publishing peace

I believe that life is made for the moments you run to, climb to, or work for. I've made plenty of memories like that. Just last week I sat here writing the tale of a bell tower that I climbed just for the view. The city of Rome was jam packed with running from historical monument to historical monument just so I could see what I came there for. But there are also other moments. The moments where you can find some rest from your adventures and make a piece of home. And for all the miles I have traveled, and all the memories I've made, I think some of my favorites will be the ones where I wasn't running. I was just breathing. I don't even know where I went last Saturday. It was somewhere on Lake Maggiore, for a picnic with the host son's class. And I didn't get very many photos, because it was warm and golden and gray and green, and it felt like a gift in a way. I know that sounds kind of silly, but it was kind of like that same God who touched Adam'

Open your eyes and see what you can with them before they close to you forever. I stood this weekend on the rooftop of a pink-and-green bell tower overlooking what felt like millions of red Tuscan rooftops and gripped the metal cage boxing us all in, keeping us safe but also keeping us from taking flight, which is kind of what I felt like I wanted to do. As I pressed my forehead to it and watched the golden light cast hazy shadows over the old, beautiful buildings, this thought came into my mind. It's a line from "All the Light We Cannot See", a book by Anthony Doerr. Interestingly enough, the title of the book has also been in my thoughts. It's an idea in itself; an implication that there is light unseen, but that doesn't make the light any less there. There's something hopeful, comforting about that -- and motivating too. That there is light to seek, that everything is more than just what you see, that every person is magic inside.  It makes me feel swept

I don't know where to start this. I don't even really know what to write about, because every time I try I find myself in a kind of daydream -- a vast, crooked mountain watches over a little town tucked into a valley that is green and bursting with wildflowers. Sounds idyllic, but it's the reality of Zermatt, Switzerland, where you can find the Matterhorn: a towering specter of a rock jutting high above the land.  It's quite a lonely peak, bleak and weather-beaten. I've heard that often it's obscured by clouds, but I was lucky. When I visited, the sun never stopped shining. There was a cool breeze through the canyon. And a polka concert welcomed me at the town center as I stepped off the train. Overall, my timing cannot be characterized as anything but providential.  It was worth the price of the train ticket just to be there. If you're following along with me in my travels, you might remember how last week I was in Rome -- and there is so much that is bea