I once walked across Spain. A defined walk, an ancient walk, a purposed walk. A difficult walk. A wonderful walk. A heartbreaking, enduring, peaceful walk where I can still hear the 'clack, clack' of pacer poles on what remained of Roman roads built over 2000 years earlier. It was early March and all of April in 2013 and I thought I'd do something big for my 50th year, but because I'm still weaning myself from a lifetime of co-dependency, I took my 10 year old daughter for company and to make me step up and be brave once I took the plunge into faith that would hit me when I landed in Europe.
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