It has almost been two years since I last visited southern California, but when I stepped from the connecting hallway from the airplane into the airport, I pulled in a deep breath, and Mary and I both exclaimed, “It smells like San Diego!” Their airport is imbued with the smell of fresh pastries, an aroma that tripped a wire in my head and spilled out memories. From the (long and roundabout) walk from the airport to the hostel, I kept on remarking on every tree, bush, stoplight, and fast food restaurant I remembered from last time. Just as I remembered, that Jack-in-the-Box where we ate that one time! Oh, and I remember those kinds of trees! And this pavilion in this park!
Most of all, I remembered the kind of yellow wildflower that first inspired me to lift my depressed head out of the mud and look toward God. When I saw the slope covered in them, casual as dandelions, I felt a blaze of joy. By His grace I’m stronger, and more content, and slowly regaining everything that I thought I had lost two years ago. By His grace, I’ve already enjoyed my trip much more than I ever thought possible two years ago.
Today has been delight— in cloud-shadows on the desert, in snowy mountains seen from the plane, in conversations with strangers, in walks with my sister, in eating supper at a colorful burger joint, in making my bed at the hostel, and in travel plans working out. Today has been a day of goodness. I can’t wait for the rest of the trip.
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