One significant miracle for me was finding my way. Although I spent many months planning my route and daily miles, I was completely uninterested in reading the specific directions (“turn right at the large Oak tree”). I became completely overwhelmed with the minute details, so I decided to skip them and then wondered just how I was going to find my way across Spain. I kept reading other accounts of pilgrims and trusted that I would somehow find my way. It was unnerving to have this looming unknown for a place I had not seen and a place I did not know the language. To be going alone without specific directions, navigational skills and tools was a concern. I kept reading. Not knowing exactly what to expect (the terrain, the weather, the directions, the language, the accomodations, the food, the water, et cetera) was an opportunity to become paralyzed by fear. I kept reading. Learning and reading about all of the endless experiences of people before me who somehow made it (one from England who left home with only a hunk of cheese) gave me the courage to go. To them, I am eternally grateful.