Pilgrimage stories – Catholic Writers Guild

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Pilgrim Tales: The Glorious Pilgrimage of Margaret Henderson

February 10, 2026/0 Comments/in Catholic Fiction, Catholic Writers Guild, Catholic Writing and Publishing, Pilgrimage stories/by Mary Jo Thayer

Margaret Henderson, or Mama Mags as she was affectionately called, had been a shining example of feminine genius—faithful, organized, empathetic, and calm—for as far back as Veronica could remember. – “The Glorious Pilgrimage of Margaret Henderson”

“The Glorious Pilgrimage of a Margaret Henderson” was inspired by the bravery of my elderly parents after the sudden death of one of my brothers in a car accident. They signed up for a European pilgrimage! My mom had flown to Florida once or twice, and both of my parents had gone to Vegas, but they had never flown across an ocean. To learn that they were going to France, Italy, and Spain was shocking. To think they had saved that much money after beginning their family in the Depression and raising eight children on one income, and not a very high income at that, was unbelievable to twenty-one-year-old me.

Upon their return, they were on cloud nine, eager to tell of their experiences, especially of being slain in the Spirit while in Lourdes. They invited each of their married adult children to their home to share this, some of whom had fallen away from the faith. It should have held more weight than it probably did, especially because of my convert dad’s profound feeling that only God could do that. I remember being skeptical of it myself, as I had never heard of such a thing happening. Still, the memory stuck, and my parents’ pilgrimage adventure instilled in me the desire to travel to Europe and visit the holy places of all those saints I learned about during my years of Catholic elementary school.

After my dad’s passing, my mother embarked on another pilgrimage with my godfather’s wife, and two more compatible travel buddies would be hard to find. My godfather’s family has always been considered an extension of our family. So much so that their daughter, Lucy, is the inspiration for the character of David in my anthology story. Anyway, my mom and her dearest friend joined a tour group and headed to Germany, Austria, and Switzerland. Being half-German, my mother brought back gifts from that country, such as an authentic beer stein, ivory-carved mini-statues of angels singing, and hand-embroidered doilies with crocheted cotton lace.

Margaret Henderson is only a tiny bit like my mom. The main inspiration for that genteel character is a combination of three graceful women outside of my family, as well as from the faith I witnessed at the more recent passing of my ninety-four-year-old brother-in-law. He seemed ready, as if he had prepared for death all his life.

Last year, my husband and I were privileged to spend 42 days in Europe in various parts of Ireland, France, and Italy. We ended our time with nine days in Rome. We had no idea we would love the Eternal City so much! A highlight of our European journey was the dozens of Catholic churches we were privileged to walk into. We cherish the time we had to admire, dream, reflect, and pray. The whole adventure turned into our very own pilgrimage, and we give God all the thanks and glory for it!

A selfie of the author and her husband in a Catholic church in Sienna.

The Thayers in Siena (October 2024). St. Catherine of Siena is Mary Jo’s Confirmation saint.

A picture of the author and her husband in St. Peter's basilica.

The Thayers inside St. Peter’s Basilica (November 2024) after having attended Sunday Mass celebrated by Pope Francis and then praying the Angelus with him in St. Peter’s Square.

Read “The Glorious Pilgrimage of Margaret Henderson,” and other short stories by the Catholic Writers Guild in Pilgrim Tales: a Catholic Writers Guild Short Story Anthology available now on Amazon in print and e-book.

E-book: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0G5VZ7WV8
Print: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0G5WZF1PV

Feature Photo: Pixabay

Edited by Rietta Parker

Just Me and My Walking Stick

February 5, 2026/0 Comments/in Faith, Fellowship, Pilgrimage, Pilgrimage stories/by Amy Schisler

Just Me and My Walking Stick

He instructed them to take nothing for the journey but a walking stick–no food, no sack, no money in their belts. (Mark 6:8)

For years, I had a dream of walking on the routes of El Camino de Santiago (the Way of St. James), the pilgrim routes throughout Spain that lead to St. James’ burial place in Santiago. I knew there was little chance of that happening, but whenever the topic of the ancient route came up, I always said, “I want to walk that someday.” I never thought it would happen. Then one day …

Two by Two or Three

In 2022, I was planning a pilgrimage to the Holy Land for our parish, and our priest named some other places he wanted to visit. He had always wanted to walk El Camino, and I said I could look at that for 2024, but I was nervous. I honestly didn’t know any logistics about the walk, how long it would reasonably take, or which route would be the best. When I told a friend we were thinking about doing this, she said, “You cannot take a group on El Camino when you’ve never walked it yourself.”

I thought about that. She had a good point. It’s not like the Holy Land or France or Guadalupe, where I could just plan the trip and a guide would usher us from one religious site to another. This was a trek through the mountains, in the elements, walking many miles a day. I needed to know what this was like and if I was physically up to doing it myself.

Over lunch, I mentioned this to my friend, Angie, and she said, “I’ll go with you. Let’s do it.” We sat there, hovering over our phones, coming up with a plan. “There’s one catch,” Angie said, just as we decided to go for it. “If I go without my husband, he’ll be crushed. He’s always wanted to do this.”

So our pilgrimage of two on the Camino became a pilgrimage for three, and I was put in charge of making it happen.

Authority of Unclean Spirits

Fast forward about eighteen months. Chris, Angie, and I boarded a plane for Madrid with very large suitcases and oversized backpacks, ready to take on half the French Route. We had mentally, spiritually, and physically prepared for this trip for over a year. We had the right shoes, the right clothes, the water bladders, hiking socks, walking sticks, tons of snacks, evening wear for every night, supplies for making sandwiches, and everything anyone ever suggested. We were fully prepared.

However, that first night, after getting lost, missing dinner, and ending up at our hotel in the dark after walking almost twenty-five miles, I cried myself to sleep. There wasn’t a bone in my body that didn’t hurt. I already had blisters on my toes. I was physically and mentally drained, and it was only day one! I dreaded waking in the morning and telling Chris and Angie I couldn’t do this. It was too much.

I prayed for strength, courage, and guidance. I gave my pain and fears to the Lord, asking Him to help me do the right thing. I fell asleep as soon as I hit the bed, and something akin to a miracle took place. When I awoke in the morning, the first thing I did was pray an intentional Rosary, mentioning every person and prayer I’d taken with me. I showered and started packing my stuff, realizing I didn’t hurt. I had Compede for my blisters, and they seemed to be okay. I felt … ready.

Whatever worries I had were gone. I didn’t even think about them. All my despair from the night before evaporated like ether, floating away while I slept. I don’t think I gave a single thought to not continuing that day. Whatever doubts had plagued me a few hours before had been cast out like unclean spirits, and I felt renewed.

No Food, No Sack, Only Sandals

Over the course of the next two weeks, we had some amazing adventures. Every day, the world around us was more beautiful than the day before. Around each corner was a magnificent view. We watched a baby cow being born and waited around until he took his first steps. A vintner whose vineyard we were passing through offered us bunches of grapes to take with us (truly the best grapes I’ve had since sneaking them from my grandfather’s vines as a child). The pilgrim Masses each evening were inspiring. The food and wine were amazing. We became friends with Mina and her brother and sister-in-law, and are still in touch today. We met so many amazing people, from college students to pilgrims in their 80s and 90s.

The only thing still not working for us was all our stuff. We didn’t need nearly as many clothes as we thought we would. Guidebooks and extra toiletries made it hard to pack the small keepsakes we were collecting (an acorn from an elderly man who asked us to pray for him, a very small statue of Our Lady of the Oak, a beautiful stone on the path). We weren’t eating the multitude of snacks we brought, and our shoulders ached from the extra trail mix, granola bars, and sandwich fixings we never used.

Each morning, when we started from the hotel, our unused and unwanted items became the breadcrumbs we left behind. I even left my extra pair of hiking shoes when I became too tired of repacking every night and too tired of carrying them all day. I didn’t need them. By that time, I had so many blisters, I had resorted to wearing toe socks and Teva sandals every day. For eight days, I hiked in socks and sandals, not fashionable by any means, but my feet felt much better.

Shaking the Dust

Showering off the sweat and dust each evening became my favorite part of the day. Along with the dirt and dust of the hike, the waters washed away the pain, exhaustion, and any lingering fear or doubt. That time of showering and dressing became sacred for me, and even today, I say an intentional Rosary each time I shower, dress, and get myself ready for the day.

Just as the shower cleansed my body, that pilgrimage cleansed my mind and soul. I found that I actually enjoy a good long walk (which I never thought before). I realized, even in my fifties, I can do hard things. I can find God in the darkest places and hope in moments of despair. I enjoy praying the Rosary again (something I hadn’t done in years because it had stopped having meaning for me).

Driving Out Demons

When the man in the Pilgrim’s Office handed me my Compostela, I walked outside and burst into tears. I called my family and could barely speak. That first night, I didn’t think I could go another day. Thirteen days later, I felt like I could walk to the end of the world (still something I’d like to do at some point, but it’s another five days walk to Finisterra).

My body had fought a battle and won. I no longer doubt myself when faced with anything—sickness, pain, uncertainty, fear. I know I can make it through tough times, excruciating pain, or long, winding roads with no end in sight.

In 2024, I led a group of 29 pilgrims on the Portuguese Route. The challenges of leading a group (most of whom I did not know) were much different than walking alongside two dear friends. I still cried at night a time or two, but for different reasons. I found myself questioning why I had done this. But on the last day, I witnessed friends feel what I felt that first time. I saw a young woman and a senior citizen overcome their own fears and doubts to make it to the end. I cheered when the 85-year-old husband and wife completed their walk, inspiring our whole group.

I’m planning a 2027 walk on the English route. It won’t be a big group but a small collection of friends. I’ll be nearing sixty, but I know I can do it. I won’t need much for the journey other than my walking stick. I know the Holy Spirit will provide everything else.

Pilgrim Tales: Pilgrimage to L5

December 9, 2025/0 Comments/in Adventure, Catholic Fiction, Catholic Writing and Publishing, Pilgrimage, Pilgrimage stories, Uncategorized/by Karina Fabian

… Lucy and her mother aren’t just Catholic tourists. They’re seeking a new life after the death of Lucy’s father, and Lucy’s mom took them on this pilgrimage for help finding her new way forward. — “Pilgrimage to L5”

Churches were boring. And sad.

I’m tired of being bored and sad, she thought, casting her eyes upward. God, couldn’t something exciting happen?

Not everybody thinks pilgrimages are exciting. Eight-year-old Lucy Granger sure didn’t. In Pilgrimage to the L5 Space Station, she gets the chance to go to the home of the founder of the famous Rescue Sisters—St. Gillian of L5—on the anniversary of her sainthood, even. But it’s a lot of listening, looking, and praying, and she’d rather be doing something more exciting.

When the station’s cat leads her to the escape pod, she’s in for more excitement than she expects!

When CWG decided to make an anthology based on pilgrimages, I admit I was a little stumped at first. I’ve been on a couple of pilgrimages myself, but I’m a sci-fi writer. How could I make a pilgrimage in space—and even more, make it exciting in the way people expect sci-fi to be exciting?

I have a standard Catholic SF universe I write in: The Rescue Sisters (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09L59B69G). This is a group of intrepid women religious who do search and rescue operations, run orphanages and hospitals, and work in safety capacities—all in outer space. My husband and I came up with the idea and we have six short stories and two books in the series so far, three of which are for children.

So I wanted to do another Rescue Sisters story for the anthology. The pilgrimage part wasn’t too hard. I had my own built-in-saint, St. Gillian of L5, founder of Our Order of the Rescue (a.k.a. the Rescue Sisters). It would be fun to return to her old stomping grounds. I’d already done an L5 story, “These Three,” so it let me bring some favorite characters back.

Next, I had to set up the rescue. What could be more natural than a bored child wandering off and getting into trouble? Toss in a cat who’s only too glad to help, and some fun complications, and that part was taken care of.

But what makes a Rescue Sisters story really good is the secondary plot—something tying into their identity not just as rescuers but as Catholics. That’s when I came up with the idea that Lucy and her mother aren’t just Catholic tourists. They’re seeking a new life after the death of Lucy’s father, and Lucy’s mom took them on this pilgrimage for help finding her new way forward.

I think the most life-changing pilgrimages happen when someone comes seeking a new way — a new way to live, a new way to love, a new way to heal.

Jesus said, “I am the Way,” yet how he leads us can be very different. Lucy’s mom finds her way—but in the course of her adventure, so does Lucy—and discovers church isn’t so boring after all.

Read “Pilgrimage to L5” in Pilgrim Tales: a Catholic Writers Guild Short Story Anthology starting this December on Amazon.