Cory Trenda's Blog
February 7, 2026
The Ache in Our Hearts is Holy
This past week, I was the substitute music leader at my church. Before leaving town, the usual leader had asked me to include a new song (for us, at least) about compassion called “The Body of Love.” The song’s bridge says,
The ache in your heart is holy;
The ache in your heart is good.
The ache in your heart is the ache of being one with the body of love.
She could not have picked a more perfect song for how it feels to be a volunteer with F.A.I.T.H. as we “accompany” those going through immigration detention and deportation proceedings.
I owe a great debt to Latin American Catholic theologians who have articulated the spiritual concept of Accompaniment so beautifully (and to the San Diego Catholic diocese, which launched FAITH last Spring). I recently told some fellow volunteers that during my decades working for compassionate ministries, I always strove to practice accompaniment through “the ministry of presence.” But while I perhaps personally brought nothing but my presence to my encounters with those in need, always behind me—whether with World Vision or even my current church’s weekly hunger dinner—has been an entity that is also bringing tangible help. So my personal ‘accompaniment’ has always been hitched to a larger wagon.
But in this FAITH immigrant ministry, we “fix” nothing. Yes, sometimes we’ll point a person to resource sites they may not have known about. But generally, my presence, my compassionate listening, my prayers are all there is… There is nothing else on offer.
Tonight, I read a reflection from a fellow volunteer, and this portion really spelled it out:
When we accompany them in courtrooms, interviews, and supervision check-ins, injustice is no longer an abstract idea. It has a face. It has a name. And it breaks our hearts.
In these spaces, we may feel anger, grief, or deep helplessness. We may be moved to tears. Often, there is nothing we can do to change the outcome before us. All we can do is remain—accompanying, encouraging, and sometimes crying alongside those we walk with.
And yet, this is not nothing.
To hunger and thirst for justice is not simply to want things to be different; it is to allow the suffering of others to touch us, to disturb us, and to shape how we stand in the world.
If the many encouraging replies to my prior meditation spoke anything to me, respondents were saying, “This is not nothing.”
If the seemingly sincere gratitude from clients and their attorneys—and even occasionally from government employees—speak anything, they are saying “This is not nothing.”
Yet often enough, it feels like nothing. And this tells me that I still have more to learn about accompaniment. And about the ache of being one with the body of love.
But I know this: That ache in our hearts is holy.
Cory
February 2026
January 31, 2026
How Will We Be Judged?
While at the federal immigration courthouse in San Diego one day last week, I met several people who had just recently been released from ICE detention. Now they were back for a check-in while their cases are pending.
“Toni” in her early 20’s had been detained for eight weeks, arrested while showing up for her scheduled hearing. She was then shackled at the wrists, the ankles, and even at the waist, even though she was not resisting and not crying. In fact, she tried to comfort two other ‘girls’ who were weeping. Apparently, the federal government intentionally called hearings for a number of women in the same situation for the same day and detained each one at their hearing. They were placed in a van for several hours and then driven to Otay Mesa Detention Center, where they were put into “The Cooler,”…an unheated room, where they all had to sleep on the concrete floor with only a blanket given to each.
The next day, they were driven back downtown to be processed and had their phones taken away, then driven again to Otay Mesa. Around midnight, they were told to shower in cold water, then given blue jumpsuits stamped “DETAINEE,” and put into rooms of eight, where she stayed for the next eight weeks. I was very honored that she would tell me her story, as I had simply walked up to her and her Marine Corps husband and introduced myself as a FAITH volunteer and explained I was there to “be with” or accompany people like her and pray for them, which they much appreciated. When she told me about her arrest, she apologized for still being traumatized, and she showed me a bruise on her wrist still visible two months later and said she had more bruises on her ankles, but she also now wears an ankle monitor since she was released, pending her court date in May. In detention, she signed up for cleaning duty, not to earn the $1 payment but to keep active, though she said some other ‘girls’ just laid in bed all day, depressed and crying. She also played basketball for exercise, and she prayed.
She had come to this country as a child; her aunt had told her they were going on a camp-out but would have to hike to the place. The next she knew she was greeted by her parents who were already living in the USA. Due to some technicalities in her situation that I’ve now forgotten, she finds herself twenty-some years later—now a fully Americanized young woman—in removal hearings.
‘Marino’ was there with his sister ‘Maria’, who also appeared to be in her early 20’s. She had been detained for six weeks. She is a beautiful young woman with a gentle soul. She doesn’t speak much English (though she understands it fairly well), having traveled here legally in 2024 via the CPB1 app, before the government abruptly shut down the application process this year. She was finally released from detention because, though she had been given a two-year parole when the app was closed, she was detained anyway. Her attorney successfully argued this was an improper detention, so she was released and not required to wear a monitoring device on her body pending her court proceedings.
Her brother Marino confided to me, while Maria listened and stared off at the space between us, that the hardest part of detention for her was that after meeting with any visitor, she was forced to submit to a strip search, including a cavity search. This was required even if the detainee was having her menstrual period. He said once in particular she had felt very degraded by the experience and by the (female) staff, though she recognized that there were other times some staff seemed to try to act kindly as they did their job. He said (and I’ve since heard from others) that many women in detention refuse to see any visitors, especially during their menses, due to this practice, which makes them feel even more isolated and alone.
As I prayed for each person, whether a man or woman, I prayed for their healing from the trauma they had each experienced and the indignities they suffered. I sometimes prayed for forgiveness for jailers who treated them as anything other than a child of God. I asked that God somehow use this chapter in their lives for good and to draw them closer, and that in the future, they would be treated with dignity and respect, and that every legal option would be explored for allowing them to continue the lives they’ve built in this country.
According to the government’s own statistics through mid-October published this week, only about a third of the nearly 5000 federal ICE arrestees in San Diego County during 2025 have any criminal record or pending criminal charges. Nor did either of the young women I talked to, and both had been here legally, according to policies then in place which have been overturned in the past months. Now each has been treated in ways we would barely tolerate for the most hardened prison inmates.
In the world’s richest country, is this truly the best we can do?
My dear Janet once discovered that some of her forebears had owned a handful of slaves, and this discovery burdened her greatly with familial shame. I shudder to think how our future progeny will judge our acquiescence or even complicity in these practices. Even more, how will God judge each of us for allowing these things to continue?
Cory
January 2026
December 22, 2025
Experiencing Jesus in His Distressing Disguise
“Where have you felt closest to Jesus this week?” The spiritual reflection I heard today posed this question, which I initially dismissed as vague and “touchy-feely.” Then I remembered my volunteer duty on Thursday with FAITH, speaking and praying with immigrants called to the federal courthouse complex. It was a distressing day, as most of the immigration clients in the waiting room had been notified less than 24 hours earlier to appear the very next morning. That urgency seemed new and unsettling.
In the waiting area, I had numerous opportunities to speak with people and pray for them. Many seemed concerned that they might be detained that day, and some were almost resigned to being deported. A woman from Nigeria was worried about the car she’d parked nearby, having no one to move it if she were arrested. An asylum seeker from Mexico had been told previously that she could be given the choice only of being sent to Uganda or El Salvador. A tiny, aged Ethiopian mother fretted for her mentally unstable son who wasn’t reemerging after his check-in. Each one was worried; each one appreciated my prayer and concern; each one was hopeful that God would be with them.
Each one was taken into custody that very afternoon.
At the end of my shift, I was wrung out. I needed to decompress and be alone to pray and journal.
And yet, today my heart knew that this very place is where I had most clearly seen Jesus this week. To borrow from Mother Teresa, I had “seen Christ in his distressing disguise” of the immigrant, the stranger, the vulnerable, the afraid. By serving them in my feeble way, Jesus claims in Matthew chapter 25 that I was serving him! And that is indeed how it felt.
The next question posed today was “And what did you experience?” Pondering this was sobering. I had experienced pain. I’d experienced heaviness. I experienced empathy. I experienced something like power leaving me.
None of the above are pleasant feelings. And yet I felt nearest to Jesus this week in that same experience of emptying, of pouring out.
From a human standpoint, accompanying vulnerable immigrants like this feels powerless. I “fix” nothing. It’s almost a tacit admission of how little I can impact events. And yet, my fellow volunteers and I often receive effusive thanks for being willing to enter into another’s pain and anxiety, to provide an opportunity for spiritual grounding and a reminder that a loving God knows them, sees and cares. Praying with one person can also be a calming witness to anyone else in the waiting room who notices, to clients and attorneys, perhaps even to the ICE employees and contractors behind the mirrored glass.
One man was there with his aging mother (who has dementia). He told me afterwards that when he was called back for his ‘appointment’, there were six ICE agents ready to arrest and handcuff him. But, protesting that he is his mother’s sole caregiver, they eventually released him into her custody, albeit begrudgingly. Did our FAITH presence in that waiting room soften any hearts among the ICE staff?
I don’t know, but I do know that I felt closest to Jesus this week when I was serving our vulnerable immigrant neighbors. Before I came home, I’d signed up for my next shift, on Christmas Eve.
Cory
December 2025
November 8, 2025
A Ministry of Presence & Accompaniment
Today I witnessed a detention. As I waited outside for the dour security guard (a contractor) to let me into the building, a well-dressed Haitian family of 5 came into the line behind me, including baby Emmanuel. I told the husband I was a volunteer, pointed to my white F.A.I.T.H. button, and said that we pray for people if they’d like. His English was poor, but he thanked me and pointed upstairs, and we agreed we’d see each other up where immigration hearings happen.
When the court went into session, little Emmanuel was fussy, so his mom brought him out into the hallway where I was standing. I prayed for them. Emmanuel seemed to understand the gesture and suddenly declaimed, “God is good!”
Later, two ICE officers appeared and stood 20 feet down the hall. One looked at his phone and said quietly to his colleague, “One guy.” Cases came and went out the courtyard door. Mom and Emmanuel waited impatiently. He was squirming, so I invented a calming song featuring his name. He initially protested, but then quieted.
Two more agents now appeared on the other end of the hallway, these two covered with bandit-style masks. I accompanied a different man and his attorney down the hall past the masked men. The ICE men looked at their phones, looked up to compare the image with the face, and did nothing. They never spoke verbally to one another. I’m sure their work is very challenging.
At long last, the Haitian father emerged with their two elementary-aged children behind him. They chatted with their lawyer while Dad and I nodded to each other. One of the nearby ICE agents approached and handed the attorney a notice that the father needed to check in downstairs. As the family walked toward the elevator, another volunteer and I decided to walk with them. While we waited for the elevator to arrive, I had a moment to pray for the family. I whispered to the lawyer that the ICE agents were apparently waiting specifically for his client. When the attorney and the father got out to check in at the ICE office, he firmly told the mother to stay in the elevator and take the kids down to the lobby. I got out with the men, while my female colleague accompanied the rest of the family.
Presently, the attorney reappeared from the check-in room, now alone. With a fatalistic sigh, he told us the father had been detained. He’d had a minor offense on his record from a year ago and they were afraid this might happen today, that perhaps the scheduled hearing before the immigration judge was also a convenient way to get them into the building. To their credit, the officers did not handcuff this man in front of his children. Likewise, the attorney reported that his client was treated respectfully when they’d arrested him inside. Soon, the arrestee walked out between two of the ICE agents, handcuffed and on his way to a holding cell in the basement of the federal courthouse building. We locked eyes while I put my hands together in a sign of prayer.
The attorney then went to update the family, and that scene was heart-wrenching. The mother and two grade-school children began sobbing, and that made little Emmanuel cry, too. The eldest, a boy of about ten, paced incessantly in circles and mumbled in his native tongue, probably asking over and over why they had arrested his father. Having been the eldest of my siblings, I recall the pressure of trying to grasp what it suddenly means to “be the man of the family” when trauma hits. His mother doesn’t drive and perhaps doesn’t earn any income. The future looks dim for them. Their Sunday-best outfits, perhaps borrowed, couldn’t cover their naked disorientation. Volunteers arranged for her and the children to get a lift home safely. That took some time and added more trauma. It was a rough day they’ll never forget; an indelible dark memory.
Should they be in America? I don’t know. But I know that they are in America, and today our government brought them quite a bit of trauma.
I was not proud of my country.
Cory
November 2025
PS: By coincidence, the New York Times this evening posted this photojournalistic article about detentions in the very facility where I’ve begun volunteering. The situation is definitely calmer than when the reporter was there 2-3 weeks ago… some credit FAITH with helping lower the temperature. Dynamics seem to shift each week…
https://www.nytimes.com/card/2025/11/08/us/immigration-ice-san-diego-courthouse
April 18, 2025
Could Resurrection Be a Present-Day Reality? Here’s Hoping…
Yesterday, as I ended a very positive videocall, I suddenly felt spent and discouraged. As simply Constituent Cory, I’d been speaking with my congressperson’s staffer for foreign affairs issues. World Vision has a wonderful program for volunteers to have meaningful dialog with their congressional representatives and senators on issues critical to our poorest global neighbors. This was my first meeting and, unlike in other districts, I’m the only current volunteer in my district, so I did this solo.
It went very well. Rep. Sarah Jacobs is a keen proponent for the strategic investment value of foreign assistance, having seen its efficacy firsthand as a former UNICEF staff person. In fact, she was in charge of a portion of UNICEF’s Innovation Unit at a time when I was driving World Vision’s Innovation Fund and sharing learnings with the innovation director at UNICEF! And her staffer spent four years on Africa issues at the State Department, including living in Ethiopia for several months. He has even been to Afar and the town in the middle of that vast province where World Vision’s program had operated. So we hit it off well.
But immediately after signing off the call, I felt a deep sense of impotence. After all my pre-meeting prep and then a solid dialog, I felt I had done nothing that made any difference, and that there was virtually nothing I could do. Before sending any follow-up info, I had to drop to my knees and pray, then journal. With millions of lives hanging in the balance with the current cuts in US government funding, I wrote:
I put my single oar in the water. I did my push. I was prepared. I did a good job. So what? Does anything change in the halls of power? No.
I know, I know…
What if 1000 oarsmen push their oars 10,000 times? It can move a mighty Viking warship. I am called to be faithful, not successful. Be faithful in and out of season, and it’s certainly out of season right now…I comforted myself that my fellow Volunteer Advocates had already posted in our Facebook group celebrating 40-50 other meetings this past month with their congressional offices. I reminded myself that I am only one workman, and only God is the Master Builder who can know the end from the beginning. I concluded with this…
That’s the role of the Master Builder, not the laborer. I’m a laborer. I’d like to find joy and satisfaction in the labor, or in the progress being made in the building. This I don’t see. Not yet. I do have faith that I will see it at some point. But maybe not. That will be a gracious gift from God, but not something I can demand or even expect. The question is: Will I be faithful?
I do recognize that I’ve been down this road before, struggled with these feelings before, and seen progress and God’s favor over time. The boat does move. Faithfulness is its own reward, but there are also other rewards. I’ve seen that many times when working on seemingly insurmountable, intractable Kingdom issues.
In some ways I’m feeling like Elijah did after he’d poured himself out, then ran for his life and collapsed, exhausted, spent, discouraged. Lord, I’d appreciate an angel bringing me bread and water to revive and nourish me. Amen.
Then this morning I read the stunning news that “The United States is embarking on a review of its previously completed review of USAID programming. Is that bad or good news for those who did (or didn’t) make the cut?”
After announcing the cancellation of more than 80% of USAID programs, including over half of its grants to World Vision, there will be yet another review of that review. Sure, this could mean more bad news for the most vulnerable, or it could be something God could use to reinstate some of the life-saving programs that have been cut. Several thousand outstanding former colleagues of mine in these places have already been furloughed for lack of funds to pay for the projects they’ve been implementing. Could their efforts be raised up again from the dust?
Could our combined voices and efforts be making some difference? Could they yet make a difference? I have renewed hope on this Resurrection Day weekend that perhaps more programs can rise from their early graves. We of all people know the possibility of that hope.
Would you join me in praying for this?
And as someone who cares about our most vulnerable global neighbors, especially the children, would you consider joining me as a Volunteer Advocate, using your voice for this effort for the Kingdom of God, a place where “those who had much did not have too much and those who had too little did not have too little?” [see 2CO8:15, EX16:18]
It’s Friday, but Sunday’s comin’!
Cory
April 2025
February 17, 2025
New Year, New Beginnings
Pansies remind me of Janet: her sunny personality, profound faith, boundless love.
Pansies bloom only for a season. The yellow marigolds I replace them with in June are missing a certain something. Yet an empty planter feels like I am refusing God’s gifts because they just aren’t — well — pansies.
Hugs, Carol
One year ago this week, I received the poetic and prophetic email above from a longtime writer-friend. I’ve pasted here the entire contents of the email—it contained no greeting, no compassionate inquiry about how I was faring in my grief. It came seemingly from out of nowhere, just five months following the death of Janet, my beloved wife of 50 years. And the sentiment it conveyed was not a welcome one to me.
My first reaction was to push it away. Why would someone send this to me—just two days before my first Valentine’s Day in over five decades without the love of my life?! I was at the depths of my dread about the approaching holiday and our wedding anniversary looming only 8 days later, and here came this pithy, lovely, affirming yet jarring prod, poking at the ashes of my heart. I read and reread its message. I pushed it aside. I practically memorized it. I have since quoted it many times. I still reread it monthly. I knew my friend was wise and correct, but I had just been protesting to my GriefShare group leader—a widower now remarried—that he should quit telling us we could find happiness again “in another relationship.” Simply assure us we can find happiness again. FULL STOP!
After Janet’s swift death and the sudden loss of her companionship within just six weeks of my retirement, I poured myself fully into my grief journey to avoid getting stuck or alternatively stuffing my feelings and living miserably… something that would please neither God nor Janet.
After reviewing a dozen books and contacting friends who had preceded me into widowhood, I began reaching out to numerous others who were also newly grieving, to share our journeys and support one another.
Over time, one widow became very dear to me. I first met Heidi in late January 2024 and within a few months we gradually found our interests expanding beyond our griefs and toward one another. Contemplative visits to Mission San Juan Capistrano and Prince of Peace Abbey followed, and then barefoot walks along the beach and blanket picnics at the park. We lived 80 miles apart and found halfway points to spend the day together. We talked for many hours online about our pasts, presents and futures, and prayed together at length.
I confessed to her that I would like to explore a relationship, one that focused on us while continuing to welcome our dearly beloveds into our dialogs. We’ve done this faithfully now for over a year, moving forward together without ignoring our grief nor forgetting our wonderful marriage partners. I think we’ve honored God and our deceased spouses, while falling more and more in love with each other. She made a list, using every letter in the alphabet, of qualities that drew her to me. I wrote her a list of reasons why she’s practically ‘perfect’ for me. Since early on, we’ve been on an endless hunt for “red flags that would bring us to our senses.” We’ve submitted ourselves to a premarital pastoral counselor and attended a premarital weekend retreat. We’ve spent much time together and apart with our families and our friends, “going deep and going wide.”
Two weeks ago, we marked one full year since the first time we’d gotten together. I arranged for a black car service to pick her up and take her to the same place we first met, and after a little shell game of small decoy boxes building in affirmation and romance, I dropped to one knee and opened a final box containing an engagement ring. When I asked, she smiled sweetly and said yes, making it official.
An intimate wedding is slated for June, and in the meantime, our lives are already changing. Heidi’s grandkids are very young (unlike mine!) and I told her early on that I’d be willing to move so she’d still be close to them. So, we’ve now purchased our soon-to-be-shared home in the San Diego area. It fell into our laps in a beautiful God-story, and I’ve recently moved there in order to stage and sell my condo—which is now sold! Things have seemed to move very briskly and smoothly, yet we’re not rushing (or we’d have married months ago)! Instead, we’re walking through open doors that seem to be swinging wide without much effort on our part. I’ve had great peace, even when hitting the inevitable bumps in the road of these myriad changes.
To be very clear, Heidi is not a “marigold missing something” from the analogy above. She’s a wonderful, warm person and an amazing gift of God to me. Both of us marvel that the Lord would allow us a second chance at love after such wonderful marriages already. How blessed are we?
There’s much more I could write, but I’ve already used too much “ink” to add a long spiritual reflection here. Instead, I’d like to end by excerpting a thoughtful essay by Andrew Collins in a recent Christian Century issue. He ponders Jesus’ parable of the Sower & Seed and wonders where the “good soil” comes from.
…When I think about the nature of literal soil, [I see a lesson] that Jesus ultimately lives out in his journey to the cross.
“Consider the soil in which your seeds will be planted,” I wrote in my notes… “What is that soil made of? Decomposed dead things—plants and animals that have long since ceased to exist. It’s from this that our new shoots of life and beauty will spring. Take a moment to reflect on the death and loss you have experienced, perhaps as recently as this past winter, that can make for fertile soil in this new spring season.”
In other words, good soil is pain, loss, and suffering transformed into the loam of the soul. If I have any hope of the seeds of my life eventually sprouting and growing, I must accept the dark concoction of corpses and waste that creates the conditions for fruitful life… [Here the author shares his own grief journey and how it has changed him, and then concludes…]
Through grief, the opportunity to take root in good soil will come to each of us sooner or later, and it will do so repeatedly. The invitation is to take up our cross and follow Jesus into the grave—into the compost heap and manure pile—the place where the kingdom of God, in due time, miraculously comes into bloom.
Without question, the deaths of each of our spouses were tragic losses. Their imprints and memories will stay with us forever. Yet, it’s also from that loamy ‘good soil’ that we see new shoots sprout and bloom; new hopes, a shared future.
Thanks be to God.
Cory, Valentine’s Weekend 2025
August 16, 2024
You Can’t Always Get What You Want. But…
[This is the first of several expected reflections about my Camino experience.]
As the sun set over the Pyrenees mountains on my first day walking the Camino de Santiago, we gazed into deeply carved shadows and serene pastoral settings. Apropos of nothing, a fellow pilgrim reminded me, “They say the Camino doesn’t always give you what you want, but it will always give you what God knows you need.” That turned out to be a prescient remark–one that I found to be true, both to my joy and to my disappointment.
I am back home significantly earlier than I expected. I will not be celebrating my 70th birthday this weekend in Spain as expected. I will not mark the one-year anniversary of Janet’s passing at the Spanish coast, releasing her ashes into the Atlantic Ocean.
Yet I had already discovered a better place to release her ashes, much earlier in my journey. I likewise found a better location than I’d planned to place her memory stone. These were deeply moving moments of release that I’ll write more about in future reflections, along with other key experiences from my pilgrimage. These moments made me realize I’d already accomplished most of my goals quite early in my journey. At the same time, I was hounded daily by heat exhaustion and myriad health issues, including my heart and a final ignominious discovery of Covid after I’d begun my journey home.
So now, I will instead be celebrating my birthday weekend here with my beloved family, and I will be marking the anniversary of Janet’s death on September 5th with more beloved family. That’s a sweet and holy trade-off, and probably what Janet would have preferred for me anyway.
I certainly got what I needed – – and more – – from my Camino. And I’ve left the remainder of it (600km more) to perhaps discover in future years.
I got what I needed, but I didn’t get what I thought I wanted: a journey of near-epic proportion traversing most of the length of Spain, though my 200 kilometers (120 miles) was still a significant trek. I did not intend for this to be a journey of lugging a heavy burden, but it did feel that way. Focusing on the 47 days of Janet’s illness and death was not easy, and a fellow widower I met along the journey was emphatic from his own experience that some of my health issues must surely be from bearing a cross of grief. Like the ‘hero’ in Pilgrim’s Progress, I felt a heavier burden on me than simply my backpack, which seemed heavier by the day.
Remembering Janet and our wonderful life together was no burden at all; re-reading our journals from Janet’s 47-day journey to eternity last year definitely was a burden. I realize now that there was a choice that could be made – – to focus on her death, or to focus on her life. I didn’t need to wallow in each day’s challenges of last year, day-by-day, all over again. That doesn’t honor the bright light that Janet was for so long to so many.
I’ve been reminded of that this week: Now that I am back, I discovered the energy to finally read through again the many condolence cards and notes that I received, and the notes of encouragement sent to Janet over those intervening weeks. In those notes, except for mentioning the incredible peace and grace that Janet exuded during her final ordeal, no one focused on her illness. Instead, they were pouring out their hearts with gratitude for who she was to them and how she ministered to so many over the full 68 years of her life! I should have listened to St. Paul, who exhorts us: “Whatever is true, whatever is lovely, whatever is pure… think on these things.” Lesson learned.
I have a great deal more to reflect on from my pilgrimage, truncated as it was.
So, like that famous Spaniard Don Quixote, was I simply chasing windmills and pipe dreams of unrealized glory? No way. Thanks be to God, the Camino gave me exactly what I needed: the chance to honor Janet and celebrate our wonderful marriage, and it gave me the freedom to set my face toward the future, just as Janet would expect me to do. I’m ready.
I can’t wait to tell you more as I continue to process and review my notes.
Cory
August 2024
July 17, 2024
Till Death Do Us Part
Greetings from Houston, as my Camino pilgrimage begins. I’m in a good mood! I’m anticipating the adventure, which ends in exactly 50 days by sprinkling some of Janet’s ashes on the Spanish coast on the anniversary of her death last year, God willing. I begin walking on Saturday July 20, but my pilgrimage begins now. I pilgrim to the starting point through Munich, Geneva, Biarritz, then to Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port (SJCC) on the southern edge of France at the foot of the Pyrenees. Then 47 days of walking.
Here’s a reflection I finished on the first flight regarding my motives and goals. I cover your prayers. And apologies in advance that most of my writing will be for my private journal but I hope to provide a few updates as I am led…
Till Death Do Us Part
The phrase “til death do us part” seems so obtuse and out of place when you pledge it. It’s like one of those obscure clauses in a legal contract that you hardly pay attention to and certainly prefer to ignore.
Even after you actually “part” through death, at first the phrase doesn’t mean much. Your love doesn’t end, your grief is real and raw, your memories and plans automatically include your dearly beloved just as before. Your choices and habits are just as intertwined as ever with the negotiated compromises you carved out together over the decades. Initially you need those familiar routines and thought processes in order to keep going without exerting too much mental energy; you are glad to proceed as usual and simply put one foot in front of the other.
Yet ever so slowly, you begin to realize that some of your personal preferences may be divergent from those shared routines. Sleeping and waking patterns, eating habits, television shows… the thousand happy compromises you made to gladly bend toward your spouse’s happiness are no longer necessary.
You slowly come to realize, hundreds of times, that death has indeed parted—untethered—the two of you. The bothersome clause in your wedding vows that was too terrible to think about has actually kicked in. The marriage contract has expired. The dread eventuality eventually came to pass, and now all those definitions of yourself as half of a wonderful, loving, dynamic couple are in the past. They are no longer true, much as you want to cling to them—cling to what you’ve known for so long, to what you worked so hard to help create.
In our family, we still laugh about an incident from 40 years ago with friends of ours. They had two small children to whom we offered them some cheese. The younger one, Katie, turned to her sister and asked, “Laura, do we like this?” Katie didn’t know her own preferences—she didn’t even want to have her own preferences. Her self-definition was inextricably tied to being half of a pair of siblings. In thousands of ways, small and large, you’ve done the same with your spouse for decades, and now this self-definition crumbles, ever so slowly, one erosion after another, until you realize the facade cannot be repaired and must be allowed to fall away over time, eventually revealing the “you” that you have become over all those years, shaped uniquely by your marriage but no longer subsumed and hidden by the superstructure of your marital identity.
And so a time comes when it’s appropriate to honor yet release the crumbles of that expired superstructure, to face the future as that individual you already had become underneath but which was somewhat hidden by the exoskeleton of your identity as a couple. It’s time to crawl out from that covering, one which served its purpose so well and now is molting off. It’s time to say some final goodbyes to your expired marriage.
This is the goal of my Camino pilgrimage. I wish to honor Janet, celebrate and commemorate our marriage, and also turn my face from the beautiful past towards the unknown future—full of gratitude for the past and expectation for what’s ahead.
Lord willing, I will reach land’s end (Finisterre) on the one-year anniversary of Janet’s death and leave some of her ashes there—ashes that will symbolize the end of our fifty-plus years together. God willing, I will leave there having fully honored and celebrated our union, having faced the reality of that dreaded wedding-vow clause without dread but instead with gratitude for all we had before the clause came to pass, and now firmly facing the future — as I know both Janet and God want and expect of me.
w
Cory
July 2024
PS: Lord willing, I leave this week and begin my pilgrimage this Friday July 20 in Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port on the southern edge of France, culminating September 5 in Finisterre on the western coast of Spain, a journey of 550 miles. I covet your prayers for my health and that I would be a wise steward of this amazing opportunity. Writing is not my goal, but I may send a few reflections along the way.
Till Death Do Us Part
The phrase “til death do us part” seems so obtuse and out of place when you pledge it. It’s like one of those obscure clauses in a legal contract that you hardly pay attention to and certainly prefer to ignore.
Even after you actually “part” through death, at first the phrase doesn’t mean much. Your love doesn’t end, your grief is real and raw, your memories and plans automatically include your dearly beloved just as before. Your choices and habits are just as intertwined as ever with the negotiated compromises you carved out together over the decades. Initially you need those familiar routines and thought processes in order to keep going without exerting too much mental energy; you are glad to proceed as usual and simply put one foot in front of the other.
Yet ever so slowly, you begin to realize that some of your personal preferences may be divergent from those shared routines. Sleeping and waking patterns, eating habits, television shows… the thousand happy compromises you made to gladly bend toward your spouse’s happiness are no longer necessary.
You slowly come to realize, hundreds of times, that death has indeed parted—untethered—the two of you. The bothersome clause in your wedding vows that was too terrible to think about has actually kicked in. The marriage contract has expired. The dread eventuality eventually came to pass, and now all those definitions of yourself as half of a wonderful, loving, dynamic couple are in the past. They are no longer true, much as you want to cling to them—cling to what you’ve known for so long, to what you worked so hard to help create.
In our family, we still laugh about an incident from 40 years ago with friends of ours. They had two small children to whom we offered them some cheese. The younger one, Katie, turned to her sister and asked, “Laura, do we like this?” Katie didn’t know her own preferences—she didn’t even want to have her own preferences. Her self-definition was inextricably tied to being half of a pair of siblings. In thousands of ways, small and large, you’ve done the same with your spouse for decades, and now this self-definition crumbles, ever so slowly, one erosion after another, until you realize the facade cannot be repaired and must be allowed to fall away over time, eventually revealing the “you” that you have become over all those years, shaped uniquely by your marriage but no longer subsumed and hidden by the superstructure of your marital identity.
And so a time comes when it’s appropriate to honor yet release the crumbles of that expired superstructure, to face the future as that individual you already had become underneath but which was somewhat hidden by the exoskeleton of your identity as a couple. It’s time to crawl out from that covering, one which served its purpose so well and now is molting off. It’s time to say some final goodbyes to your expired marriage.
This is the goal of my Camino pilgrimage. I wish to honor Janet, celebrate and commemorate our marriage, and also turn my face from the beautiful past towards the unknown future—full of gratitude for the past and expectation for what’s ahead.
Lord willing, I will reach land’s end (Finisterre) on the one-year anniversary of Janet’s death and leave some of her ashes there—ashes that will symbolize the end of our fifty-plus years together. God willing, I will leave there having fully honored and celebrated our union, having faced the reality of that dreaded wedding-vow clause without dread but instead with gratitude and with expectation, just like Janet and God would want.
May 9, 2024
Janet’s Stories & Life Lessons in PDF
Dear Readers & Friends,
This isn’t a meditation from me per se, but as part of completing my wife’s ‘dear unfinished tasks,’ I’m delighted to share the PDF version of Janet’s collection of short autobiographical Stories You Didn’t Know to Ask About !!
If you enjoyed her chapter on ‘Advice I’d give my 20-year-old self” you’ll love some of the others, as well. The table of contents on pg2 makes it easy to jump to whatever interests you. While Janet’s childhood and teen friends will enjoy some of her early reminiscences, other readers will appreciate her reflections on life. And everyone who loved Janet will appreciate ‘hearing her voice’ again through her breezy and plain-spoken writing. Like Lay’s potato chips, I’ll bet you can’t eat just one. 
You’ll also get a good sense of the StoryWorth program and how Janet used it to write her story with ease and joy. BTW: If you’d like a discount coupon for StoryWorth, please DM me.
Special thanks to our ‘contractually adopted daughter’ Jenna Donavon for this labor of love!!!
Gratefully,
Cory
Janet’s autobiography in PDF!
Dear Readers & Friends,
This isn’t a meditation per se, but as part of completing my wife’s ‘dear unfinished tasks,’ I’m delighted to share the PDF version of Janet’s collection of short autobiographical Stories You Didn’t Know to Ask About !!
If you enjoyed her chapter on ‘Advice I’d give my 20-year-old self” you’ll love some of the others, as well. The table of contents on pg2 makes it easy to jump to whatever interests you. While Janet’s childhood and teen friends will enjoy some of her early reminiscences, other readers will appreciate her later reflections on life. And everyone who loved Janet will appreciate ‘hearing her voice’ again through her breezy and plain-spoken writing. Like Lay’s potato chips, I’ll bet you can’t eat just one.
You’ll also get a good sense of the StoryWorth program and how Janet used it to write her story very easily and joyfully. BTW: If you’d like a discount coupon for StoryWorth, please DM me.
Special thanks to our ‘contractually adopted daughter’ Jenna Donavon for this labor of love!!!
Gratefully,
Cory
