Faith Over Fear

by Mary Baldree | Waterloo, IL

I found myself in a strange city, far from home, surrounded by unfamiliar streets. The sky was dark, heavy with rain. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and lightning flashed overhead. I looked around, searching for the familiar yellow arrows that had guided me for days along the Camino de Santiago.

There wasn’t one.

For the first time on my pilgrimage, I was truly lost.

Then, out of nowhere, a pilgrim appeared. He wore a bright yellow poncho—the same color as the arrows I had faithfully followed each day. He carried a backpack and walked with quiet purpose.

He didn’t speak English. My Spanish was limited at best. Yet words weren’t necessary.

With a simple gesture, he invited me to follow.

I hesitated. Every instinct reminded me not to trust a stranger in the dark, during a storm, in a foreign country. But there was something about his calm presence that quieted my fear. I chose to follow.

For nearly two hours, we walked through rain and mud. I hurried to keep pace, my heart pounding, my breathing growing heavy as thunder echoed around us. There was no conversation, only the steady rhythm of our footsteps and the quiet certainty that I was exactly where I needed to be.

When we reached the next village, Grañón, the pilgrim climbed a short flight of steps, turned, and looked back. Our eyes met for the first and only time. He smiled, raised his hand in a simple wave, and said, “Buen Camino.”

Then he disappeared.

I never saw him again.

The missing arrows had forced me to choose between fear and faith. That anonymous pilgrim became the arrow I could no longer see. He reminded me that guidance doesn’t always come in the forms we expect. Sometimes it arrives as another traveler, a quiet nudge, or the courage to take one more step without knowing exactly where it will lead.

I’ve come to believe that faith is not the absence of uncertainty. Faith is choosing the next step when the path isn’t visible.

Sometimes, when the arrows disappear, grace quietly appears in their place.

Editor’s note: This reflection is adapted from Mary Baldree’s memoir The Joyful Gypsy Gal. Find a review here.