I blinked, eyes wide open, despite the earliness of the hour.
I glanced at my phone. Hour 17 of being in this seat, on this bus, on this final leg of our journey from Nsoko, Swaziland to Mendoza, Argentina. (a journey that took a combined 36 hours flight time, 2 layovers, 30 hours of bus travel, plus an overnight in the Buenos Aires airport and not to mention crossing multiple time zones.)
I had slept soundly from the hours of 10pm until 4am while the wheels of our double-decker bus carried us through the night, at one point even stretching myself out on the floor of the aisle, just to feel horizontal for the first time in what seemed like days.
We were still mobile. Still traveling from the capital city of Argentina to the world of unknown that every traveler faces as they find themselves in transit. Yes, I had a destination. Yes, I had a place the following night to lay my head that had already been pre-arranged for me. Yes, I even had a host ready to pick me up from the bus station, but none of that is familiar when you’re still arriving. You don’t know the faces that are waiting for you. You don’t know what your sleeping arrangements will look like. You don’t know when you’ll be eating your next meal.
7 times had we done this before, now this would be our 8th time of arriving.
The previous night, I had been the lucky witness to one of the most beautiful sunsets I had ever seen. Most of the others I was traveling with had already fallen asleep, exhausted by intercontinental travel, but my mind refused to quiet itself. I stared out the window, complimentary coffee in my hand (bus travel in other countries is my favourite thing), as the setting sun bathed the entire world of Argentinan countryside in gold.
Quietly, I took a photo on my phone, and then set about the business of capturing the moment with a mental frame. If you don’t pause within a moment to truly soak it up, it will pass too quickly, and you will forget. I promise.
I wish I could sit here and tell you that I remember every beautiful moment about the past 8 months of my journey, but truth be told: I have forgotten much. Life has moved too rapidly to dwell on every passing minute, and even though there are moments in which I distinctly find myself thinking, “I’ll never forget this,” if I don’t make the conscious effort to remember, it will all too quickly fade into the abyss of the unseen corners of my memory.
This moment, I decided to treasure. Love is a choice. Joy is a choice. Remembering the good things, and letting the bad parts remain in the past, that’s a choice.
As I chose to soak up the glorious sight of a yellow world, mostly untouched by pollution, greed, population, or any other sort of poison, I thanked God for the opportunity to see this sight with my own eyes. My own, functioning, healthy eyes.
Quietly, I felt a stirring in my spirit, although I couldn’t quite make out what it meant.
I didn’t discover the nature of that movement until the following morning, when my unflinching eyes looked out of the opposite window to what was arguably the most beautiful scene I have yet to lay sight on this entire year.
As I sat there, contemplating the last hour that remained of our bus journey, until we arrived, until we would greet our new family, discover our new routine, learn our new home and our new neighbourhood and our new short-term life, the bus rounded a corner and I was greeted by heaven.
Mendoza is a medium-sized city nestled at the foot of the Andes mountains, in the far north of Argentina. The sun had just barely dawned from behind us, casting the immense mountain range directly in front of us in a sea of pink light. The dizzying heights of the mountains before me were bathed in euphoric pink, the shades of the sloping hills and the snow-capped peaks were alight in various shades of rose-colored wonder and shadows of purple streaks and my jaw dropped open at the mere sight of the beauty that my eyes were seeing.
“God,” I whispered aloud, my mind unable to conceive of any other word, or idea, or hope. If nature alone can bring a man to his knees, bursting forth that there must be a God who created something so catastrophically beautiful, then be assured that my heart bloomed in uncontrollable worship of the creator in that moment. God is the only one in the universe who could simply create something that stunning.
In the next instant, God gave me a gift. A gift that He, apparently, made only for me.
In a rare moment of audible response, a moment that I will truly never forget, despite how time may try to trick me, I heard Him quietly return, “What would you do if I told you that I made this for you, simply because I love you?”
What has God created on this earth solely for you? Thank Him for your gifts, too.
