Every trip is full of precious, impossible moments, but there always seems to be one in particular that I hold on to forever. In my mission trip to Mexico in July of 2008, that moment came when I least expected it. I was sitting on a log outside the dorm room where I was staying in a small town called Miraflores. The sun hung low in the sky. I was recording the day’s adventures in my diary by the fading light. Suddenly, from around the corner walked four little girls, probably between the ages of three and eight. All of them were grinning from ear to ear. The two smallest ones walked towards me. They were holding something, and, as they walked closer, I could see that their hands were full of rose petals. Still smiling widely, they placed the petals on the pages of my diary. They were soft pink and red- the colors of love. “Gracias,” I sputtered, thanking them in Spanish. The two tiny girls turned around without a word, and joined their other two friends. The four of them silently skipped away around the corner. I never saw any of them again, but their smiles and their rose petals will stay with me forever, pressed between the pages of my diary.