A Complete Surrender to the Lord

Today, Christians across the world commemorate the Passion and death of Christ on the cross. We believe that “Christ would suffer and on the third day rise from the dead” (Luke 24:46)—the greatest act of charity—by emptying and humbling Himself, becoming obedient to death on a cross (Philippians 2:7–8), so that we may have eternal life.

As Christian men and women, we share in the “promised eternal inheritance” (Hebrews 9:15) through the sacramental waters of baptism, by which we become God’s beloved sons and daughters. As followers of Christ, we are called to share in His glory—but it comes at a cost. We must take up our daily crosses and unite our suffering with His. As one of my theology professors once said, “We don’t get out of this world without going through the cross.”

In today’s photo, I share a powerful reminder of how I have had to take up my own cross. The image was taken on the Camino de Santiago at the Cruz de Ferro (Iron Cross), located in the province of León, Spain, on July 4, 2012. The Cruz de Ferro marks the highest point along the Camino and is a significant stopping place for pilgrims. Each pilgrim places a rock or small pebble at the foot of the cross as an act of humility—surrendering burdens, pain, grief, or anxiety.

To keep my pack light, I carried a small wooden “cross in my pocket.” When I reached the Cruz de Ferro, I placed it at the foot of the cross (see inset photo) with the inscription: “I surrender my cross to you, Lord. Give me new direction in my life.” This small cross became a daily reminder—like Simon of Cyrene—that we do not carry our crosses alone.

I still remember vividly arriving at the Cruz de Ferro at 10:30 that morning. It is difficult to put into words what that moment meant. By then, I had been walking the Camino for 28 days. Each day, I meditated on the mysteries of the rosary while praying for direction, clarity, and guidance for my life. I wept daily as I prayed. I felt my life was empty, without purpose or meaning. It was as if God was wringing out every drop of bitterness, anger, and frustration that I had bottled up within me.

In my pilgrimage journal, I wrote:

“I performed the ritual by leaving the cross [in my pocket] at the foot of the metallic cross. I didn’t cry tears like I thought I would. I said a short prayer and then buried the cross in my pocket under some of the stones present and wrote on the wooden cross asking God for spiritual direction and guidance. Once I left, I felt good…upon leaving, I said my rosary finally. It was the Glorious Mysteries which I thought was so fitting considering that I was ‘New’ – set free. It was the Fourth of July (Independence Day) in the USA. So, it was fitting that I be free of my past burdens and move forward with my life. I didn’t look back other than to look at the scenery from behind.”

After leaving this sacred place, a deep peace came over me, and the tears that had accompanied me for weeks were gone.

To understand how broken I was during this journey, some context is necessary.

For much of my life, my identity was rooted in my career as a registered professional engineer. I served as a commissioned officer in the U.S. Public Health Service for 21 years, designing sanitation facilities on Indian reservations and rancherias across the country. I valued the work, the relationships, and the mission, and I had intended to serve a full 30-year career. But God had other plans.

On Thursday, March 1, 2012, I packed up my belongings and walked away from a six-figure salary. I chose early retirement because I could no longer function as a productive team member within the organization.

When I began my engineering career in 1991, President John F. Kennedy’s words—“Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country”—deeply resonated with me. Over time, however, I experienced a growing sense of disillusionment. Bureaucracy and internal dynamics began to overshadow the mission. What once felt like public service increasingly felt like self-interest and career advancements. I could no longer be that light of Christ while working in an environment that appeared self-serving. The original compass—the agency's mission—seemed lost.

Leaving that environment was "the cross" I carried onto the Camino.

The next morning (Friday, March 2, 2012), I woke up and stared at the ceiling, asking, “What now, Lord?” I had no plan. As an engineer, one would think I would have a backup plan, but I did not. I was advised to take six months off to decompress—to let go of the anger and frustration I had carried for years. There was no celebration, no sense of closure—only uncertainty and emotional exhaustion.

And yet, the Camino continued to call me from half a world away.

On June 8, 2012, I took my first steps on a journey that would ultimately change my life.

I share this experience because we all have a cross to carry. As we venerate the cross on Good Friday, let this serve as a reminder: whatever burdens you carry, place them at the foot of the cross. Trust that the Lord has not abandoned you. Surrender them to Him. It is Christ who carries the full weight of the cross—we are only asked to carry a sliver.

God bless.