Pilgrimage of the Heart

I’m going to Italy.

Even writing the words feels surreal, like speaking a dream aloud before it’s had a chance to unfold. I’ve never been before. And if I’m honest, I’m not a particularly confident traveller. I overthink hotels I booked, go over my itinerary multiple times, and triple-check my passport before I leave the house. There’s a part of me that would rather stay tucked into the safety of the familiar.

And yet here I am, packing my suitcase and my courage, because some journeys are worth the trembling.

The truth is that travel and faith have always felt intertwined. Both ask us to step beyond what we know. Both demand a willingness to get lost, to ask questions, to stumble and learn. And both have the power to change not just our surroundings, but the shape of our souls.

I know many people feel nervous when discussing their faith. It’s like trying to navigate a foreign city without a map, unsure of the right words, and afraid of making a mistake. But faith, like travel, is less about certainty and more about curiosity. It’s about showing up with a heart open, eyes wide, and trusting that the path will reveal itself.

So, as I prepare for this journey, I’m carrying two companions with me: attention and intention.

Attention will remind me to look up, to notice the sun-warmed stones beneath my feet, the cadence of a language sung through centuries, the way a meal shared slowly can dissolve the distance between strangers. It will nudge me to see the sacred stitched into the everyday, the Divine hiding in the details.

And intention,  my intention, is to rejuvenate.
To let this journey breathe new life into weary places.
To return home not just with photographs, but with my spirit refreshed, my heart a little lighter, my energy renewed.
To be stretched by the beauty of a culture that is not my own, its art, its stories, its rituals and rhythms, and to let that widen my understanding of the world and my place in it.

Maybe that’s what every pilgrimage is about, whether it’s across an ocean or into the quiet landscape of our faith: not arriving certain but returning changed.

So, I’ll board that plane with a little bit of anxiety and a hopeful heart, trusting that somewhere between departure and return, between wandering and wonder, something in me will be renewed. I’ll come home carrying more than memories: full of the joy of discovering new foods and places, a renewed spirit, and a soul that’s been stretched toward the horizon. Blessings

Rev. Kim 

 

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