Deep in the Heart of Texas
Everything really is bigger in Texas. The sky. The hamburgers. And of course, the oversized tourist cowboy hats found in gas stations.
Sean Dietrich
The Iron Cross on the Camino
It was raining when we saw the big cross. In the distance. We’d been told about the cross. We knew it was near. Everyone on the trail had been talking about it.
Why Do I Write?
I’ve been writing professionally for upwards of a decade. And suddenly, I don’t know why I’m doing it. What’s wrong with me?
If You Have Time
If you have a chance today, pray for this magnificent young woman, Morgan. If you don’t believe in prayer, it’s okay. Pray anyway.
Letter to Myself
The voice is telling you to spend more time playing; less time working. More time praying, less time worrying. More time being silly; less time being a grown-up. “Have fun with your life,” the voice keeps saying, “while you still can.”
Flying Home
The first big difference I noticed in America was that we move very fast. Everything we do is fast. We want our food fast. We want our news fast. We drive fast. We pump gas fast. We stand before a microwave and shout, “HURRY UP!!!!”
No More Old Songs
I am in the lobby of my hotel, waking up. The coffee is lukewarm. The breakfast is freezer burnt. And the overhead music playing is “Highway to Hell.” You can’t get away from canned music. It’s everywhere.
Final Dispatch from the Camino
We entered Santiago de Compostela at 2:11 p.m. On foot. We’d been hiking since sunup. Our pace was slow. Our clothes, threadbare. I was muttering the 23rd Psalm—a kind of private meditation on the trail.
We Made It!!
Sean and his Bride have completed their epic trek. Stay tuned for more commentary after his legs get a rest.
Dispatches Del Camino (#32)
Some of the most powerful lessons we pilgrims have learned on this proverbial Chisholm Trail have not been about life, or the nature of the universe. Our lessons have been in relation to each other.
Dispatches Del Camino (#31)
Here are a few random things I have written in my journal throughout my time walking the Camino de Santiago.
UPDATED!! WATCH: Dispatches From El Camino (#30)
Sean is back on the Camino! Here is a short video from him. Please pray for him and his wife.
Dispatches Del Camino (#29)
I am standing at a bus stop in the unrelenting rain. Although to call this a “bus stop” is being generous. It’s just a highway guardrail. I am alone on this empty highway, waiting to catch a ride out of O Cebreiro.
Dispatches Del Camino (#28)
Somewhere in the distant mountains, my wife is hiking the Camino. I should be with her, but I am here with shin-splinted legs and swollen calves.
Dispatches Del Camino (#27)
My taxi arrived at Ponferrada after a long, twisty, pleasant ride through the mountains. And by “pleasant” I mean that only one of three taxi passengers actually vomited. I paid our driver, then found a nearby bush where I could double over.
Dispatches Del Camino (#26)
My wife and I parted in the lobby of the albergue. She was crying. It was a little-girl cry. The kind of crying you do when you don’t care who is watching you. She has never been self-conscious about her own emotions. Thank God nobody ever told this beautiful woman that it’s not dignified to cry in public.
Dispatches Del Camino (#26)
I bought this hat in my dad’s hometown, many years ago. It has always been my favorite hat. For years, it’s been my constant reminder of his beautiful and tragic life. Today, after walking 336 miles on the Camino de Santiago, I left it at the foot of a very big cross.
Dispatches Del Camino (#25)
My eyes first caught the sight of a rosary, lying on my nightstand. The rosary was given to me by a nun, a few villages back. The rosary bears a hieroglyphic-like symbol on it. I have no idea what this symbol means.
Dispatches Del Camino (# 24)
We limped into Rabanal Del Camino on three legs. I was holding Jamie for support as we ascended the inclined street into an isolated Spanish village with a population of 60 residents.
Dispatches Del Camino (#23)
Dear God, thank you for letting me happen upon this small church, so I might rest my anguished feet. This little church, alongside the Camino, somewhere in the far flung regions of rural Spain. A place where I can kneel and pray in solitude.