Camino de Santiago

Today… I witnessed something I will carry in my heart for the rest of my life. And before I tell you what happened, I need to start with a memory that has shaped my faith since I was a little girl.

My Grandma Regina Stoeckle used to tell me that praying the rosary is one of the most powerful prayers anyone can say for protection against evil. She’d say, “Kathie, every time you pray the rosary, you’re giving the Blessed Mother a big, beautiful bouquet of roses. And someday, when you reach heaven, you’ll see all the roses you sent her.”

That image stayed with me — roses for Mary, beautiful petals and hidden thorns. The thorns remind us of the suffering she endured as she stood at the foot of the cross, watching her Son give His life for the world.

I didn’t fully understand that pain until I became a mother myself. Only then did I begin to grasp what it meant for Mary to stay with Jesus through His Passion. Motherhood opened my heart to her in a new way.

So when I left for my Camino pilgrimage, a dear friend gave me a blue‑knotted decade of the rosary with a little silver seashell scallop charm. I attached it to my backpack as a sign of faith — a reminder that this journey was a prayer pilgrimage.

I walk alone most days, meeting pilgrims from all over the world. But one woman stood out: Mimi, from Massachusetts. We met early one morning on a lighted bridge as I left Puente la Reina. She noticed my cross and Miraculous Medal and asked if I was Catholic. Later she shared that she had been raised Catholic, but life, work, divorce, and raising her boys had pulled her away from the Church — and from the Blessed Mother. She did say she had an affection for Mary ever since her mom died when she was a young girl.

When we parted ways, something stirred in my heart. I decided to pray a decade of the rosary for her, asking Mary to take my prayer to Jesus and reignite Mimi’s love for His Mother.
That evening, in a crowded hostel, someone tapped my shoulder and pointed down the line. Mimi was calling my name. We were staying on opposite ends of the building, yet somehow we ended up in the same place again. We made plans to walk together the next morning.
And this… this is where everything changed.
I came downstairs, and Mimi called out, “Kathie, you’re not going to believe this!”
She swung her backpack around.
Attached to it was a blue‑knotted decade of the rosary with a silver scallop shell.
My rosary.
The one that had been on my backpack the night before.
Our rooms were nowhere near each other. She had never been in my room. There was absolutely no logical explanation for how it could have moved.
I stared at it, stunned. And then it hit me — I had prayed a decade of the rosary for her the day before.
I started to cry.
“Mimi… the Blessed Mother really wants you close to her.”
She thanked me for not taking it back.
I told her, “The Blessed Mother gave it to you. Be blessed.”
We walked five miles to get coffee, and I asked someone what day it was.
September 8 — the Blessed Mother’s Birthday.
I stopped in my tracks.
On this prayer pilgrimage… on the very day dedicated to her birth… my prayer for Mimi had been answered in a way that defies logic. A rosary moved from my backpack to hers — a physical sign of a spiritual truth:
Mary heard the prayer.
And she delivered it.
My prayer now is simple: that this rosary continues to draw Mimi closer to Our Blessed Mother, just as my Grandma once drew me close through her stories, her faith, and her roses.Okumaya devam et