached out to a few friends and shared a bit of what I was experiencing, but though meaning well, they really didn’t know what to do to help. By this point, I knew that I needed to see a counselor, but that brought a new level of shame. I was able to find a great Christian counselor that didn’t try to “fix me” but that rather helped me begin to open up. I started the journey of growing into a better understanding of myself and how God had created me to inhabit the world.

But my journey hit a new low in the fall of 2017, when in the midst of my self-hatred, I felt that life was no longer worth living. This scared me, because I never thought I would reach that place. But it was there that God met me with open arms and a promise—“my grace is sufficient for you” (2 Cor. 12:9).

My journey to a more whole place was gradual and slow, but reached a turning point when I went away for a personal retreat. On the bank of the Hudson River one winter afternoon, I finally let go of striving to change myself. I let go of believing the lies that fear and shame had been speaking over my life. I let go of the perfectionism that had dominated my life.

That being said, I still face fear. I still have to deal with shame. It’s not a once and done kind of transition to a new way of living. It’s a continual process. However, this journey has demonstrated to me that even in what I thought was so shameful there is actually good that is being worked.