Here we are in Steven's Pass, elevation 4100 feet.

Snakes, good friends, miles, gallons of water, road, cops, rain, desert, car horns, granola, mountains, prayer. The past week has consisted of these and not much else.  Let me walk you through a simple day:

Rise at 6:00 to pack up my stuff an clean the RV.  At 6:50, run a final check and make sure that all the hatches are closed and locked.  At 7, drive the RV to the designated Church for daily Mass (That's right, I'm driving the RV.  Look out America!).  Mass at 8, followed by a quick breakfast and morning prayer with the whole group.  9:00, pack up the support van and leave for the last checkpoint.  9:30AM, begin walking.  We walk all day, praying rosaries and eating ham sammiches, until about 7PM, when we meet the RV for dinner and evening prayer.  By 8:30, the other group is in the van and on the way to walk throughout the night.  After the night shift leaves, we clean the RV, do the dishes, and hopefully get to bed by 11 at the latest.  Repeat.

This past week has been incredible.  Never in my life have I so intimately shared in the Passion of Christ.  There are several kinds of battle that we undergo.  First, we are physically taxed with walking.  I have walked up 3000 feet in elevation through the pouring rain; I already have blisters on top of blisters; I have never been more knowledgable of how to care for my feet.  When each step sends a burst of pain through my leg, I find myself meditating on the Passion more often than not, uniting my suffering to His infinitely more painful sacrifice of the body. 

Second, we are spiritually taxed.  I have never prayed more in my entire life than I do on this walk.  We say a rosary every 5 miles, sometimes sooner.  We go to Mass every day and pray morning and evening prayer in common.  And I have the chance to continually offer my suffering up for the conversion of souls with regards to life issues.  All this opportunity for prayer makes me a prime target for spiritual attack.  Your continued prayers are much appreciated. 

Third, we are emotionally attacked.  As we push forward, there are many who consider it necessary to inform us as to their opinion of our pilgrimage.  I have seen more middle fingers in the past week than I ever have in my life.  I have begun to share in the pain that Christ felt while on the road to Calvary.  There he was, offering his own body for the forgiveness of sins, and the very people for whom he was sacrificing rebuked and reviled him.  He was doing something good and holy, and they yelled at him and mocked him.  How must this have hurt his heart?  Now, I have begun to understand this pain. 

But no matter how many blisters, fingers, or raindrops come my way, I will not lose sight of my cross.  I will follow in the footsteps of Christ. He will be my guide, and he alone will give me hope. 

God bless, and thank you for reading!