Hello Friends,

It feels good to be sitting down to write again.

The last time I wrote in this space, I was preparing to leave on sabbatical to walk the Camino de Santiago in Spain on a pilgrimage. My backpack was spread across the guest room bed, packing cubes scattered everywhere, and my mind was busy trying to think of everything I might need for the Camino. I spent weeks, even months, preparing for that pilgrimage. Walking. Planning. Researching. Praying. Wondering.

Now I am home again. My backpack has been unpacked. The laundry is done. Life is slowly returning to its familiar rhythms. Yet I am discovering that some parts of the Camino are not content to stay in Spain. They have followed me home. A conversation, a lesson, an experience, and more memorable moments than I can count have become richer, deeper, and wider with reflection.

One of those lessons came back to me when I read today's question.

Today’s Question: “How do I get outside of my feelings so I can make wise decisions for myself and my children?”

LeAnne’s Response: Sister, thank you for asking this. I've been carrying your question around with me for several days now. Sitting down now to draft my response is bringing up all the feels! Questions involving our children tend to settle into my heart differently than other questions. I imagine yours didn't appear overnight. I suspect it was born through prayer, concern, responsibility, and perhaps a few sleepless nights. I hear the heart of a woman who wants to walk wisely and who understands that her choices matter. You love deeply and you are a mom who wants to make decisions that honor God while also caring well for the people entrusted to her.

As I sat with your question this week, I found myself thinking about something an experienced pilgrim said to me before I left for Spain.

Among all the advice about socks, rain gear, blisters, maps, guidebooks, and backpack weight, (every experienced pilgrim seemed to have an opinion about what was essential and what could be left behind), one comment has stayed with me more than any other. “LeAnne, Don't Pack Your Fears.” At the time, I smiled and nodded. It sounded clever. Memorable. Good Camino advice.

What I didn't realize then was how often I pack fears without even noticing. I pack fears about things that haven't happened yet. I pack fears about decisions I haven't made. I pack fears about people I love. I pack fears about what might happen if I move forward and fears about what might happen if I don't. How about you?

Somewhere along the way, fear disguises itself as preparation. It masquerades as responsibility. Sometimes it even sounds like wisdom. I wonder if that is part of the tension you are experiencing. Not because your feelings are wrong, or because your concern for your children is misplaced. But because fear has a way of becoming tangled up with both.

One of the things I learned on the Camino is that carrying weight changes how you walk. A backpack doesn't have to be enormous before you begin to feel its effects. A few extra pounds did not seem significant while I was standing in my bedroom packing. The pounds felt different after several hours of climbing hills under the Spanish sun, or in the hail, rain, wind and snow.

I carefully chose every item that went into my backpack, after all, I would be carrying whatever I packed for more than 500 miles. What I did not anticipate was how much time I would spend thinking about those choices once I was actually walking.

In the days before my departure, one of the things I found myself paying close attention to was the weather. Perhaps a little too close. Every few hours, I seemed to be checking another forecast. I wanted to know what was waiting for me on the other side of the ocean. One forecast caught my attention immediately. Not rain. Not just cool temperatures. The words SNOW and COLD. It was almost 100 degrees when I left Arizona for Spain!

My imagination went in many directions. I pictured cold nights in drafty hostels. I imagined myself unable to sleep because I was freezing. I wondered if blankets would be provided and if so, would they be free of bedbugs? YUCK! The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that I needed to bring an extra sleeping blanket. So I did.

The interesting thing is that bringing the blanket felt wise. It felt responsible. It felt like preparation. But was it?

I wonder if that is part of what makes decision-making so difficult for many women, just like you. Just like me. Especially when the wellbeing of our children is involved.

We rarely make decisions based solely on what is happening today. Instead, we find ourselves carrying fears about tomorrow.

We imagine outcomes and we rehearse conversations. We play out scenarios in our minds and try to predict how our children might be affected by the choices before us. Maybe you, like me, look down roads not yet traveled and attempt to determine where they will lead. If we are honest, many of us spend a great deal of energy trying to solve problems that do not yet exist.

Fear has a way of convincing us that if we think hard enough, prepare thoroughly enough, or worry long enough, we will eventually arrive at certainty. Yet certainty is rarely what life offers.

The Camino certainly didn't. There were several points during my pilgrimage when plans changed unexpectedly. Some changes were prompted by weather, or by circumstances. Some by wisdom I received from people who had walked the road before me. Many came through quiet nudges from the Lord that I could feel in my spirit but could not fully explain.

I rarely had complete certainty when I made those decisions. I wanted certainty. I prayed for certainty. I asked others to pray that for me! Instead, God offered guidance. There is a difference.

Certainty wanted to know how everything would turn out before taking the next step. Certainty wanted control.

Guidance offered enough light for the next step while leaving the future in God's hands. Guidance invited grace.

One of the earliest examples of this came in the Pyrenees. As many of you know, my original plan was to walk over the mountains. The weather forecasts were concerning. Pilgrims were talking. Warnings were being issued by the pilgrim office, and conditions were changing.

I had imagined that portion of the journey for months. Part of me wanted to push forward simply because it had been the plan. Wisdom required something different and invited me to pay attention to reality. I had expectations. Reality caused me to let those go.

I listened to trusted voices, gathered information, and considered the conditions in front of me. Then I made the best decision I could with the information available to me. I would not walk the entire Pyrenees. I would walk what I could. Truth be told, I was disappointed.

After a week abroad and a few days of walking my Camino France’, I let go of the dream to walk 100 percent of the Pyrenees mountains. A wise pilgrim and dear friend helped me see what I could not yet see for myself. The blanket wasn't the only thing I packed out of fear before leaving for Spain. The blanket simply made the fear visible.

The blanket that once felt necessary had become unnecessary weight. Letting it go along with some other items I packed “ just in case” was not nearly as difficult as carrying them had been.

I am so grateful for my wise others. My Camino moments taught me so many truths I continue to noodle on today. Feelings are important, but they are not the only source of information available to us.

Fear may alert us to something that needs our attention. Sadness may be helping us acknowledge a loss. Confusion invites us to slow down and gather more information. Even anxiety can be a signal that something deserves closer examination.

My friend, your feelings are not the enemy. They are often messengers. The challenge comes when we ask them to become prophets. Let’s roll with this thought for a minute or two…

A feeling says, “I am afraid.”

Fear says, “Something terrible is going to happen.”

A feeling says, “I am uncertain.”

Fear says, “You should not move until you know everything.”

A feeling says, “I am concerned about my children.”

Fear says, “If you make the wrong decision, you will ruin everything.”

Those are very different conversations.

I wonder if part of the invitation before you is not to “get outside” of your feelings, but to become curious about them. Let’s go there, together. Grab a pen and paper.

What are your feelings trying to tell you?

What information might they be carrying?

What fears have become tangled up with them?

What is actually true today?

As I continue unpacking my Camino, I return to a verse that brought me great comfort both on the way and since returning home.

“I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with My loving eye on you.” Psalm 32:8

Notice what God promises: He promises instruction, teaching, counsel, and His loving eyes upon us. He does not promise certainty. There is something deeply reassuring about that for me as a woman, a mother, a wife, a sister, and a daughter, and now a grandmother to 7 amazing humans.

There is one final piece to the blanket story.

After deciding it no longer belonged in my backpack, I shipped it ahead to Santiago. When I arrived weeks later, the blanket was waiting for me. Not long after, I saw a woman sitting alone on the street asking for help. I never learned her name or had a chance to hear her story, but I could see her need. It felt right to place the blanket in her hands. She received it with gratitude and a warm smile. I walked on, smiling too.

The blanket was never really the issue. Fear was. Fear convinced me I needed to carry something long after it had ceased being useful.

Perhaps that is part of the answer to your question, my friend.

Our feelings are not the enemy, but neither are they meant to carry the full weight of our decisions. They can inform us, alert us, and invite us to pay attention. Then, with God’s help, we can separate fear from wisdom and trust Him for the next step.

After all, what I wanted on the Camino was certainty. What God consistently offered me was guidance.

And it was enough.

Sister, God's loving eye is upon you. And His loving eye is upon your children too. He sees what you are carrying and all the decisions in front of you. He sees the fears that accompany your love for your children and He sees the road ahead far more clearly than you do.

Wisdom is not found in escaping or getting outside of our feelings, or in allowing them to drive our decisions. Wisdom is found in paying attention to what our feelings are telling us, bringing them honestly before God.

As I took my walk this morning, I looked up at the clouds and was instantly reminded that His eyes are on me. I am sharing this picture I took with you. It is such a delight to journey forward in community. Thank you.

Reflection Question: As I consider the decisions before me, am I seeking certainty, or am I learning to trust God's guidance for the next faithful step?