Rest.

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's finger and my heart was telling me, "this is for you, for your memories. For the worlds inside your head. You don't have to share this place with anyone if you don't want to. You can keep it close to your heart."

Sometimes it's not about the breathtaking moments, but the breath-giving moments, the moments that restore your spirit and bring you back to life when you come back wilted and torn from your travels. It's moments when the little boy asks you in his halted English to help you make pancakes, or the little girl rests her head on your shoulder instead of going to do her homework (which for some terrible reason they make Italian kids do in the SUMMERTIME).

Sometimes the biggest gift of being in Italy is not the chance to explore the world out there, but the worlds inside. Of a family, of a home, of the children, of you.

Sometimes the most beautiful moments are the restful ones.