When we first arrived in Spain we were staying at a boutique hotel not far from the city center. Every morning we ordered a tortilla for breakfast. The tortillas in Spain are very different from tortillas in America. Their tortilla is similar to a fluffy omelette with onions and potatoes. It reminded me of Silvia and Florencio, our friends from Madrid, who had Mike and me over for a meal, where they served tortillas. I decided to contact them by texting their son in the US; he quickly responded with a phone number. After exchanging a few text messages with them, we arranged to meet over brunch the following morning.

Silvia and Florencio are the most cultured people I know. They are elegant and hospitable,  yet humble. Our brunch was at an upscale hotel in Madrid.  The last time we saw Silvia and Florencio was at a dinner in Irvine, California, about 5 years ago. I remember because I had a terrible cough and got one of those horrible coughing attacks after drinking iced tea. Silvia kindly suggested that I drink something hot to control the cough, and she was right.

At brunch we shared family pictures and caught up with our lives. Mike and  I have known this couple for many years. Their cookies were imported into the US, and Mike was their distributor. We appreciate our friendship with Silvia and Florencio, and I love to watch how skillfully they eat. Eating for them is an art, and I believe that is one of the reasons this country does not suffer from obesity. Eating is a form of relaxation.

Another observation about Madrid was the freshness of the food; nothing seems to be processed. They have very few fast foods, and you can forget about Starbuck’s because there is nothing that compares to Spain’s cafe con leche; each morning I had three cups.

After leaving Spain we visited Lourdes, France, and then on to Tuscany. We have frequented the same accommodations in a small village about 45 minutes outside of Florence. The Castello del Nero never disappoints, the setting is not only picture perfect, it’s celestial.

We visited Cortona, where the movie “Under the Tuscan Sun” was filmed. Cortona, like Assisi has beautiful, quaint villages that offer incredible experiences. Assisi is always one of my favorite places to visit. This is where St. Francis’s body is laid to rest. Helen and I walked the long distance to the church, said our prayers and left. It was getting dark and driving on unfamiliar roads is not safe for Californians; one wrong turn on the round-about can pose a big problem. Even with navigation, it’s still complicated.  We ventured into Florence, walking around one of the most aesthetically perfect cities in the world. I will always be in awe of it’s beauty and all that it has to offer.

In both Cortona and Assisi, many homes are adorned with small statues of the Madonna and child. These dwellings are more than just homes, because they are witnessing their religious beliefs for the world to see.

We returned to Madrid to once again meet with Silvia and Florencio. This time dinner was at La Gran Pulperia, specializing in tapas. Tapas are like ours appetizers, you get to sample a little of every thing the Spaniards eat. There are many stories about how tapas first originated, but my favorite is the one from one of the oldest restaurants in Spain, El Ventorrillo del Chato.  The story goes as follows: After a long voyage following one the the longest routes in Andalusia, King Fernando VII  arrived at the restaurant. He was served a glass of wine, covered with either a slice of bread or cheese to repel the bugs. The King knew why the wine was covered, but ate the slice anyway; then his entire court followed suit. After this event it is said that the King continued to ask for “tapas” with wine wherever he went. Some of our tapas included octopus – thank God I tried it for the first time a few days earlier. Octopus has the same texture as calamari but with no breading, because it is served with potatoes. It takes some time to get used to the rubbery coarseness. I cannot recall all the different types of tapas we ate that night, only that it was a memorable evening with wonderful friends.

The Vatican Visitor’s Office is located just a stones throw away from the Trevi Fountain. When we arrived we were greeted by Sister Maria. Sister Maria led us to the small office and handed me the four tickets for the audience with the Pope for the following day. Father Brad, a young priest from Michigan was hearing confession. This was a special blessing, because I had a lot of venial sins I needed to rid myself of.  As I walked in, Father Brad was sitting on an over stuffed blue brocade velvet chair. Father Brad motioned with his hand for me to sit down. The room looked more like a cozy living area than a confessional. I sat on a worn out faded green couch to the right of Father Brad.  I confessed my sins, and right when I thought all my sins were divulged, the Holy Spirit quicken my mind about my great disappointment toward the Pope.  As the holy priest closed his eyes, he articulated his words almost as if he was having mystical visions when he spoke. Father Brad’s kind, gentle words absolved me of my anger.

This confession was most important to help me continue the journey in peace. This peace made a great difference in my spirit as I was indifferent about seeing the Pope the following day. There was no excitement, but thanks to the confession, instead of enmity, my mood shifted to empathy.

My righteous anger was in check the morning of the audience. We left in plenty of time to secure good seats. I had all of my Holy items, plus water from Lourdes for the papal blessing. I told Helen to get ready with her iPhone so she could get a good shot of the Pope. I sat back and watched as others yelled with excitement, I thought how two years ago I was just as elated, rushing the crowd to get the best frame. Sadly not today, something was off, and as the Pope passed by, I held the button on my iPhone, taking several shots. I saw the Pope as a man, a regular man through great mercy. I overheard a conversation of two English-speaking women saying, “I feel different, don’t you? She asked her companion.” I too felt different but not like them, they were blessed, I felt sadness.

The message from the Pope was encouraging on this particular Wednesday. Pope Francis elaborated about the importance of marriage, and how to make love the focal point in a relationship. My heart was distracted, and as much as tried to follow, the Pope’s words were lost in translation, not because of the language, but because of heaviness I was feeling for our Church.

The other pilgrims were more gracious and as I concentrated on their excitement, and I wondered if one day this feeling would return.

I loved seeing young married couples dressed in their wedding attire, waiting to get a special blessing for the start of their sacramental union. This restored hope in my heart. Recalling words of wisdom that Father Brad shared, “The Holy Spirit will always be in charge of our Catholic Church and God will always be her protector not man.”

The following morning we visited St. Lawrence outside the walls. A young matted hair girl sat at the steps of the basilica with her frail hand extended for alms, both Mike and Larry obliged.

This basilica is simple, and yet beautiful. We stopped and prayed at the confessio where St. Lawrence, St. Steven and,  Justin are all buried. These saints were all martyred for their belief.

I recently discovered The Holy Cross in Jerusalem at our last visit to Rome. It is walking distance from St. John Lateran.  St. Helena, Contestine’s mother reverently brought treasures of relics from Jerusalem. You can feel the anointing as soon as you step into basilica. Wood from Jesus’s cross, a nail from the cross, St. Thomas’s finger, the sign written in three languages reading: “Jesus King of The Jews.” and a thorn from our Lord’s crown, are all preserved there.

We traveled along the Appian Way, the same route that The Apostle Paul took to reach Rome before his trial. We reached St. Sebastian Church, and walked through the damp, claustrophobic catacombs 30 feet underground making our way up the basilica. St. Sebastian was martyred during the persecution of the Christian and his body is also in this basilica.

On every trip that I’ve taken, there is always that person that takes charge, and knows exactly what to do. Almost as if our guardian angels are asked to step aside, these people take over. On this trip both Mike and Helen did all the work, they were the agents that knew all the right roads to take, how to use a credit card at the gas station, how to pay the tolls, and how to get to the right gates. Larry and I just watched in amazement, and smiled, reading each others minds saying, “Thank God I don’t have to do that!” Thank you Mike and Helen for your servanthood, we weary travelers appreciate all that you do.

When I left the Catholic Church for a season, I abandoned Mary and the Rosary as well. Converting to the Protestant faith, it was all Jesus or you were still considered sitting on the fence. I had no idea that I was in training for the apologetics of my Catholic roots.

As we walked through the Prado Museum and the glorious splendor of thousands of artist capturing “The Pieta” or “The Passion of Christ, Mary is always in the paintings.  The agony depicted by so many like “The Descent From The Cross” by Van  der Weyden, cannot deny her powerful presence, for she is always in her humble state, gentle Mary would never draw the attention away of her Son Jesus.

We leave beautiful Madrid for a short flight to Toulouse, France and drive two hours to Lourdes.

Last night’s procession in Lourdes brought me closer to Mary. The night skies were lit with an full moon shyly covered with a thin sheet of clouds, as the small village dims it’s lights at nine o’clock for the powerful phenomenon. Before the procession we made our way to the side of my favorite basilica where Bernadette Soubirous had her first encounter with “The Lady With The Rosary.”  From the first spring of water that St. Bernadette dug, my prayers came like a rushing wind of revelation. One person’s face led to another and another, I had images of persons that normally are not on my radar and prayed for their needs.

My heart was filled with joy experiencing the thousands of pilgrims who carried their candles through the village main square. The church’s pipe organ filled the crisp fall air with songs to our Lady of Lourdes. A tall statue of our Lady led the worshippers along the small town square, and just as she does today, Mary leads us to her only begotten Son Jesus. The Rosary was prayed in so many languages, and a French version of the song  Immaculate Mary elevated me to another spiritual realm. I prayed for those that have lost their way, and asked that through the intercession of Mary that they would be guided back. My heart was overwhelmed with the dark blemish of sin brought on by culpable priests, and I asked that all sin be exposed and that God’s heavy hand of judgement come down upon them. I prayed for all the victims to be healed of their mental afflictions.

How holy are you Lord to bring us to you through the love of your Mother. We need you more than ever.

If you follow my Blog, I have written about the two healings that both Mike and I have experienced in Lourdes. Mike’s knee was completely restored and after my diagnosis of Parkinson’s,  I too received a total healing during a pilgrimage with my lay ministry.

As Helen and I waited patiently for our turn in the baths. A French volunteer informed us that they would be closing the grotto at 11 and that it would not be  reopened until 2. It was 10:15 a.m. when we formed the line, so at the mercy of God we waited.

Just Like the lines in any the men’s restroom, both Mike and Larry were in and out of the baths in no time.  Helen and I had time to get our prayers in order before being dipped into the holy waters.

If we are Facebook friends, I prayed for you. With 3 hours of waiting, I pressed through with the intercession. For Silvia, a beautiful 24 year-old fighting for her life with cancer, for  Glenda, Carol, Guity, women from my ministry,  I prayed for your miracle healing. For Rose and Betty, our prayers went before the Lord for their restoration of health. For my family and extended family, I prayed for your special needs as well as those of my friends.

When it was time for our holy experience we were escorted into a space separated by blue and white striped canvas drapes. No time is wasted, as French volunteers help disrobe you. We are then quickly shrouded  into a navy blue cloak. Lastly, we are led into another section where three women help prepare you for the bath. As I made my way through another set of drapes , I felt the natural stone flooring cold water on my feet. As the drapes opened, I noticed two of the volunteers ringing a white sheet and then they quickly and tightly wrapped my freezing cold body into it. I took two steps into the frigid water and sat in it for a few seconds and said my prayers. The two ladies helped me out of the water, while the third volunteer wrapped me back into the original cloak. No towels for drying off, but a quick rush to getting me dressed. While I slipped on my turtleneck, my shoes and socks were put on by the same kind volunteer that helped disrobe me. By the time I waited the few minutes for Helen, my soaking body was completely dry.

Do not expect Lourdes to cater to your needs. The town closes at 3 and wakes up again 6. The population of Lourdes is 15,000 but they receive over 5 million pilgrims a year. The food is fresh and the service outstanding but it lacks in flavor. The bread is always the best, and in Lourdes man can eat by bread alone.

My toe, that has been my cross for the last three years, joined forces with the smaller toe to add to the agony of  my every step. My complaints fell on deaf ears, as no wanted to hear it any longer. Lourdes is a village on the foothills on the Pyrenees Mountains, so we are either going uphill or downhill, needless to say the town is a paradox, bringing me to both great joy and pain.

May the Good Lord Bless You!