As we journey through Lent towards the glory of Easter, all of us are in a season of spiritual pilgrimage. 

Pilgrimages may sound idealistic to our modern ears — who doesn’t hear about the Camino del Santiago and think it’s cool — but the reality is often messier and harder.

Historically, pilgrimages were trips taken by the faithful to holy sites associated with Christ, the Blessed Virgin Mary, or the saints. Often, people traveled to a pilgrimage site to ask God for a favor or to do penance. Pilgrimages were certainly not a vacation or a sightseeing trip. You were walking long, hard paths, facing the dangers of robbers, probably not eating particularly well, and immersing yourself in prayer. 

As I think about pilgrimage, I see parallels between my infertility journey and a pilgrimage that I took myself a long time ago. 

Right after college, two friends and I walked a famous pilgrimage route for a month. From the start, it was rough. 

The first full day of our trek was an entirely uphill hike into a mountain range. The trail was brutally steep, and it was freezing up in the mountains. By the time we reached our first hostel, my fingers were so frozen that I could barely sign my name in the guestbook. 

Things only got harder from there. One of my friends suffered from terrible shin splints. I caught a virus and had to trek while feeling very nauseous.

This was on top of the usual pilgrims’ inconveniences: long, monotonous days, uncomfortable hostel beds, cold showers, mediocre food.  

And yet, in the middle of it all, something truly amazing happened. God kept showing up to sustain us on our way. 

Each day, we had to hike a certain number of miles and hope that we would find a pilgrim hostel that wasn’t full. You couldn’t make reservations; it was first-come, first-served, and there were no guarantees of shelter each night. And yet, every day, we found a place that was safe and had everything we needed. We always had a bed. 

Early in the trip, we regretted not bringing playing cards to pass the time in the afternoons. But shortly after, the owner of a hostel told us he had extra packs of cards and offered us one. We accepted gratefully and ended up playing rummy almost every day of the trip. 

At one point, my friend was suffering from terrible blisters. Just as they were getting really bad, we met a fellow pilgrim who was a doctor. She helped my friend drain her blisters in a safe, sanitary way. 

A couple of weeks into the pilgrimage, my feet were so swollen that they didn’t fit into my hiking boots anymore. Every step felt like I was stepping on a bed of needles, and I could barely walk. I seriously considered giving up and flying back to the States.

But at that point, we were about to reach a city. When we did, I found a store that sold hiking sandals. I bought a pair and didn’t suffer any more swelling the rest of the trip. 

I could go on. The point is, we went into the pilgrimage with very little idea of what it would be like or all the things we would need. And every time it seemed like we were stuck or faced with an impossible problem, God came through for us and provided. 

I recognize that same providence as my husband and I walk the path of infertility. In many ways, infertility is like a very difficult, demanding pilgrimage. There’s a lot of self-denial, discomfort, and uncertainty involved. Sometimes the mountains seem just too high to cross. Sometimes you feel like you can’t go on anymore. And yet, God is walking with us every step of the way and providing the grace for each day. 

I’m still in the thick of infertility, and I don’t know what our future will look like. But already I’ve seen the ways that the Lord is working. He’s kept me going even on days that feel unbearable, whether it’s through the kind words and listening ear of a friend, the gentle love of my husband, the care of good doctors, or even the fun of our new puppy. Little by little, He’s leading us on the path to holiness, even though right now it’s painful. He is sustaining my husband and me. 

And He’s sustaining and caring for you, too. This pilgrimage that you’re walking is probably one of the hardest ones you’ll make in your life. There will be deep valleys, steep and rocky paths. Probably a lot of blisters and maybe even a sprained ankle or two. But these setbacks aren’t the end of your story. God knows the end of your story, and it is good. Turn to Him and ask Him to provide for everything you need, and He will come through. 

Written by an anonymous Springs in the Desert Contributor.