The rain on the plateau of Spain’s Meseta has left the pilgrim’s route a muddy runway cutting through the farm fields . The mud cakes to my shoes, building up on the soles and sides of my feet, adding weight to every step. Walking with my poles and my altered stride makes this feel more like a snow shoeing trek across a Midwestern plain rather than hiking across Spain’s Camino de Santiago.

Nine kilometers outside Castrojeriz, where the gravel road ends and the pavement begins, is a hospital – an original pilgrim’s hospice, built in the 12^th century, Ermita de San Nicolas.

I lean my poles against the doorway and enter into a time gone by.

Descending a couple of steps, my feet and my heart understand that I am walking where Pilgrims of old have walked for centuries. The hospitaleros would tend to the pilgrims here, both sick and injured. Now they provide Café con leche, baskets of fruit and shelter from the rain.

Pilgrims linger at a long wooden table, sharing food from their backpacks. At the end of the room are the remains of the sanctuary. Candles flicker on an altar, an icon of Mary watches over us.

A still, small voice inside me is shouting, “Stay with me.”

I depart anyway.

Crossing the bridge just down the road, that same voice is nagging at me, “Go back.”

I go through the list of why I shouldn’t. It’s cold. There is no electricity. I can’t stop for the day; it’s too early. I can’t get behind.

That voice is still nagging at me. I keep looking behind me. It makes no sense.

A few kilometers later I arrive at a bar and try to warm up with a Cola Coa (hot chocolate) when a pilgrim tells me that the hospital we were just at has a candle light dinner every night prepared by the hospitaleros. They provide wine and ask the pilgrims to share their stories of why they are on the Camino de Santiago de Compostela. Many pilgrims plan their trip so they can stop at the medieval hostel, which has only twelve beds. We had arrived early, so there was room for us.

That little voice just said, “I told you so.”

Outside a taxi is waiting, I get in. The pilgrims with me are laughing and ducking their heads to avoid being recognized as we pass those walking in ponchos trying, and failing, to stay dry. I then remembered how horrible I felt when I took the bus, and I knew I had just made my second mistake of the day.

It seems my rise to grace was momentary and my fall, swift.

That evening I felt like I wanted to quit. I made a mistake. I wanted to stop walking. Why am I doing this? I am freezing cold, soaked to the bone and miserable.

I check my email and my Facebook. Pope Francis has posted a message and I think it might be written just for me. “If you make a mistake you get up and go forward – this is the way! Those who do not walk in order not to err make a more serious mistake,” the Vatican post scolded me.

I walked the next morning along the river banks into Carrion de Los Condes. The parish church is Santa Maria del Camino – St Mary of the Way, and the hostel attached is run by Augustinians. The sisters welcomed us with hot tea and a smile.  Once the beds were filled the sisters turned to cutting out stars from paper which had been colored with crayons. They ask some of us to meet in the entry room at 5 p.m. We did.

Four nuns sat in the front of the entry room with instruments in hand and asked us to sing with them. We did.

As we began to sing from our song sheets you could hear footsteps descending the upstairs rooms; pilgrims passing by on the street stopped in the open doorway. The laundry room emptied out into the entry room and the kitchen door kept opening with curious pilgrims emerging from behind it.

Soon it was standing room only. The sisters asked us to share our names, what country we are from and why we are walking the Camino. We did.

Each pilgrim shared in his/her native language, but many needed no translation – the tears said it all.

In the end they reminded us that tomorrow’s walk was long and arduous and that singing while you walk would make it easier – don’t be embarrassed. Then they asked us to join them for mass. We did.

The church was full, Catholic and non-catholics a like. After the mass the priest asked us to come up for a blessing. He blessed each one of us individually, which was beautiful, but what was the most touching, everyone stayed until the very last pilgrim was blessed. The tears said it all.

The sisters gave us each a star that they had hand cut from colored paper. They asked us to carry it with us as a reminder that we are the light of Jesus on the Camino. We did.

We emerged from the church and saw this.

Grace.

Buen Camino. To be continued next week.