Grace on the Road

How does a one hour drive take all day? By taking time to enjoy the pleasant surprises along the way, living in the present moment and savoring all its goodness. So often I find myself on autopilot, mindlessly moving from one place or task to another, thinking of the next thing on the agenda, doing what is expected. But I miss so much this way! One way this pilgrimage is becoming a transformative time for me is that it is teaching me to rest in the present moment and enjoy the unexpected.

I did not expect to take so long to leave Santa Barbara this morning. But John wanted to drive up into the hills above Santa Barbara to relive a few childhood memories. We weren’t quite sure where we were going. We just went up…and up…and up some very curvy, very narrow roads. Santa Barbara seems to be bathed in fog in the morning hours. Today was a typical spring day. So the views we encountered, rather than being spectacular, were softened, as though we were living in a sort of fantasy world, almost ethereal.

Although the road we were traveling was quite solid, we couldn’t see far, and what we could see had a sort of hushed unreality about it. As we go through our days, what seems real? What is shrouded in mystery? What is hidden from our view that is perhaps even more real than what our senses can absorb? What surprises await us around each bend in the road?

One surprise that met us as we left Santa Barbara on our way to Solvang, CA was an ostrich farm. (!?!) We were just driving down the road and suddenly, without warning, right here in California, were ostriches! We pulled over to take pictures. But, once again, much was hidden from view because of some high netting surrounding much of the farm. I managed to find a break in the barrier and take a few photos. But it took some work and some patience. What are we willing to do to see what is not readily observable in our lives? Are there delightful surprises waiting if we will make the effort to look for them?

A quick study of my Roadtrippers app informed us of a slightly out of the way county park known as Nojoqui Falls. It promised a beautiful view after just an easy walk. We decided to check it out. The “easy” walk turned out to be mostly uphill, not a wise thing for me to attempt. So I turned back to wait in the car for John. And, on the way, I was surprised by an adorable curly haired four year old named Lee. He ran up out of nowhere, threw his arms around my legs, and informed me that his daddy didn’t want him to touch poison oak so he wanted to walk with me. Lee’s daddy, Jacob, was right behind him. The three of us enjoyed the stroll back to the cars, chatting about the park and the cars and parenting as interpreted by an eloquent four year old. How often, I wonder, do I wax eloquent about things about which I really know very little? How often do I think I see things clearly when, in reality, most of the facts are unknown to me, obscured from my awareness? How often does my Father smile indulgently and fondly at my childish interpretation of things? Do the saints, my elders in the faith, share His amusement?

Our first stop in Solvang was at Mission Santa Ynez. There is just something about these missions. They are like a world apart. Approaching them, one would never guess what is hidden behind their walls. I’ve visited a few now, and I have some idea of what to expect. The sense of hushed reverence in the chapel. The stillness of the gardens, usually with birdsong and a central fountain providing gentle background music.

But each mission is also unique. And I have loved them all. One of the hidden gifts of Mission Santa Ynez is a statue of Saint Francis and the Wolf of Gubbio. I’ve always loved this story from the life of Saint Francis that teaches the importance of listening to our enemies to learn why they have become our enemies in the first place. We are then much better positioned to make them our friends.

Solvang, CA is known as “The Danish Capital of America”. I didn’t really have time to learn much about the history of the town or why there is a Danish enclave in the middle of an area known for its Spanish influence. But it is a delightfully picturesque place of windmills and half-timbered buildings. Our fun surprise there was a wine tasting room tucked away off the beaten path where Sarah, our hostess, helped us pass a relaxing hour with some delicious wine.

We had a choice for the final leg of the trip to Santa Maria where we are spending the night. The highway would have been quick. But we decided to take back roads instead. And we are so glad we did! The views were incredible! We saw acre after acre of well maintained vineyards. We surprised several coveys of quail and watched them scurry across the road. Why do quail prefer to run when they can fly?

Suddenly we were out of the vineyards and into the flat country of the Santa Ynez Valley where vegetable farms are huge. The change was dramatic. I wasn’t quite ready for it, like so many other changes in my life.

I had read of a winery in Santa Maria that had inexpensive tastings and live entertainment on Friday evenings. What a delightful surprise this turned out to be! The hostess, Yvonne, was very generous with the wine. The host, Eli, was the owner’s son. And Gary, the owner, made a point of coming over to chat with us when he heard we were from Kentucky. (This winery is apparently very popular with the locals.) But the really fun surprise was the live entertainment, specifically the rhythm section. An elderly gentleman played the washboard with spoons to accompany his buddy on guitar! And they were excellent!

We spent most of our time today pretty far off the beaten path. We took a few roads just to see where they would go. And isn’t that really what a pilgrimage is all about? Last night’s chapter in The Soul of a Pilgrim by Christine Valters Paintner was about getting lost intentionally to see what we can learn. There’s something transformative that happens in the process of going down an unfamiliar path. Who knows where it will lead? Who knows how God will work? As Robert Frost so eloquently wrote:

“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.”

— Robert Frost

“Help me to journey beyond the familiar and into the unknown.
Give me the faith to leave old ways and break fresh ground with You.
Christ of the mysteries, I trust You to be stronger than each storm within me.
I will trust in the darkness and know that my times, even now, are in Your hand.
Tune my spirit to the music of heaven and make my obedience count for You.
Amen.”

—A prayer inspired by St. Brendan of Clonfert

This was the perfect prayer for me today. As most of you know, I don’t deal well with places that are remote or rugged. And today we had one goal: to visit Sequoia National Park. And so today was the most challenging day yet for me. I really wanted to do this because it meant so much to John. And he has been wonderful about taking me to cathedrals and missions and shrines. But I knew it would be very uncomfortable for me.

I also wanted to go into the park because I knew it would be uncomfortable. I am on a pilgrimage. I am seeking to be transformed by God. In order for this to happen, sometimes I need to go where things are not so comfortable. I need to jolt myself out of the way so that God can work. “The only way to widen our threshold of tolerance,” writes Christine Valters Paintner, “is to dance at its edges, explore uncomfortable places, and stay present. When we risk the unfamiliar, our resiliency grows and we become more capable of living life…Stability demands that we stay with difficult experiences and stay present to the discomfort they create in us.”

And so we went into the park. It took about two hours of driving time once we entered the park just to come out on the other side. There was no cell phone service, and the roads were steep and curvy with no guard rails. We climbed to well over 7,000 feet elevation, and I found it was sometimes a challenge to catch my breath.

I found that I was not nearly as nervous as I had anticipated, but I was still most definitely uncomfortable. John was reveling in the incredible views, and I was just trying to be a good sport.

About half way through the park, John wanted to stop and do the short hike to General Sherman, the largest tree in the park. Even on easy terrain, I would likely have chosen to wait in the car. But we were at 7,000 feet and the trail, though short, was steep. So John went, and I waited.

While he was gone, I was praying, wrestling with guilt over not being able to enjoy the astounding natural beauty the way he was. And then it was as though the Spirit whispered soothing words to my soul. There are different kinds of beauty, He seemed to say. For John, the beauty lay in the natural surroundings. For me, the beauty lay in being able to face some of my deepest fears and emerge whole.

Tonight I am celebrating quietly in our hotel room. It is so good to be alive in this world the Father has crafted! Lead me on Your path, O Lord!

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It is late as I write this evening, and I am very tired. I am afraid I may not be terribly coherent. But I don’t want to fall behind and lose the experience of the day.

We began the day with Mass at St. John’s Cathedral in Fresno. This beautiful church was sadly vandalized on Tuesday. But services went on as usual. Apparently some statuary and stained glass were damaged. But I could see no sign of the destruction.

Today was Divine Mercy Sunday, and Fr. David Lopez focused his homily on forgiveness. When we forgive, he said, we participate in the mercy of God coming to earth. We have the privilege of taking part in God’s extension of mercy to a broken world. I began to think about how difficult forgiveness is. Then it occurred to me that perhaps it is supposed to be hard. If it weren’t, would we be able to understand the depth of the forgiveness God extends to us and what it cost Him to bring restoration to our lives? If forgiveness were easy for us, would our only understanding be of cheap grace?

I am also deeply touched, as I travel from city to city and worship in different places, at the diversity of God’s people. I have been taught by priests from India, Thailand, Mexico, Africa, and the United States. I have worshiped in English, Spanish, and Thai. I have stood alongside believers of every age and color and been warmly received by all. What a joy to be part of this body!

After Mass, we had only one thing on our agenda. Yosemite National Park! I was a bit apprehensive after dealing with Sequoia National Park yesterday. But today was much easier for me, even though we ended up getting lost for a bit on a road we really weren’t supposed to be on. (Oops!)

Yosemite is spectacular, beginning to end. The park is especially known for its waterfalls and rock outcroppings. But everywhere one looks there is something amazing. The trees. The rivers. The hills coated with blankets of wildflowers. The meadows. Even the areas where there have been forest fires. We found our senses on overload. We wanted to stop and photograph everything, but that is, of course, impossible.

When I spent time looking at things through the camera, I realized I often missed the big picture. Undesirable elements can be easily cropped out of a photograph. A picture taken in a crowded parking lot can give the impression that there is no one around for miles. Isn’t that a lot like life? We’d like to hide what we don’t want to see or think about, but that doesn’t really give us the full picture. And then we don’t experience the fullness of life. I’m learning that this isn’t usually desirable in the long run.

Another lesson learned today is that when I always focus on the grand and majestic, I miss the delicately beautiful right under my nose. We need, of course, to appreciate and marvel at the gushing waterfalls with drops of hundreds of feet. But the God who created these is the same God who crafted tiny lichens and wildflowers and lizards and hummingbirds and the patterns of wood grain and pine cones and striations in rocks. All of these are equally marvelous, just on a different scale.

Do we do this in our daily lives? Are we drawn to the grand and showy at the expense of pondering the delicate and intricate? Do we value the visible, powerful people over the humble and unobtrusive? Is this the way of Christ? I think not. I hope I am learning.

“O Lord, how many are Your works!
In wisdom you have made them all;
The earth is full of Your possessions.”
—Psalm 104:24

Lead me on Your path, O Lord!