The Unexpected

For days, the question has followed me like a shadow on this Camino journey: Should I continue to Santiago or listen to my body’s increasing protests? The recurring infection, the sudden legal and practical matters awaiting in Poland, the limited windows to connect with my husband during his contract work—all these have weighed on my mind.

Today, after a meaningful conversation with my Ken, the decision crystallized with surprising clarity. I will end my pilgrimage tomorrow in Burgos.

What strikes me most is an unexpected lightness—a gratitude for these thirteen days of “praying with my feet” rather than mourning the path I won’t complete. There is grace in recognizing when one journey should end so another can begin.

The Silent Climb

The morning began in Villafranca Montes de Oca, a small town nestled at the bottom of the hills. From there, the first stretch was demanding – 12 kilometers of solitude before reaching the next village. These kilometers were filled with challenging ascents, the path winding upward through wooded hills with elevation gains that tested my already tired legs. The climb took me from 923m to nearly 1158m at the highest point – a silent, meditative journey with only my footsteps and breathing as companions.

In these solitary stretches, with no distractions but the path ahead, the mind turns inward. The physical effort of climbing becomes a kind of prayer, each step an offering, each labored breath a surrender. As my body worked against gravity, my thoughts worked through acceptance of this new ending.

The Simple Prayer Answered

After the first demanding 6 kilometers without passing through any towns, my body was protesting – hungry and tired from the morning’s climbs. Just when I needed it most, I found myself uttering a simple, childlike prayer: “God, I need food. I won’t make it much further without something to eat.”

There was no dramatic bolt of lightning, no voice from heaven. But as I rounded the next corner, there he was – a joyful Spanish man with a food truck, dancing to music in the early morning light. The simple prayer was answered without ceremony, yet with a touch of divine delight. He even greeted me in Polish when I told him where I was from!

Is this not how God often works? Not with grand gestures that overwhelm us, but with the quiet provision of exactly what we need, when we need it, sometimes with a touch of unexpected joy.

The Respite of San Juan de Ortega

Finally reaching San Juan de Ortega after 11.9 kilometers, I found another open-hearted bartender and a welcoming space for a proper breakfast. Here I took my time, savoring a smoothie, a sandwich, and hot tea, letting my body recover from the morning’s exertion.

There’s wisdom in this pilgrim tradition of stopping, of not rushing through every moment of the journey. The Camino teaches us that rest is not merely the absence of activity but an active choice to honor our limits and receive what each place offers.

Barbed Wire Boundaries

After passing through a small villages of Agés, I reached Atapuerca around the 18.1 km mark. Just beyond this town, the landscape shifted dramatically – the pilgrim path now running alongside a military zone, its perimeter marked with barbed wire stretching as far as I could see.

As I walked this section, the contrast struck me deeply – on one side, the open pilgrim path; on the other, a restricted area carefully guarded and sealed off. The barbed wire fence accompanied me for several kilometers, a silent counterpoint to my journey.

This image stayed with me, becoming a metaphor for something I’ve been pondering about our approach to faith and sacraments. Have we created similar barriers around the sacred? In trying to protect what is holy, have we sometimes locked away what was meant to be accessible?

I thought about how we approach the sacraments of initiation, especially First Communion in many places today. Children dressed up like little brides and grooms, celebrations that rival weddings in their extravagance, yet often accompanied by minimal spiritual preparation. We make the ritual accessible but sometimes miss nurturing the deep connection it’s meant to represent. The child collects stamps or stickers, meets the requirements, but may grow up seeing little difference between Jesus and Santa Claus.

Then there’s the flip side – the invisible barbed wire we place around deeper spiritual connection. The unstated rules about who belongs, who is worthy to approach the altar, who can truly access God’s presence. The subtle messages that one must be perfect, or at least appear so, before drawing near to the divine.

As I walked alongside that physical barrier, I wondered: Where is the balance? How do we honor the sacredness of communion while making genuine connection with God accessible? How do we prepare children meaningfully without creating either casual indifference or fearful distance?

Natural Obstacles Are Enough

As my journey continued beyond Atapuerca toward Cardeñuela Riopico, the path became more challenging – rocky, narrow, and steep in places. The terrain from Atapuerca towards my destination demanded careful attention with each step. My tired feet protested each uneven stone, and I thought: isn’t human nature obstacle enough?

We are already prone to laziness, impatience, self-centeredness. Our own limitations create plenty of barriers between us and God without adding more. Our nature is already rocky terrain to navigate.

Where are the churches, the communities, the practices that remove unnecessary barriers instead of adding them? That say, “Yes, the path is naturally difficult at times, but we won’t add to the challenge with human-made obstacles”?

The Simple Faith of a Child

Near the end of my walk today, exhausted from the unexpected additional kilometers to Cardeñuela Riopico (I planned to rest after 20k in Olmos de Atapuerta, but missed the detour), I found myself returning to that morning moment – the simple prayer, the uncomplicated faith, the immediate answer.

Isn’t this is what Jesus meant when he spoke of becoming like children to enter the kingdom. Not childish, but childlike in our approach to God. Straightforward in our requests. Uncomplicated in our trust. Believing that God is a Father who delights in providing for His children.

I don’t need to self-flagellate for half an hour to be worthy of God’s response. I don’t need to qualify my requests with lengthy explanations of why I deserve help. The unadorned “I need you” is prayer enough, and often the most honest prayer we can offer.

The Path Ahead

Tomorrow I’ll reach Burgos, and my Camino journey will come to its conclusion. It’s not the ending I initially imagined, but I’ve found peace in this decision. What surprised me most about making this choice was how quickly the weight lifted from my shoulders – how a decision that seemed so difficult in the deliberation became so clearly right once made.

I walked this Camino before, in 2019, all the way to Santiago. Perhaps that’s why I can release the need to prove something by reaching the traditional endpoint this time. This journey has been its own pilgrimage, with its own lessons and gifts.

The Camino provides, they say. But more accurately, God provides through the Camino – sometimes through dancing food truck operators, sometimes through open-hearted bartenders in small villages, sometimes through the challenging terrain that builds strength, sometimes through the barbed wire boundaries that prompt us to question our own barriers.

And sometimes what God provides is the wisdom to know when one journey should end so that another can begin.

What journeys have you needed to end before reaching your planned destination? Did you find, as I have, that there was grace in that unexpected ending? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below.

Buen Camino to all fellow pilgrims, whether on physical or spiritual journeys today.