Pilgrims on the Journey: Cultivating Patience
Surely the Lord delights in lessons learned, but do you suppose He also delights in taking us on the journey of getting there? On holding our hand as we learn slowly, sometimes painstakingly? I’m counting on this being true, because this season of learning patience has been a slow one.
Many years ago, in an altogether different life, (read: before I birthed two children) my then-boyfriend-now-husband and I hiked the last leg of El Camino de Santiago in Spain. We joined my sister and her best friend, who had been on the walking pilgrimage for a month. I cannot help but laugh when I recall how haphazardly we prepared to meet her. It involved getting on a bus at the Santiago airport, riding it to an undetermined location (“we should probably get off here . . . seems right?”), walking to a cafe and… waiting.
We sat outside with café con leches and bocadillos and proceeded to, literally, watch every pilgrim walk by. We hoped beyond hope that we would see my sister and her friend walk by. For upwards of two hours we watched pilgrims with packs on their backs go by. Eventually, after becoming fully convinced they had walked past the spot before we ever arrived, Erica and Sylvie appeared.
The moment of recognition was like every movie where the cowboy on horseback turns from the hazy, wobbly figure on the far-off plains into the man-come-home, into the hero of the story. He dismounts his horse and embraces his love. They commune over a feast with all the townsfolk present, and the screen fades to black. Our reunion was clumsier, but it was certainly unforgettable. Years later, I suspect the Lord gave me that very literal exercise in patience so that I could recall it in times of spiritual drought, in times of worldwide suffering, in times of deep longing. Ah, to be so known. Continually I hear Him saying, keep your gaze fixed on Me.
We are pilgrims on the journey. This is a refrain my sister (now a religious sister; again, different life) and I use to fortify our spirits. The thing about being a pilgrim on El Camino is that while the vistas are gorgeous, your body is under immense physical strain. There is only one way through the trial of walking with a pack on your back, and it is to keep walking. The destination does arrive, at which point you can rest and repair. Pilgrimages are pretty obvious in their kinship with our journey to heaven.
But what happens when you’re living within a pandemic of an unknowable end? What about when your marriage and motherhood require more energy than you have to give? What about when the magnitude of crises in the United States and internationally mires us in overwhelm, or worse, apathy? What about when, as is currently the case for myself, you hear a call to move your family across the country, to create a new path, but you cannot see How or When? I believe the answer is the same. Patience. Discernment is slow, but it grows us. Patience sends down roots, and what grows above ground is virtue, is peace. And all along, Jesus is nourishing the soil of our efforts with the water of His generous love.
When we ask—and we will ask—how do I cultivate patience? I have little in the way of advice, except to return the invitation of a Truly Loving God when He says, keep your gaze fixed on Me. Rest and Knowing will arrive. Dear friends, we are pilgrims on the journey. Let us keep walking.
Meet Samantha Spigos
Samantha Spigos is a mother to two, a wife, a gardener, and a knitter. She is devoted to mornings, coffee any time of day, and praying the Divine Mercy Chaplet. Her goals are to knit everyone she loves a wool sweater, visit a salty body of water every year, and sainthood for her entire family. For occasional notes on everything herein, visit her at downhomeblog.com.