Dear Melville Family,
Slow has never been my speed and intentional rest has always been a bit of a foreign concept. As I set out on my intermission, I was clear that intentional rest and renewal was a goal. What I didn’t know at the time was that in the process of letting go of my need to be productive at all times, I was going to have to learn to slow down and simplify. Easier said than done. Both require practice and discipline in the same way that other skills are learned and acquired.
Over 11 days this summer, Graham and I hiked over 240km through Portugal and Spain, ending at the burial place of St. James, Santiago de Compostela, Spain. We averaged 20km/day in 30 degree heat. While each day had its own unique challenges and joys, there was a rhythm to it: wake up early, walk until we find an open cafe (coffee, croissants, orange juice), walk while doing morning prayer and devotions, apply sunscreen, walk, if we happened to be in a town around noon we’d stop in for midday prayers otherwise would do those while walking too. Around 2pm we’d stop for a couple hours to hide from the heat, have lunch, dry our socks and just be still. Finally, we’d walk the rest of the way to our accommodations for the night where we had just enough energy to shower and sort out our clothing for the next day before curling up and doing absolutely nothing until the local restaurants opened for supper around 8pm.
I am accustomed to maintaining a very long to-do list in my head and when I’m at home, I’m always thinking several hours (or days) down the road, sorting out logistics and making contingency plans. One of the biggest gifts of the Camino is that I had no planning to do. We had decided to keep it simple, we wouldn’t carry food (so I had no meal planning or supply management to worry about), our accommodations were booked in advance (so I didn’t have to worry about whether there would be space when we got there), the six-hour time difference meant that the kids were sleeping for 90% of our walking day so there were no questions or contacts from or about them. Of course, it took me the better part of a week to really see it as a gift. The first few days I was constantly battling with my own brain, convinced that I had to somehow be productive while walking. It was exhausting and uncomfortable. By the third day I realized I was judging myself for my lack of “productivity” (never mind that we’d covered nearly 70km over the first 3 days). On the fourth day I committed myself to fending off that judgment (not easy) and each subsequent day it got easier to just “be”. Sometimes “just walking” is enough. By the time we’d finished what we’d set out to do, we’d already made plans to tackle another route in the future and I had come to really enjoy the simple discipline of putting one foot in front of the other and letting the rest of the day unfold as it will.
Coming home, I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting on just how slow those first few days felt, how uncomfortable it was, and then how much of a gift it became. I’ve tried to keep a more intentional rhythm in my days, to rush less and be present more. Heading into my intermission I had a list of things I assumed I would find time to get done around the house, only some of them got done. I imagined that we’d take a number of extra day-trips and visit people we didn’t usually have the time to see because they’re only available on weekends, that didn’t happen. Intentional slowness and rest inevitably means that you have to “do” less. But in doing less, I know that I received more. More rest, more renewal, more peace and more connection.
I know that this is going to look different as we move through the coming months but I’ve committed myself to more intentionality around the rhythm of each day so that instead of falling into the cycle of “doing” for the sake of “doing”, it might continue to be a discipline of following the One who orders our days, both our working and our resting, that both might be to His glory.
Psalm 42 was a constant refrain for me this summer:
As the deer pants for streams of water,
so my soul pants for you, my God.
2 My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.
When can I go and meet with God?
3 My tears have been my food
day and night,
while people say to me all day long,
“Where is your God?”
4 These things I remember
as I pour out my soul:
how I used to go to the house of God
under the protection of the Mighty One[d]
with shouts of joy and praise
among the festive throng.
5 Why, my soul, are you downcast?
Why so disturbed within me?
Put your hope in God,
for I will yet praise him,
my Savior and my God.
6 My soul is downcast within me;
therefore I will remember you
from the land of the Jordan,
the heights of Hermon—from Mount Mizar.
7 Deep calls to deep
in the roar of your waterfalls;
all your waves and breakers
have swept over me.
8 By day the Lord directs his love,
at night his song is with me—
a prayer to the God of my life.
9 I say to God my Rock,
“Why have you forgotten me?
Why must I go about mourning,
oppressed by the enemy?”
10 My bones suffer mortal agony
as my foes taunt me,
saying to me all day long,
“Where is your God?”
11 Why, my soul, are you downcast?
Why so disturbed within me?
Put your hope in God,
for I will yet praise him,
my Savior and my God.
Grace and peace,
Rev. Bethany McCaffrey
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