A highway will be there, a roadway, And it will be called the Highway of Holiness. The unclean will not travel on it, But it will be for the one who walks that way, And fools will not wander on it.
New American Standard Bible (Is 35:8).
HAPPY EASTER!
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“Blessed are those whose strength is in You, Whose hearts are set on pilgrimage.”
— Psalm 84:5
Last week, Anni and I were given a gift from God.
My daughter and I began a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela.
We left Deanna at the airport in Lisbon, took the train north to Valença, and walked a few kilometers to an old stone convent where our journey would begin.
It sounded like the beginning of a storybook.
Ancient roads. Quiet prayer. Long walks with God.
But for me, the pilgrimage began another way.
It began at rock bottom.
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Pilgrims can get a Camino Passport, and collect stamps along the way. Anni and I got our first stamps in Valença, Portugal.
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The Cold Room
The convent was old and freezing.
Our room was tiny, barely large enough for two bunk beds and a cot. Two young women from somewhere in Europe were already there, and they looked deeply unhappy with each other. Later that night, someone else slipped quietly into the last bed.
Then I got sick. Very sick.
Around midnight, I stumbled down the hallway and threw up the big meat supper we had enjoyed earlier. When I came back, the cold felt sharper than before.
The blankets were small and thin.
I could cover my feet or cover my shoulders. But not both.
I did not fall back asleep.
Sometime during those long hours, everything started spinning. It felt as if the stone walls were closing in. The ceiling seemed to disappear.
Questions slipped into my consciousness.
What am I doing here? What am I doing in Europe? Everything is cold. The buildings. The rooms. The stones. Do the people here even want You, Lord?
I was drowning in unfamiliarity.
Anni leads the way into the old stone convent where we spent our first night. We had no idea what to expect.
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A Memory from Another Rock Bottom
Later, as I reflected on the pilgrimage as a whole, I realized that this first night had stirred up an older memory.
Years ago, in 1983, I hit a very dark time in Carmacks, Yukon. I can still remember the hotel room and the crushing hopelessness of that season. Life had stopped making sense. I had come to the end of myself.
But that place, where everything seemed lost, became the place where God began rebuilding my life.
Step by step. Year by year. Slowly extending my borders.
I have seen it before, and I saw it again on this trip:
God often begins His deepest work when we reach the bottom.
That memory humbles me. It reminds me how dependent I am on grace, and how careful I should be before assuming I understand another person’s road.
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The First Day
At 5:30 in the morning, we ate a small breakfast: cereal and coffee for three euros in a cold convent room. The coffee came from a machine that ground the beans fresh for every cup. It was simple, and somehow it felt perfect.
Then we started walking.
Our first day was our biggest day: 35 kilometers.
We had never walked that far before, especially not with backpacks.
And yet the day was wonderful.
The sky cleared. The sun came out. We crossed old stone bridges and followed narrow paths through quiet villages.
Anni and I walked and talked. We laughed. We stopped for sandwiches and small cups of delicious Spanish coffee.
By the end of the day, we were exhausted and deeply satisfied.
It felt like a small picture of the abundant life.
Because the abundant life is not a life without hardship.
It is a life where joy and hardship travel together.
And through it all, the quiet discovery that God is with us on the road.
Anni had her own challenges too. Huge blisters on both feet. On the Camino, blisters somehow become a badge of honor. Pilgrims tell blister stories the way fishermen tell stories about the one that got away.
We do not all carry the same burdens. But God knows how to fit each road to each pilgrim.
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What Pilgrimage Teaches
One thing surprised me on this pilgrimage.
I thought I would have long stretches of time to memorize Scripture and meditate deeply.
Instead, the journey narrowed life down to something simpler.
The road. The pack. The person beside you. The next village. The next coffee.
That’s it.
And that simplification felt like grace.
Pilgrimage strips life down to what matters.
In that simplicity, I found myself returning to Psalm 15:
“Lord, who may dwell in Your sacred tent? Who may live on Your holy mountain?”
That is an intense question.
To live in God’s tent is to live close. No distance. No hiding. Life together.
And David’s answer is striking.
He does not talk about success. He does not talk about gifting. He does not talk about influence.
He talks about character.
Truthful speech. Integrity. Keeping promises. Honoring others. Refusing to use people for personal gain.
In other words:
The road to God’s presence runs straight through the way we treat people.
Many of us want closeness with God while still handling people carelessly. We want the comfort of His presence without the cost of integrity. But David will not let us split those things apart.
If we want to dwell with God, we must learn to walk truthfully, humbly, and cleanly with the people made in His image.
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The Shaking
Psalm 15 ends with a promise:
“Whoever does these things will never be shaken.”
That is a beautiful promise.
But the road there often includes shaking.
Sometimes God allows our worlds to tremble, not because He wants to destroy us, but because He wants to bring us near.
Pain has a way of exposing where our hearts have drifted.
It reminds us what matters. It loosens our grip on what we were trying to grasp. It brings us back to the simple truth David discovered:
“Apart from You, I have no good thing.”
(Psalm 16:2)
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The Perfect Place to Start
Looking back, that miserable night in the cold convent turned out to be a gift.
A magnificent gift.
The pilgrimage began at rock bottom.
And rock bottom may be the perfect place to start.
Because when you begin low, grace feels large.
When you begin weak, every step becomes mercy.
And when your illusions disappear, you are finally ready to receive the road as it comes.
Maybe some of you feel that way today.
Maybe the walls are closing in. Maybe the road ahead looks impossibly long. Maybe you are tired, disoriented, or carrying more than you expected.
Take heart.
God still meets pilgrims.
He still teaches us how to walk.
He still forms people who cannot easily be shaken.
So let us keep walking.
Step by step. Watching for Him. Trusting Him.
He is walking us home.
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For mile after mile, we walked through vineyards, orchards, birdsong, and blossoms—as if March in northern Spain had turned into a storybook.
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One of our last meals with Deanna before she returned to Canada for treatment. We are deeply grateful that she is now cancer-free and nearing the end of this long protocol.
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Prayer Requests
Please pray with us for:
Continued healing and strength for Deanna, who is now cancer-free and in the final stages of her 13-month treatment protocol
Wisdom as we discern what, if anything, God may have for us in Europe in the days ahead
Strength and encouragement for friends who are walking through difficult seasons
That our churches would grow steady, humble, and Spirit-led
For Anni, as God leads her forward in life
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Lord Jesus,
Teach us how to walk with You.
When the road feels long, When the night feels cold, When the walls feel close, Meet us again.
Strip away what is false.
Give us clean hearts and steady steps.
Make us truthful with our words, Gentle with people, And faithful in small things.
And bring us close enough to live in Your tent. Until the day our pilgrimage is complete.
