Like the hairline virtually gone, so the cornfields have receded. But the boat, Pax Christi, floats on the land of ten thousand lakes. Taking in more and more, pilgrims and refugees, men and women, young, not so young, all together entranced by the horizon so alluring and far, yet ever so close. A restless soul craves for a restful pause. Mine. A stranger happens to wander along. A warm hand feels the pounding in his chest, and welcomes him into the boat, Pax Christi. Together, not by accident, they float toward the horizon, not elusive, for Peace of Christ is their name. And so peace is their way to peace. Thank you, Pax Christi, for giving me a spot in this boat of peace. I give you all of my heart. Peace. Caesar