Category: Spirituality

Spirituality, Travel, Writing

Sneak Peek: The Power of the Pause

Christine Eberle

This morning, I received a WhatsApp message from one of my pilgrim friends, who has returned to Spain with her husband and is spending a few days in Zaragoza. On Bette’s vacation, the city is a beautiful place to explore for a few days between San Sebastian and Barcelona. On my pilgrimage, it was the blessed oasis where Porter and I ground to a halt, nursing our blistered feet and his sudden fever.

A peek at the calendar revealed that I was in Zaragoza exactly two years ago this weekend. What more excuse do I need to share an excerpt of Finding God Along the Way with you? This is from Chapter 25, “Pausing.” It picks up in Tudela, after Fr. José doctored Porter’s and my disastrous feet, shook his head, and gave us directions to the train station.

Sunrise over the Basilica of Nuestra Señora del Pilar in Zaragoza

There’s an old tale in which Himalayan sherpas (or, in another version, African tribesmen) are hired by a group of American trekkers to transport their supplies. After a few days of walking fast and far, the locals sit down and refuse to move for several hours—waiting, it’s explained, for their souls to catch up with their bodies. Although I didn’t have the liberty of such on-the-spot refusal along the Camino, I did come to appreciate the power of the pause.

My longest was the three days I spent in the city of Zaragoza. On a Monday morning, Porter and I caught the train from Tudela, ensconced ourselves in a café so I could write for a while, then walked slowly to the Hotel Sauce. Doing our best to approach this wide-open day with wide-open spirits, we lingered wherever we saw something interesting. We stopped in a hardware store for a carabiner to secure the straps of Porter’s old suitcase and visited a department store—El Corte Inglés—to invest in new hiking socks. That brief stroll recalled us to ourselves, reminding us how much we enjoy exploring a new city. It also helped us see beyond our transitory struggles, anchoring us in the surpassing goodness of our life together.

Despite our having a free day on Tuesday, by Wednesday morning my feet were still awful, and Porter was feverish—felled by the slow-moving stomach virus that had been making its way through the group. We would have to linger in Zaragoza for one more day. Our hotel room had a bathtub with a broad ledge at one end, allowing me to indulge in two refreshing pastimes while Porter slept: soaking my feet and perusing the New Yorker magazine I’d optimistically chucked in my suitcase.

Late [the next] afternoon, I made a long, solo visit to the Basilica of Nuestra Señora del Pilar—Our Lady of the Pillar—whose origins were the stuff of legend. When St. James began evangelizing the Iberian peninsula in the first century, the story goes (preaching the Gospel “to the ends of the earth”), he almost despaired of bringing the Christian faith to that pagan land. One day, while he was deep in prayer along the banks of the Ebro River, the Blessed Mother appeared to him atop a rosy pillar, encouraging him not to forsake his mission.

Despite COVID restrictions, visitors still can touch a bit of the titular pillar.

Today, the cavernous interior of the Basilica houses an intimate chapel where a tiny Mary statue sits atop a pillar of pink jasper. Even though the Basilica felt cold and empty, the chapel was warm with the devotion of many visitors; I was lucky to witness a weekly ceremony where children receive a special blessing and get their picture taken with the statue. Pausing in prayer, I felt something shift in me; heading back to the hotel, I realized that I was walking much more easily. Like the apostle James in that same place almost two millennia ago, I felt a renewed hopefulness and a readiness to rejoin my friends on the road the next morning.

Though the three-day break in Zaragoza was a great blessing, pauses did not need to be long to be restorative. On our steepest climbs, when the grade was fierce, I allowed myself to stop for a few deep breaths every ten steps. Count to ten; stop and breathe. Count to ten; stop and breathe. In addition to getting much-needed oxygen to my lungs and leg muscles, this strategy kept hope in view. I knew that in seven . . . five . . . three more steps, I could take a brief, blissful pause, until the terrain grew merciful, and I could press on without stopping.

The most delightful pauses arrived unexpectedly. Occasionally, as we walked through the woods, a clearing would open and—voilà—a café where we could grab a quick cortado and use real restrooms. Fr. José never told us they were coming. This was consistent with his desire to keep us in the present moment, though I suspect he also relished being able offer us a pleasant surprise. Those periodic oases of rest lasted just long enough to refill my well of gratitude before starting out again.

Perhaps my insight here seems obvious. Take a break; do you really need me to tell you this? But maybe you do; maybe, like me, you tend to soldier on. Maybe you never take a sick day (or didn’t, until COVID made bringing your germs to work seem less heroic). Maybe you wouldn’t dream of closing your eyes for five minutes after lunch. Maybe you stare at the Sunday crossword puzzle long after your brain has stopped generating solutions, or routinely accept diminishing returns for your labor in exchange for the ego boost you get from thinking of yourself as a person who “never quits.”

So, in case you do need to hear it, I’ll say it again: There is power in the pause. Whether for a moment or an hour, a day or a week, a well-timed pause can reconnect us to ourselves, giving us fresh energy and perspective. More importantly, the pause can reconnect us to God—inventor of the Sabbath, after all—for whom accomplishment is never everything.

You know who knew this? Jesus. He routinely slipped away from a life of preaching and miracle-working to pause, pray, and recharge. “Come to me, all who labor and find life burdensome, and I will give you rest,” he said—not “and I’ll give you more to do!” Holy pausing is not about taking the easy way out or shirking our share of life’s burdens. It’s about acknowledging our utter dependence on God, who alone provides strength for the journey.

Cover image by Alexander Gresbek from Pixabay

A red cardinal in a tree in winter
Grief, Retreats, Spirituality, Writing

Paula D’Arcy

Christine Eberle

Part of the Thankful Thursday Series

“Wait, you know Paula D’Arcy?” I’ve loved Paula’s writing for decades; my Camino buddy Jane Lafave might as well have told me she’d been hanging out in Ann Patchett’s kitchen! Jane explained that she’d known the author for many years, since going on a pilgrimage she led to Notre Dame (Paris) as part of her grief ministry.

Paula D’Arcy

The ability to write or speak authentically about loss is hard earned, and Paula D’Arcy paid a terrible entrance price to the world of grief ministers. When she was a young mother, pregnant with her second child, her family was struck by a drunk driver. She awoke in the hospital, alone except for the child in her womb. Her beloved husband and twenty-one-month-old daughter were gone.

That she built a beautiful life in the wake of such tragedy is a testimony to the power of resurrection. I first encountered the story in her 2004 book Sacred Threshold: Crossing the Inner Barrier to a Deeper Love. When my mother died a few years later, I clung to D’Arcy’s next book, When People Grieve. It is full of sanity-saving wisdom and practical advice about the physical, mental, and emotional aftermath of a profound loss. I owe much of my patience with the slow course of grief to her gentle guidance.

D’Arcy’s devastating accident was almost fifty years ago. What defines her life now is not the tragedy, but her consequent commitment to helping others keep the doors of their hearts propped open, even in the midst of grief. She is the founder of the Red Bird Foundation, whose mission is to assist others in the transformation of pain and the restoration of hope.

What defines her life is not the tragedy, but her consequent commitment to helping others keep the doors of their hearts propped open . . .”

I am thrilled to announce that Paula soon will be offering a retreat via Zoom through the SSJ Center for Spirituality in Ocean Grove, NJ. Mark your calendars for Thursday, February 13 from 6-8 p.m. for “Beauty Beyond Loss: Finding Your Way Through the Mystery of Grief and Gratitude.” I just signed up; you can learn more and register here.

Knowing that pilgrimage has been a meaningful part of Paula D’Arcy’s life, I asked my friend Jane if she could reach out to her on my behalf. Paula read my manuscript, then swiftly responded with these lovely words: Finding God Along the Way is equal parts adventure and strong spiritual experience; I felt like I was being given a private retreat as I read along. In this beautifully written book, Eberle encourages readers to risk what it means to step into the unknown each day, putting the Camino experience within every person’s reach.

According to the Talmud, every blade of grass has an angel bending over it, whispering “Grow, grow, grow!” For every angel on earth who whispers hope into the hearts of grieving people, I am truly grateful.

Liturgy, Scripture, Spirituality, Writing

Imagining the Gospel: A Reflection on Mark 10

Christine Eberle

This is the longest lead-time I’ve ever had on an assignment.

At the August 2023 Ignatian Creators Summit, participants volunteered to write imaginative encounters with Gospel texts for the coming liturgical year; the 28th Sunday of Ordinary Time (October 13) fell to me. I began thinking about it immediately, and even posted a mid-point “work in progress” blog (including a homemade sonnet) when Mark 10:17-30 popped up as a daily Mass reading in May.

Here at last is the “final” product. (Scare quotes only because no wrestling with this challenging reading is ever the last word.)

Enjoy!

Imagining the Gospel: The Rich Man’s Question
Book Tour, Spirituality, Travel, Writing

Sneak Peek: How We Began

Christine Eberle

Today marks a big anniversary: On October 5, 2022, at a retreat house in Azpeitia, Spain, my band of pilgrims gathered for our first group meeting with Fr. José Iriberri, the Director of the Ignatian Camino. We had no idea what the next twenty-seven days (or three hundred miles) would hold. In honor of that anniversary, here’s a little excerpt from the beginning of Finding God Along the Way, coming in January from Paraclete Press. Enjoy!

On an October evening in 2022, fifteen pilgrims still trying to remember each other’s names shifted anxiously in a circle of hard plastic chairs, eyes trained on our fearless Jesuit guide. The fluorescent-lit conference room’s unadorned walls gave no hint that we were in the shadow of the tower house of Loyola—the long-envisioned starting point of our grand adventure.

The youngest of us was fifty-five, the oldest seventy-nine. We were ten women and five men, hailing from across the United States as well as Canada, Australia, and Malaysia. The group included couples, widows, singles, and married folks traveling solo. Some were old friends; others knew no one. Although many were part of the Ignatian Volunteer Corps, the rest were drawn simply by their love of Ignatian spirituality. Seventeen days and some two hundred miles later, ten more people would be joining us for the final hundred miles of our journey.

“Introduce yourself briefly and tell us why you’re here,” Fr. José began, “then name your biggest fear about the Camino.” The man knew how to get to a point. A less skilled facilitator might have started with an easier icebreaker, but Fr. José didn’t want us to skim the surface. He wanted us to practice going deep.

Our fears were surprisingly similar. Most of us were worried that we’d packed the wrong things, that our bodies were going to fail us, or that somehow we would fail ourselves by not engaging the experience properly. Betsy—a petite woman with an endearing Southern accent and perfect comic timing—put it best when she confessed to fearing “pilgrim envy.” Her husband, Charlie, was the Ignatian volunteer; what if she turned out to be a remedial pilgrim, not “holy” enough for the Camino to be effective? When more than one head nodded in recognition, Fr. José encouraged us to resist the temptation to compare ourselves to one another, assuring us that, while each person’s experience would be different, God would not be stingy with the divine gifts.

While each person’s experience would be different, God would not be stingy with the divine gifts.

As the meeting drew to a close, Fr. José paused and looked around the circle slowly, letting the anticipation grow, then leaned in and offered one more bit of inspiration. “Pilgrimage can change the world,” he said. “I really believe this. Now, let’s get ready for tomorrow.”

Spirituality, Writing

Jeff Crosby

Christine Eberle

Part of the Thankful Thursday Series

Beginnings are fascinating. Without Jeff Crosby’s introduction, I would not have found Paraclete Press. But the early threads of our connection could have been dropped without either of us noticing.

After Finding God in Ordinary Time came out in 2018, it was selected as a finalist for the Foreword Indies book awards. Jeff—who at the time was Publisher/CEO of InterVarsity Press—bought my book on the strength of its description in the magazine. Then he did two rare and wonderful things: he 1) wrote beautiful reviews on Amazon and Goodreads, and 2) dropped me a note to let me know. (Book lovers: embrace this practice!)

Jeff Crosby and the cover is his book

By the time Finding God Abiding entered the world in 2022, Jeff was serving as president and CEO of ECPA, a trade association of Christian publishers, and working on his own book, The Language of the Soul: Meeting God in the Longings of Our Hearts. I was honored to serve as one of his early readers, and included the book in my 2023 “Books I Love by People I Love.”

In that post, I wrote, “In this cozy book, Jeff explores the concept of saudade—a ‘vague and constant desire for something that does not and possibly cannot exist.’ He muses through ten longings, adding resources for further reading as well as a musical playlist to accompany each one. Gift this to any spiritually minded person who likes to read with pencil in hand.” (As a bonus: now you can download a beautiful, 32-page conversation guide and journal for Jeff’s book on the Broadleaf website.)

Jeff explores the concept of saudade—a ‘vague and constant desire for something that does not and possibly cannot exist.’

When I finished the first draft of Finding God Along the Way last year, Jeff was one of the first people I sent it to for thoughtful feedback, which he provided—then offered to help me find a publisher, should I need assistance. (Here’s where I should point out that Jeff and I have never met in person or even spoken on the phone.  Ours is an entirely epistolary friendship—so old fashioned!)

After several months of fruitless attempts to connect with publishers or agents, I turned to Jeff for advice. He sent me three ideas, of which Paraclete was clearly the strongest, but their website said they weren’t accepting unsolicited manuscripts. Jeff kindly shared my pitch with an editor friend on a Friday afternoon; by Monday morning, she’d asked to see the whole manuscript. Many editorial and marketing team meetings and a lot of discernment ensued, and now I’m part of the Paraclete Press family.  (As is Jeff, by the way; next year they are publishing his new book, World of Wonders: Reading as a Spiritual Discipline. I can’t wait to read it!)

Here’s Jeff’s kind endorsement: A three-cord strand of wonder awaits you in Finding God Along the Way, an inviting book that artfully weaves together Christine Marie Eberle’s pilgrimage along the Ignatian Camino in Spain with history of Ignatius of Loyola and the author’s own deep reflection on what she experienced and learned about herself—and her God—as she made her way. The scriptures she shares and the prompts for our own reflection as readers are icing on the cake. Whether or not you have shared the experience of pilgrimage, you will find much to savor in this book from one who has.

For our mutual delight in seeking just-the-right words to express the ineffable, I am truly grateful.

Scripture, Spirituality, Writing

Cameron Bellm

Christine Eberle

Part of the Thankful Thursday Series

I met Cameron in the summer of 2023 at my first Ignatian Creators Summit (a truly cool undertaking of the Jesuit Media Lab). I was a nervous newcomer, but she quickly put me at ease with her welcoming spirit, quirky sense of humor, and undergraduate major even less practical than my own: Russian Literature!

Cameron Bellm: Attention and Astonishment

In classic Ignatian fashion, Cameron describes herself as a contemplative in action. She’s a writer and speaker based in Seattle, where she and her husband are raising two cutie-pie little boys. In 2020, she had the internet version of fifteen-minutes-of-fame when her Prayer for a Pandemic went viral. (Just for fun, Google that and see how many places it was shared!) Here’s the beautiful original and a 2022 follow-up, which contains my favorite line: “Above all, as we gaze upon our frayed social fabric / may we who have spare threads set to weaving.”

As we gaze upon our frayed social fabric,
may we who have spare threads set to weaving.”

Formed by both Ignatian spirituality and Catholic Social Teaching, Cameron has written several devotionals over the years. She is now hard at work wrapping up the manuscript of a book that will be published by Eerdmans in 2025:  The Sacrament of Paying Attention: Contemplative Practices for Restoring Sacred Human Communion.  She publishes a short weekly missive on Substack called “Attention and Astonishment,” which always includes thought-provoking nuggets. (The title is a shout-out to a line from “Sometimes” by Mary Oliver):

Instructions for living a life:
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.

Indeed, Cameron’s attention to—and ability to be astonished by—both the big and little things in life is one of her many endearing / enduring qualities.

Here’s what she said about Finding God Along the Way:  “What a delight it is to journey along the Ignatian Camino with Christine Eberle as our wise and thoughtful guide! Scripture, story, and Ignatian principles are woven together in a meditative and inspiring guide not only for those making a literal pilgrimage, but for all of us who lace up our shoes each morning to walk through the holy and challenging terrain of our own lives.”

For people you can see once a year for forty-eight hours yet still rejoice like Elizabeth greeting Mary the next time you meet, I am truly grateful!

Spirituality, Writing

Elizabeth Grace Matthew

Christine Eberle

Part of the Thankful Thursday Series

“Great stories are all the same beneath the splendid array of differences that makes each one unique. The answers (whom to kill, whom to marry, how to cope) are specific to the place, the time, the characters, and the circumstances. But the questions (Who am I? What is my life about? What is my legacy?) that necessitate those answers are universal to the human condition.”

For years, I’ve been quoting this snippet from Elizabeth Grace Matthew during my retreat / keynote called “The Stories that Form Us”—explaining that I encountered it in an America magazine review of the Sex and the City reboot, of all things.  After encouraging people to brainstorm their favorite childhood books or current television series on streaming loops, I ask, “What questions—universal to the human condition—do they address?”

Elizabeth Grace Matthew

A few years ago, at a grade-school faculty retreat not far from my home, a teacher rushed up to me after the session. “Liz Matthew is a friend of mine! Do you want to meet her? I think you’d really like each other!”

It had never occurred to me that a writer I’d read in the Jesuit Review (note reverent tone) would be a mom who lived one town over from me—friendly and funny and fond of our local coffee shop. We met there and hit it off at once, chatting about writing and editing and creative-life balance, right to the outer limit of her childcare.

Several times since then, I’ve found myself sufficiently struck by the quality of writing in an America article to flip back to the beginning and see who wrote it, only to discover Liz’s name again.  (You can check out her articles here.) In addition to writing for many other publications, this mother of four boys is busy working on a book about Little Women and feminism. Sign me up!

It had never occurred to me that a writer I’d read in the Jesuit Review would be a mom who lived one town over from me—friendly and funny and fond of our local coffee shop.

While juggling all that, she made time to read my manuscript and had this to say:  “With humor and insight, Christine Eberle invites us to tag along from afar on her Ignatian Camino. At first glance, this is a book about how extraordinary circumstances super-charged one woman’s spiritual growth. Dig deeper, and it’s really about how ordinary life can also reveal our own opportunities to grow with God. Eberle gives us the context and the questions to better understand our own journeys, and where to look for those opportunities, through the evocative lens of Ignatian spirituality.”

For the serendipity that precedes the exclamation “How have we never met?” and the delight of discussing shared passions, I am truly thankful!

Spirituality, Travel, Writing

Katie (Haseltine) Mullin

Christine Eberle

Part of the Thankful Thursday Series

During my pilgrimage, one of the practices that sustained me was the Ignatian daily Examen. Even though Ignatius said the prayer should take no longer than fifteen minutes, on the Camino I sometimes devoted up to an hour, wringing every drop of grace from the previous day. Walking through the steps of gratitude, light, rumination, contrition, and hope each morning helped me view my experience through a spiritual lens instead of getting stuck on the physical level. Therefore, when it came time to seek endorsements, Katie (Haseltine) Mullin was at the top of my list of “ambitious asks.” I didn’t know her personally, but had loved her book, All The Things: A 30-Day Guide to Experiencing God’s Presence in the Prayer of Examen. 

Katie came to the Examen as an outsider—an evangelical Christian who found “breathing room” in a Protestant liturgical church where she began receiving spiritual direction, eventually becoming a spiritual director herself. This renders her writing direct and accessible. She’s not parroting insider terminology as someone who grew up in the Jesuit soup might do. Instead, she serves as a translator—a teacher of “Ignatian for Speakers of Other Spiritualities.” As she approaches the Examen from thirty different starting points, she is beautifully clear: this prayer is not a hurdle to be cleared or a set of boxes to be checked, but a golden opportunity to draw close to the God who loves us by rummaging backwards through our days together. Each chapter includes a personal, practical example of how using a particular angle of approach led her to notice something she might otherwise have missed, and thus to grow in friendship with God.

This prayer is not a hurdle to be cleared or a set of boxes to be checked, but a golden opportunity to draw close to the God who loves us by rummaging backwards through our days together.”

In addition to being a writer and spiritual director, Katie offers a variety of coaching services around both the Enneagram and self-care, all in the service of helping people live the lives they’ve been given with hope and purpose. She also works with the Center for the Formation of Justice and Peace. You can learn more about her many hats here on her website.

Katie had such lovely things to say about my book: “Christine Marie Eberle’s Finding God Along the Way felt like an unexpected, long catch up with your best friend on a Sunday afternoon. I found myself in tears as I read the beginning question, ‘Do you want to take a walk with me?’ and they came often as I read in the pages so many relatable struggles wrapped in countless encouraging words and prayers. As a lover of all things Ignatius, I imagined enjoying this book. Spiritual exercises? Yes, please. The Examen? Of course. What I didn’t count on was having my soul respond with such “serenity” (something the author herself found on the pilgrimage) to reading the familiar language and understanding of how I see God. I also I found myself challenged to pray for others on my daily walks with a deeper commitment and to notice the vulnerable in and around me. You don’t have to walk the Camino (though it remains my top bucket list item!) to go on a meaningful journey with Christine and her friends. St. Ignatius wrote in the First Principle, ‘All the things in this world are gifts from God,’ and Christine’s recollections and reflections on her pilgrimage were an incredible gift to me–one I will look back on and savor for its graces.”

As an unexpected grace, Katie and I decided that two women with a shared enthusiasm for the Examen, Ignatian spirituality, writing, and the Enneagram (we’re both Ones) might also enjoy one another.  At her initiative, we hopped on Zoom and shared a marvelous getting-to-know you hour and have stayed in touch ever since.

For the gifts of serendipitous friendship and mutual delights, I am truly grateful!

Blue Ridge Mountains
Book Tour, Service, Spirituality, Travel, Writing

Senator Tim Kaine

Christine Eberle

Part of the Thankful Thursday Series

Fresh out of college in the summer of ’87, I lived in community in Richmond, Virginia and served as a full-time volunteer at a house of hospitality for homeless people.  Our board chair was a sharp young civil rights attorney who was also a cantor in our parish.  I trusted Tim’s wisdom at board meetings and loved his voice singing “Taste and See” at Mass.  A few years later, he ran for Richmond City Council. I was glad to be home in Philadelphia by then, but sorry not to be able to vote for him.

Picture of a young Tim Kaine
Young civil rights lawyer Tim Kaine chaired the board of Freedom House in the late 80’s.

Tim continued to run for things and win elections: Mayor; Lieutenant Governor; Governor; Senator. After following his career from another commonwealth for almost thirty years, I finally got to pull a lever with his name on it in 2016:  Senator Tim Kaine for Vice President of the United States. Of course, we all know how that went. But for a few shining months, I got to dream of a world in which this Jesuit-educated champion of racial justice and housing equality could be a heartbeat away from the presidency.

After the election, Tim went right back to work. But he also decided to do something to re-ground himself (no pun intended). Over three summers, just after his 60th birthday, he hiked the Virginia portion of the Appalachian Trail, cycled through the Blue Ridge Mountains, and canoed the length of the James River: a quest totaling 1,228 miles. You can read his account of those journeys and the reflections they inspired in his new book, Walk, Ride, Paddle: A Life Outside. (Or better yet, get the audiobook and hear it in his own voice.)

An insight from early in the book has stayed with me.  After losing the election for national office, Tim realized that his political aspirations “didn’t need to go higher; they needed to go deeper.” Following his call, he realized, is not about climbing the next rung of an already tall ladder; it’s about making the most meaningful impact he can in however many years of public service he has left.  In a culture that always encourages us to pursue the next big thing, “higher vs. deeper” is a choice worth pondering.  What will be—in the words of St. Ignatius— “conducive to the greater service of God and the universal good”?  Hint: It might not come with a shiny new title.

In a culture that always encourages us to pursue the next big thing, “higher vs. deeper” is a choice worth pondering.

Still wondering if you want to read Tim’s book? Check out his interview with the National Catholic Reporter’s EARTHBEAT blog: “Sen. Tim Kaine on the Spirituality of Walking, Cycling, Paddling.”

On a series of plane trips this spring, Tim read the manuscript of Finding God Along the Way and shared these kind words: “As one so influenced throughout my life by Jesuit teachers and missionaries, I relished Christine’s account of her walk in the footsteps of Ignatius. A long hike provides space for meditation and epiphanies, and this book provides them on every page, together with the everyday challenges of blisters, variable weather and quirky but delightful international companions. Christine’s observations will illuminate your own walk—whether halfway around the world or in your own backyard.”

For Tim Kaine’s generosity in word and deed, I am truly thankful!

Spirituality, Travel

It’s the People. (And the Dogs)

Christine Eberle

Seventy-seven miles walked. Nine buses, six ferries, five trains, three flights, two subways, and one tram. What do I remember most from two weeks in Scotland and Ireland? The people. (And their dogs.)

Maybe my introverted self is just more inclined to talk with strangers abroad, or maybe the Scots/Irish are more naturally garrulous and convivial. Either way, on a trip in which gorgeous scenery was a given and meaningful time with pilgrim friends (Iona) and dear family (Omagh) an expected high point, many surprising human and canine encounters linger in my imagination.

Having arrived in Edinburgh at the time of the King’s Garden Party, Porter and I were treated to the sight of many ladies in fancy hats and men in full kilt regalia. At a pub for dinner that night, we struck up a conversation with an older couple at next table. They’d come all the way from the Orkney Islands to have tea at Holyrood Palace with Charles, Camilla, and eight thousand fellow Scots. They were absolutely radiant about the experience, but also about their home island—so far north that it was formerly owned by Norway! Despite the challenges of the man’s thick brogue, Porter and the husband quickly launched into a conversation about gardening, while his wife and I discussed the delights and difficulties of life in such a far-flung place. (I had an easier time, as she was striving to “speak more properly” in the capitol!)

In the port town of Oban, we had dinner in a pub with shared tables, where we met a young couple whose English bulldog, Bluebell, was doing a fine job of keeping the floor crumb-free. (Scotland, you had me at dogs-in-pubs!) Later in the meal, we chatted with a man named Ari who was riding his motorcycle to Ireland—from Finland. Crossing countries by bike and channels by ferry, he was following his bliss with precious little baggage. Though I’d been feeling pretty good about my streamlined packing (no giant suitcase for me this time), I felt a flurry of envy for the freedom he described.

Monty

On the isle of Iona, we took a boat to the tiny isle of Staffa to see nesting puffins and their pufflings. Cuter birds may not exist anywhere! But again, the highlight was a conversation I struck up with boat mates Gerry and Lynn, who were staying on the Isle of Mull with Monty, their three-year-old “flat haired double poodle” (the shaggy offspring of a cockapoo and a golden doodle). Though they’d done a lot of international traveling earlier in life, now they only want to go where they can take their dog. Consequently, they are getting to see some beautiful parts of their own country. (Thank goodness Monty likes boats!)

The next day, we bundled up and took a long walk to one of Iona’s beaches, sharing a picnic lunch while sitting on the damp sand with our backs against a warm rock. Walking back, we passed an English bulldog whose people looked familiar. “Bluebell?” Yes indeed–and her companions Andy and Sara, who were on a day trip from Oban. While we were marveling at running into each other again, approaching from the other direction came Monty, Gerry, and Lynn on a day trip from Mull. What were the odds that we’d simultaneously encounter two dogs whose names we knew—who were staying on two other islands? The magic of Iona knows no bounds!

Andrew and his “wee highland coo”

Leaving Iona for Glasgow, we took a quick ferry hop to Mull and then a 75-minute bus ride across its length on a (mostly) one lane road. Our bus driver, Andrew, entertained us the whole way, greeting people out the window, telling us their occupations and bits of their life stories. Passing his own house, he said “Look, there’s me wee dog—and ach, the gate is open!” Shouting at his phone (no hands off the wheel for him), he called his wife to alert her.

Glasgow was our last stop in Scotland. We arrived under the weather, less energized to navigate another new city. On our second night, walking through a quiet neighborhood on our way to an Indian restaurant, we were greeted by a lady wrangling trash cans outside an Episcopal church. Our American accents outed us at once, so she asked how our holiday was going. I mentioned how much we’d been enjoying the people, but confessed that she’d been the first in Glasgow to speak to us. “That’s terrible,” she exclaimed. “You should come in for a cup of tea!” Clearly, she meant it, and had we taken her up on the offer, I’m sure it would have been a fabulous conversation. Just minutes from our dinner reservation, we declined, but were comforted to know that, even in the big city, Scottish folks have open doors and open hearts.

Of course, it’s not just the Scots. Regional cultures vary, but people are people and warmth abounds. Catching a glimpse into the lives of some of God’s other children and discovering fond connections there is one of travel’s great gifts.

How to open myself to such delightful encounters when not protected by travel’s anonymity—now there’s a question. How to be one of those people for those I encounter back home is an even better one.

How might you open yourself to a delightful encounter today?

Puffins
Puffins on Staffa (photo courtesy of Charlie Eisenmann, who got closer)