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November 2024

Pilgrim’s Progress: Conquering the Alps One Step at a Time

Halfway to the Goal: The Ascent of the Alps Beckons

The Alps are 2 days away.

Tomorrow we will stay in an Abby. The day after in a small church parish. After that we start climbing. The first day is 12.2 miles and 800 (2600 feet) meters of climbing.

The second day is 7 miles and 1000 (3300 feet,) meters. The third day 4.5 miles and another 1000 meters. We go over the top on the third day.

 


I have been told that the hardest part of this pilgrimage is the long empty days through France’s fields and ghost towns. The 3 days of climbing are still hard, but the distances are short. 5 miles of climbing or 30 miles of fields and empty towns?

Still. Being honest here. I’m not easily intimidated. But approaching the Alps, I am a little bit. I think I can make it. Put one foot in front of the other enough times and eventually you can get anywhere. I’ve done it 1,161,619 times since I left the UK. I’ve covered abt 589 miles. With those numbers you’d think I am ready. And I am.

But, I’m also tired. We’ve been doing 18-21 miles/day consistently for days. We’ve not taken a day off. We did two short days (abt 10 miles each day for our days off.)


We’ve slept in 32 different rooms/beds. I’ve packed and unpacked my backpack more than 32 times because I always forget something and have it to do it again…and again.

Every day we have to find a place to stay. And we have to scavage for food. It is surprisingly hard to find places to shop for food in France. Thank God eclairs are rich in vitamins, too!

It’s rained abt 1 out of 3 days overall. We expect rain and thunder and lightning for the climbing days.
And. I’m not halfway done …. yet.

Cresting the Alps on Friday will bring us to abt the halfway point in distance, but not in time. June 20th is when that happens.

I’m good. I’m ready. I’m tired. I’m intimidated. But, I’m game.
Are the Alps looming or beckoning?
I don’t know.

900-Year-Old Churches and Fast-Talking Guides: A Unique Travel Experience

Sometimes I get bored.

We left at 6 am.

Stopped at a patisserie along the way.

Visited with an old man who let us into an old church – not sure which was older.

Covered 27km. (17+ miles)

Arrived at our destination at 1.

Had a great lunch with our host. Sausage. Pasta. Cheese. Bread. Cake.
Washed all my clothes.

Hung them out to dry.

Was guided through another 900-year-old church by another 900-year-old very nice person who couldn’t understand she needed to wait for me to push the button on my translator.

She talked like she was on fast-forward and I nodded like a bobblehead as I understood.
Took a nap – unplanned.

Booked another stay 2 nights out.
Sent requests for 3 and 4 nights out.

Wrote some emails, sent some updates, and called my wife.
Now it’s 548 pm.
Too early for bed.

Dinner is at 7.
What do I do for the next 4 hrs? 8+)

A Mountain View and a Glorious Voice: A Pilgrim’s Spiritual Awakening

All the churches in France were empty. All the churches in Italy are closed. I must find my own way to worship.

I was listening to Sandy Patty’s “We Shall Behold Him.” If you know Sandy Patty, you know she starts off slowly, gets warmed up, then takes off, and finishes over the top.

While I was walking I could hear her picking up steam. The recording was LIVE. The crowd started clapping and cheering. They, I knew something special was coming.

Just as she was giving it her all, I turned the corner and was overwhelmed by the mountain view in front of me.

Glorious voice, jaw dropping view. I got chills. I got emotional. Tears would have come down except the cold stopped them.

Our God is an awesome God. Someday we shall behold him and see the Maker of such marvelous sounds and views.

I worshipped the Creator of everything on that mountain.

Awe-Inspiring Views: Rediscovering My Purpose

Yesterday I wrote about the negative thoughts. Today that changed. Did you all pray for me or something?
I put on my headphones and was listening to John Denver’s wildlife concert.

I’m not a swearing guy, but if I were, I’d start here. It sounded differently. I could hear every instrument, background singer, and Denver. It was weird. It was as if my feet sprouted ears and thought,

“I’m doing my best but I will try to add a little spring to my step.” Then I looked around from the top of a hill over the countryside and to me it was awe inspiring. No tears. But I was moved, my innards swelled. And, I forgot I was supposed to be tired, and remembered why I decided to go on this walk.

We took a rest day today, by covering only 12 miles instead of our usual 18-ish. We did some shopping for some things we wished we had. (Ex. I need a longer charging cord for my phone.)

If any of you happen to be on Whatsapp, you can connect with me there at 408-712-3268.
I have a lot more pics, and maybe we can even chat.

It rained AFTER we got to our lodging!
Today was a good day. An excellent day! Thanks for your good wishes, and prayers, too.

A Day of Rest and Reflection: Worship Beyond Sundays

Sunday is not the day of worship.

Today we took a day off of sorts. We went on to the next town, but it was just 10-ish miles away. Easiest day so far.

I’d like to think we took off because it’s Sunday and we should go to one of the many churches we have seen that have nobody in them. Nope, it just happened to be Sunday and it worked out to be an easy day in our long list of daily jaunts.

But …

I was listening to Michael W Smith as I walked. He did a live concert and the song Agnus Dei came on. It’s from Revelation 4. Worthy is the Lamb. He is Holy.

I am not a raise your hands up and sing kind of Christian. Nor am I unashamed of my faith. I will share anywhere, to anyone, anytime.

Before I left the States, I committed to pray (among other things) for a group of girls in Chattisggarh, India who have no home. I ask God daily to give them a home. I am provided for daily as a pilgrim. I want them to be provided for.

Our Father. He’s my father and their father. Holy is your name. I begin my prayer. As I walked, MW Smith sang ‘Worthy is the Lamb. You are holy.’ Suddenly the wind picked up, I looked up and raised my arms up! I don’t know why. Or maybe I do know why.

The next thing I did was look around to see who might be watching me.

Sunday is not the day of worship. Every day is a day of worship.

Today was a good day, a short day, a restful day, a day full of worship as I continued my trek.

Thanks for being here. Your comments and emoji-fying are very encouraging to me.

 

At 70, Taking on More Than I Can Chew?

Things I think I think.
Several of you have asked me what I think about when I’m walking. Before I answer, I want to say ‘Thank you!’ to all of you who hit an emoji, or leave a comment or share a post (plz share!) It’s very encouraging. More than you might think.

I wish I could say I think deep thoughts, but the truth is I try a lot of the time to not think. No kidding. Being honest here.

When I think, I think ‘What am I doing here?’ or ‘ What was I thinking when I thought that I could do this?’ or ‘Have I lost my marbles?’ or ‘Am I going to hurt myself permanently?’


When I think. I think of reasons why I should NOT be here trying to complete this walk. Negative thoughts far out way positive thoughts. So I try not to think.

There are a lot of reasons I can think of to quit. There is usually only one reason to continue – because I told myself I would continue. When a negative thought comes to mind, when a legitimate negative thought comes to mind, I tell myself often, ‘I’ll think about that later, AFTER I finish what I’ve started here.’

I’m pretty sure I’m not making much sense here. But I understand myself … usually.

I’ve been asked to speak at a retreat for an English speaking Chinese church. I use some of my walking time to prepare for that.

I have Libby on my phone and can download tons of audiobooks. I listen to books when I walk.
I make sure I have a Bible verse each day to chew on.
I try to think of something for Wilby to do each day.

I’m also only 11 days in on this 80+ day journey. I do want to go deep. Before that I want to find my feet, the confidence that I can continue. I think I can. Being honest here. I’m still not sure that at 70 (in September), I may have finally bit off more, make that way more, than I can chew.

Lost in a Sea of Yellow: A Journey from Canterbury to Rome

Musing #1.
Yesterday I walked from Canterbury to Rome. 16.7 miles.
And I broke one promise. Not to be stupid.
I saw a broken sign that said Foot Path. I was on foot and I saw a path…behind a broken fence. I decided to go anyway.
I got lost. Like in a giant cornfield lost, except they were flowers. Yellow flowers literally for as far as I could see to the left in right and ahead. Going back was a non starter.
It took me more than an hour to find my way out and I was barely any farther along than when I went in.
By the time I got to Dover I was exhausted. Worse. I felt like I had bit off more than I could chew. I went to sleep demoralized.
I’ll be back for more tomorrow.

The Curse of the Fish with the Golden Eye 

In the quiet fishing village of Bethsaida, there was a legend passed down for generations. It was said that deep beneath the waters of the Sea of Galilee lived a fish with a single golden eye. But this was no ordinary fish—it was cursed, and whoever caught it would face a terrible fate. Yet, despite the warnings, the lure of the gold always kept fishermen looking for the strange fish. 

The Unlucky Catch 

One late afternoon, as the sun was setting low over the hills, a fisherman named Yohanan cast his nets into the sea. He had heard the tale many times as a boy but paid it no mind. Like many others, he thought the story was nothing more than a way to keep young, inexperienced fishermen from being careless on the water. 

As Yohanan hauled his net in, he noticed something strange. The net felt heavy, but the weight wasn’t right—there wasn’t the familiar thrashing of a large school of fish. Instead, it was as if something enormous but silent was caught in the net. When he finally pulled it up, there it was: a single, massive fish, almost the size of a child. Its scales were a dull gray, except for its left eye, which shimmered like gold in the fading sunlight. 

Yohanan’s heart raced. He had heard of this fish—the one with the golden eye. But the sight of it before him, so real and strange, filled him with both awe and fear. For a moment, he was tempted to throw it back, but the thought of the fortune he could make if he sold the golden eye was too much to resist. He grabbed his knife, carefully removed the gleaming eye, and tossed the fish back into the sea. The fish sank silently, and the water was still again. 

Yohanan wrapped the golden eye in cloth and hid it in his boat. He would take it to the market in Tiberias and sell it to the wealthiest merchant he could find. He imagined the riches it would bring—no more nights toiling under the stars, no more struggles with torn nets or poor catches. This eye would change his life forever. 

The Omen 

That night, Yohanan anchored his boat in a small inlet near his home and went to sleep, already dreaming of the wealth that awaited him. But just before dawn, he was woken by a strange noise—a low, rhythmic thumping against the side of his boat, like something heavy brushing against the hull. Half-asleep, he went to investigate, but there was nothing. The water was calm, the night air still. 

The next day, Yohanan returned to the water to fish. He noticed that his catch was meager, unusually so. Where there had once been abundant schools, now there were only a few sickly fish in his nets. Over the next week, things only got worse. His nets tore more frequently. The fish he caught were small, weak, or diseased, often unusable. His fellow fishermen began to notice his misfortune. “The golden eye,” they whispered when he wasn’t around. “It’s cursed. He’s angered the spirits of the lake.” 

But Yohanan refused to believe it. He thought it was just bad luck—until the dreams began. 

The Haunting 

Each night, Yohanan dreamt of the fish with the golden eye. In his dreams, the fish grew larger and larger until it was bigger than his boat, its single remaining eye staring at him with a deep, unblinking sadness. The fish would circle his boat in silence, drawing closer with every turn, its gray body ghostlike in the moonlit water. No matter how far he tried to sail in the dream, the fish was always there, swimming just beneath the surface, its golden eye missing, leaving an empty, dark socket. 

One night, the dream changed. The fish rose up from the water, massive and terrible, and whispered in a voice that sounded like the rushing wind on a stormy night: “Return what you have taken, or your line will die with you.” 

Yohanan woke, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding. He didn’t believe in curses—or at least, he didn’t want to. But the fish in the lake were disappearing. His family was growing hungry, and the other fishermen had started avoiding him, fearing that his bad luck would spread to them. Desperate, he went to the village elders, confessing what he had done. 

The elders were grim. They told Yohanan that the fish with the golden eye had been in the lake since the days of King Solomon. Some said it was a creation of the wise king himself, meant to guard the waters, while others believed it was a spirit of the lake, angered by those who disrespected its ancient power. Whatever it was, the message was clear: the balance had been broken, and unless it was restored, Yohanan’s line—and perhaps the entire village—would face ruin. 

The Reckoning 

Yohanan, filled with regret, took the golden eye from where he had hidden it and sailed out into the middle of the lake. The water was unnaturally still, and the air felt heavy. He whispered a prayer, asking forgiveness, and threw the golden eye into the depths where he had first caught the fish. 

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the water began to churn, and from the depths, Yohanan saw the shadow of the fish rise up beneath his boat. But it did not surface. Instead, it swam beneath him once more, its massive body brushing lightly against the bottom of his boat as it disappeared into the deep. 

Yohanan returned to shore, unsure if the curse had been lifted. But the next day, his nets were full again—more fish than he had seen in weeks. The curse had passed, but the village would never forget. And from that day forward, no fisherman ever again dared seek out the fish with the golden eye

 

A Day of Trials: Hunger, Rain, and Determination on the Trail

We got a late start and ended up walking the entire day sans food, till our host served us dinner at 7:45. PM.

Abt an hour away from our destination the temps dropped maybe 10 degrees, the skies opened and torrents of rain fell and I had no time to get out my rain gear. I was cold, wet, hungry and moving slowly.

I heard a voice from heaven. “Bill. Is that you? I thought you were Noah with that beard and all.” I wasn’t amused.


I’ve taken to letting the accommodations I find dictate how far I walk the next day. With the help of my hosts, I can largely but not always find smth in the FFVF booklet of accommodations.

Early on I’ve walked way too many days over 30, 40, even 50km. I’ve learned I can do that but I don’t want to anymore.

With the delayed opening of the Pass, I don’t want to get there too early, for sure. June 1 is the day the Alps usually open. Heavy snow and now the word is as late as June 15.

Stay the course. If it were easy, everyone would do it. I keep plugging.

Another 17-18 mile (25km) day today. But Google never gets it right and always underestimates the distance. Why not surprise me with ‘Hah. You got here sooner than you thought.” Never happens.

Mark 1:16 – 20: Jesus’ Call to Ordinary Fishermen, A Revolutionary Step

Here’s a combined insight from both perspectives that will truly engage your listeners and add a surprising depth to the story of Jesus calling His first disciples: 

“Jesus’ Call Was Radically Countercultural—Breaking All the Rules” 

In first-century Jewish tradition, it was customary for disciples to seek out rabbis, applying for the honor to follow them after proving their knowledge and righteousness. Jesus flipped this script completely. Instead of waiting for qualified, religiously educated individuals to approach Him, He went directly to ordinary fishermen and called them to follow Him—uneducated men, without theological training. This act would have been shocking at the time, breaking every established convention for how spiritual leaders chose their followers. Jesus was showing that God’s kingdom was open to all, even to those who society might deem unworthy. 

“Leaving Behind the Nets Was a Radical Economic and Social Sacrifice” 

What makes this moment even more astounding is the economic and social context. Peter, Andrew, James, and John were not just walking away from a casual day job; they were leaving behind a significant economic investment in a lucrative fishing trade, likely a family business passed down through generations. In their culture, family and community ties were everything. By walking away, they risked not only their economic security but also their standing in the community, possibly even facing shame from their families. Their immediate, radical response to Jesus underscores the extraordinary nature of His call and the profound trust these men placed in Him. 

“Fishing Wasn’t Just a Job—It Was an Oppressive, Roman-Controlled Industry” 

Fishing in the Sea of Galilee wasn’t just a humble trade; it was part of a larger economic system heavily regulated by the Roman Empire. Fishermen needed licenses, and their catch was taxed by Roman authorities, making them part of a network of economic exploitation. When Jesus called them to become “fishers of men,” He wasn’t just inviting them to a spiritual mission—He was offering them liberation from an oppressive system. This deeper context shows that Jesus’ call was not just a spiritual act but also a subversive, revolutionary step toward freedom from the imperial forces that controlled their lives. 

“The Phrase ‘Fishers of Men’ Was a Bold Prophetic Declaration” 

Lastly, the phrase “fishers of men” carries powerful prophetic resonance from the Old Testament. Prophets like Jeremiah and Ezekiel used the image of fishing to describe God’s judgment—where fishermen would gather those who had strayed from His path. But here, Jesus reinterprets this metaphor entirely. Instead of fishing for judgment, His disciples are called to fish for salvation—to rescue people from the waters of sin and chaos, bringing them into the kingdom of God. It’s a stunning reversal, transforming what was once a symbol of condemnation into a mission of redemption and restoration. 

By combining these points, you can offer listeners a profound “wow” moment. They will see that Jesus’ call was not only spiritually radical but socially and economically revolutionary, and that His invitation carried deep prophetic significance, turning judgment into grace. 

Old Fish Tales 

Fishermen’s Tales and Folklore 

Fishermen and Literacy 

  • Limited Literacy but Strong Oral Traditions: Contrary to popular belief, some fishermen may have been semi-literate, particularly those involved in the business side of fish selling or leasing fishing rights. The need to keep track of earnings, taxes, and debts likely required basic numeracy and possibly some literacy. However, much of their knowledge, including navigation techniques, fishing locations, and weather reading, would have been passed down orally through generations. This oral culture was rich with inherited wisdom, making formal education less necessary for survival but still valuable in certain contexts. 

The Tale of Shim’on and the Silver Eel 

In the small fishing village of Migdal, not far from the bustling lakeside town of Capernaum, lived a fisherman named Shim’on. He wasn’t a man of many words, but his skill with the nets was famous across the Sea of Galilee. If anyone could pull in a catch on a stormy day, it was Shim’on. 

But Shim’on had a secret, a story he never told anyone, and it involved a mysterious creature that no one believed existed—an enormous silver eel that swam the depths of the lake. The local fishermen often whispered about it over their cups of watered wine, each with their own version of the tale. Some said the eel was a spirit of the deep, cursed by the gods for challenging the winds. Others claimed it was a treasure-hoarding beast that collected coins from shipwrecks. Shim’on, however, knew better. 

The Legend of the Silver Eel 

One evening, many years earlier, Shim’on was out on the lake with his father. They had gone to check their traps late at night, the way they sometimes did when the moon was high and fish rose to the surface in silvery shoals. Suddenly, something large struck their boat. Shim’on’s father, a man weathered by years on the water, turned pale. “The Nehash haKesef,” he muttered—the Silver Eel. 

The great beast, said to be as long as five men and covered in scales that shimmered like molten silver, was rarely seen. According to legend, it had once been a mighty guardian spirit of the lake, punished by the gods for some forgotten misdeed. Now it haunted the deepest parts of the sea, angry and vengeful. Some believed it sank boats on stormy nights, pulling men down to their watery graves. Shim’on’s father, though brave, feared the monster. 

That night, as the boat rocked violently in the sudden squall, Shim’on and his father saw a shimmering figure beneath the waves. It was no ordinary fish but a massive eel, its body flashing silver in the moonlight. Shim’on had been frozen with fear, but his father, desperate, grabbed an old bronze dagger from their chest—an heirloom passed down through the family. With a prayer to the God of Israel, he thrust the blade into the water where the creature had struck the boat. 

The sea suddenly grew calm. The eel disappeared, but the boat was heavily damaged, and Shim’on and his father had to row for hours to get back to shore. His father never spoke of that night again, and Shim’on, though haunted by what he’d seen, took up his father’s profession after he passed away. 

A Twist of Fate 

Years later, Shim’on was an older man, and his reputation as a fisherman had grown. One evening, he was out with his apprentice when they noticed the water around their boat starting to churn violently. Shim’on’s heart raced. Could it be the Silver Eel again? 

Sure enough, the moonlight revealed a huge shape circling beneath the boat, its scales glinting like silver coins. But this time, something was different. The creature didn’t seem angry—it was moving slowly, almost as if it were weak. 

Summoning all his courage, Shim’on reached over the side of the boat, his apprentice too terrified to act. The eel surfaced slightly, its massive head breaking the surface. Shim’on saw something strange lodged in its side—his father’s old bronze dagger, now green with age but still there, embedded in the creature’s skin. The eel had carried the wound for years. 

A strange realization washed over Shim’on. The creature was dying, and in its death throes, it had come to the surface, drawn back to the place where it had first been wounded. Shim’on, in a moment of compassion, did something that shocked his apprentice: he pulled the dagger out. 

The great eel flinched but then lay still. Shim’on thought it was dead, but then, to his amazement, the eel gave a flick of its massive tail and dove back down into the depths, leaving a trail of silver bubbles behind it. The water around the boat shimmered, and as the eel disappeared into the deep, Shim’on’s nets suddenly became impossibly heavy. 

When he pulled them in, they were full to bursting with fish of every kind, more than he had ever caught in a single night. His apprentice, still shaking, whispered, “Was it a blessing?” 

Shim’on only smiled. Perhaps the old legends about the Silver Eel had been wrong. Maybe it wasn’t a cursed spirit, but something else entirely—a guardian of the lake, bestowing fortune on those who showed it mercy. 

From that night on, Shim’on’s fortunes changed. The other fishermen marveled at how he always seemed to know where the best catches were. They joked that he had made a deal with the spirit of the deep, but Shim’on never told them the truth. 

And every so often, late at night when the moon was full, Shim’on would gaze out over the water, looking for the shimmer of silver beneath the waves.