We crossed the mighty Mississippi, brown waters swirling and trembling with power, and had to stop to admire its beauty for a while. Kate told me a couple days ago about a rock that she keeps with her - she calls it her worry rock and squeezes it whenever she is feeling troubled. As I stared into those waters, she came up and held out a smooth, white rock. "This is my worry rock," she said, "and I have nothing to worry about." And into the mighty river it went.
We finished crossing the river and went up to the Gateway. I laid under it and the deep blue Missouri sky for a while, in wonder at the size of the structure and the symbolic meaning of it for us, and then passed through our gateway to the West.