And so we leave. This land of deserts and mountain, of canyons and palms. Where Tarahumara women wear brightly flouncing skirts and sit quietly selling their wares. Where wind whips dust on the great wide open into tall swirling dust devils. Where tortillas are warm and soft and you can buy chips and coke on every corner. This land of enormous arching blue skies with nary a cloud. Of waves crashing on a sandy beach and cold ceviche in a tall bowl. Of wide smiles and Google Translate conversations. Of winding twisting roads in and out of tall mountains. Where Catholic women rise early to journey to the tiny shrines and pay tributes to idols that will never answer. Where we feel our God speak in the deep of the canyons, the height of the mountains, the wide expanse of the ocean. So we leave, but with warmth, for we know He doesn’t just live here, but everywhere. We leave with sun-bleached hair and brown arms. Chapped feet and sparkling eyes. And while we leave, we know that our hearts w...
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