There was another great joy that took place this weekend that I haven’t mentioned till now.
There were airplanes today, lost luggage, and now we just have the last two for a few more days.
Michelle drove John to the airport for us while the four of us took off after lunch for the coast.
He (I forgot to ask permission to say his name) had never seen the redwoods before. We hiked through Memorial Park a bit through the towering ancient trees, having the place nearly to ourselves in the cold.
They went a little ahead down to the creek, where he splashed his hand in California water and pulled the one piece of manmade this-does-not-belong-here out to let the water be freed of it.
We followed the signs along the trail in search of the park’s tallest redwood: there, up ahead, thirty-nine feet around, 225 feet tall and 1600 years old, solid and sturdy and lasting through storms and lightnings and fires, steady through every blessing and every stress of life.
It seemed the perfect place to take a newly-engaged couple’s photo.
There was a name on the bench with a fresh soft yellow rose by it. Should that family ever see this photo, please know that we bowed our heads a moment at your loss and moved the rose back to its rightful place at that center spot afterwards. It bore silent testimony that love is simply who we are and what we have.
From there we took him to see the ocean as we get to see it, warning him that no, it’s not warm, not at all. Again, he touched it and made it a part of himself too now.
He is so good to our daughter and they are so happy and we are so happy. We get to have him in our family! So. Much. Joy.
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