Most of the writing surrounding the walking of the Camino warns you that your journey home is really the beginning of the journey. That the weight of all you have lived and experienced on the road has yet to be understood. The experience comes first and then the meaning.

But as I walk this dusty trail, I hear God speaking into these places of fear. Showing me that I can let them go. And I find myself slowly lowering my defenses. Maybe this isn’t a battle at all. Maybe I can stop self-protecting. Maybe I can see that the deeper reality, the way things should be, is really the way things are. The giants really are merely windmills that I can stop “tilting after.”

Walking in this way feels like an accurate metaphor for life in general, if you ask me. Too often I’m looking for some divine message to be written in the stars or declared from the heavens, when in fact it appears in ways much more subtle. An arrow that might go unnoticed unless you are paying attention. Searching for the way. And knowing what to look for.

There is a pilgrim motto for the Camino. “My job today is to walk and be grateful.” And I am, so grateful. For each of you and the gift we’ve had of walking the road of life together. For the consolations of life, and the desolations as well. Knowing that, in this life, we never completely attain the fullness of life. But what we do is press on.

Finding myself at the midpoint of my own journey feels like an opportunity to consider the next twenty years. How is God continuing to shape me? Who does God desire me to be as a husband, father, pastor, a pilgrim? I love how Jesus welcomes us to travel with him on this narrow road and promises to shepherd us as we go. I am hoping to hear more of His voice and heart as I walk.

It humbles us. It should. But it also washes us clean. From all the ways we fail to love and forgive. All the times we respond in impatience and unkindness. This is our king. He has made the way. May we have the courage to follow.

This is the gentleness with which God sees us. His little lambs. His flighty birds. He calls the quivering Gideon his “mighty warrior.” He notices the immense generosity of the widow’s mite. He is not drawn to grandeur and posturing. Instead, He notices the small acts and beams with pride.

My first impulse is always to run to greener pastures. I jump at the opportunity to get out of the difficult work. But God, lovingly, closes the door. He gently bursts my bubble of hope. He insists that I remain in the real work.

In a world full of crisis and chaos, where too often I am drawn to what lies beyond my control, I was reminded of the simple presence that is always there and at work. The gentle whisper of God reminds us that we are loved, forgiven, made clean.

So often we are trying to come up with hope and positivity on our own, but it is never enough. It always falls short. There is simply too much that is wrong with this world. And our self-sufficient hope ultimately succumbs. But there is another kind of love. This kind of love isn’t overcome by adversity. It is a love whose source is not dependent on our limited reserves. It is a love that must simply be received from the one who has done the overcoming.

Thanksgiving is a chosen state of mind. Thanksgiving can acknowledge the brokenness of life but sets its heart on the greater realities of what is ahead. Of the city that awaits us. Of the beauty that compels us to live lives of meaning and sacrifice and generosity.

The impulse in me to defiantly lash back in retaliation masquerades itself in a host of rationalities and justifications. “I’ve been wronged!” “You have no right!” But, deep down, the subtext is more like “No one tells me what to do!”

This is the assignment we’ve been given. To reach a hand of blessing towards those from whom we’ve felt divided. To see the dignity in each heart instead of the distinctions. To extend a hand of blessing not with our meager love alone, but with a love that surpasses our comprehension.

Start catching yourself when you make assumptions. When you rush ahead of where the other is at. When you’re trying to make your point instead of trying to understand. Because your assumptions are most likely wrong, or at least incorrect. And when you continue to press further and further into your position without considering the heart and emotions of the other, it is doing much greater harm to both them and you. You have lost sight of the person behind the issue, and you’ve lost sight of yourself.

Thinking about the good doesn’t mean we bury our heads in the sand. We aren‘t to ignore the desolations. Solving problems, fixing mistakes, preparing for the winter, are all wise steps and necessary. But they are not the bread we consume to give us strength for the journey. The consolations are all around us, and savoring them can feel vulnerable. But that vulnerable place is where God draws closest to us. It is where our hearts are truly fed. And as we dwell on these things, God draws near. Paul tells us that as we do, “the God of peace will be with you.”

How we long for some stability. A fixed point. An anchor. Jesus tells us that such a place exists. But it isn’t what you’d guess. It isn’t some principle or proposition. It isn’t a promise or prophecy. It is found in putting our faith into action. In hearing God’s words and doing them. This is the firm foundation. This is the place that allows us to weather the storm.

To know and be known by the creator and designer. How each of us is “fearfully and wonderfully made.” Knowing and being known is the whole point. And it is so much more than data. It is knowledge of what you truly long for, even when it might look like it isn’t. We have a God who knows us better than we know ourselves. Who shapes a life for us that is there to push us, inspire us, and bring us joy.

This reality should do one thing and one thing only to our behavior. It should soften us. It should make us respond with empathy. With compassion. Because the feelings you’re experiencing today, be it anger, or frustration, or worry, or panic, whatever it is, are most likely underlaid with a deeper emotion of grief. And so is that of your neighbor. It is safe to assume. Regardless of their actions, the root cause of their behavior is probably more the result of pain and suffering than something more sinister or selfish.

This world is longing for forgiveness, desperately, in the depths of its being. Longing for this unimaginable grace. And we are the ones to give it. Those of us who have experienced this humbling cleansing must now cleanse. “As I have loved you, so you must love one another.”

It appears to me that we have three options…either we are serving our own kingdom, the world’s kingdom, or God’s kingdom. And while they aren’t mutually exclusive, the order here is the key. Which of these comes first? How we answer that will describe our behaviors, our values, and our overall state of mind.