During my most recent trip to Norway, I had the pleasure of spending one evening with Arild, the father of my late friend Elias. We decided the day prior to visit the island of Tautra and its Catholic cloister—both the medieval ruins of the early 13th century abbey and the present monastery inhabited by Trappist nuns.
During our fairly scenic and peaceful drive, Arild shared with me the lyrics of a song he composed himself, which described the 580km pilgrimage Sebastian and I undertook in 2025.
Sebastian, a childhood friend of Elias’ and someone Arild had known since he was a boy, agreed to accompany me along St. Olavsleden last year—the medieval pilgrimage trail that followed the very same footsteps as St. Olaf, who walked the journey in the year 1030 during his return from exile.
We did so in honor of Elias, who passed away on March 25th, 2021. Both of us carried a portrait of him the entire 580km distance—beginning in Sundsvall, Sweden, and ending in Trondheim, Norway—handing either of the portraits off to his mother and father at our journeys end. The pilgrimage took us thirty-five days on foot.
You Walked With Us
I knew you since we were boys back then, through all the years, through thick and thin.
We thought there'd always be more time ahead, more roads to walk, more words unsaid.
But life can grow darker than anyone sees, and some battles are fought on silent knees.
Then came the day we never were prepared for, and the world felt smaller than it had before.
But you walked with us, mile by mile, through the pouring rain and every smile.
Three-hundred and sixty miles to Nidaros we came.
With your picture on our hearts and your memory in your name.
When the road was hard and our strength ran low, it was thoughts of you that helped us go.
Though you left this world before your time, you never truly left us behind.
Across the ocean was a friend who knew your soul, someone who shared a bond that distance couldn’t control.
You never met face to face, that's true, but friendship doesn't care what maps say people should do.
When you were gone, two strangers became friends, connected by the loss that changed both our lives in the end.
One from Norway, one from the USA, walking together for the man who showed us the way.
You walked with us, mile by mile, through the pouring rain and every smile.
Three-hundred and sixty miles to Nidaros we came.
With your picture on our hearts and your memory in your name.
When the road was hard and our strength ran low, it was thoughts of you that helped us go.
Though you left this world before your time, you never truly left us behind.
From Sundsvall all the way to Trondheim town, we carried your picture and never set it down.
And in the pilgrim passport, we placed your name there too, so each stamp along the way belonged to you.
Maybe you were in the wind across the mountain air; maybe in the silence when we felt you there.
We never walked alone, not even for a day, because somehow you were with us all the way.
So we carried you home, my friend, mile after mile, through tears of sorrow and moments of a smile.
And when Nidaros finally stood before our eyes, it felt like we'd arrived there together that night.
For friendship isn't measured by oceans, miles, or time; and love does not end when a heartbeat leaves behind.
Some people leave this world much too soon, it's true, but the love they leave behind can still move mountains too.
